her room while she changed from work. He couldn't risk her hearing him. How would he explain where he had been? And she would certainly ask, especially when she saw he was one smelly, wet glob. Even his hair was plastered to his sweaty head under his baseball cap.
As he got closer, he didn't hear anything coming from behind her door. Maybe she wasn't home yet. And then he remembered. Of course she wasn't home yet. It was Friday.
No work tomorrow, plus tonight was his little brother's sleep-over. He remembered her telling him that she might treat herself and join the other ladies from the office for drinks after work. Was that tonight? Yeah, it was Friday night. He was sure of it. What a stroke of luck. Maybe things weren't as bad as he thought,
Still, he hurried to his own room and closed the door behind him, careful to muffle the noise. He tossed his backpack on the bed, then he pressed his entire body against the door as if the extra pressure was necessary to turn the lock. He held his breath and listened again, not trusting his good fortune on a day where none had existed. He heard nothing. He was home alone. He was safe. And yet, he was shaking, not just shivering, but shaking like some convulsing idiot.
He wrapped his arms around his chest, but jerked them away when he felt the wet front of his T-shirt. He really was a sweaty mess. He had almost wiped out on his bike several times as he jumped curbs and sped through blind intersections. Now he pulled off his ball cap and threw it on his bed, then wrestled out of the T-shirt, getting tangled in it and almost ripping it at the seams just to be free of the smell of sweat and diesel and vomit. The stink reminded him that he had upchucked his fast-food meal, leaving it somewhere just past the exit ramp from the airport parking garage.
Finally, he allowed himself to turn on the small desk lamp. Immediately, he noticed the blood caked under his fingernails. He tried to dig it out, wiping it on the T-shirt. Then he opened his closet door, wadded up the T-shirt and stuffed it into an empty Best Buy plastic bag he found on the closet floor. He slung the T-shirt and bag hard into the back of the closet, away from everything else. He knew his mom would never find it. After she discovered the moldy, half-eaten bologna sandwich tucked in his sock drawer, she had threatened that she wouldn't be responsible for any of his things except those in the laundry chute. He supposed she thought it was a way to make him more responsible for taking care of his own things, but he wondered if it was just another way for her to avoid seeing or knowing any negative stuff going on with him.
He kicked his running shoes off without untying them, leaving them in the middle of the floor. That's when he saw the icon flashing on his computer screen. He stared at it, approaching slowly. There wasn't a game scheduled, and any messages usually came through the chat room.
He lowered himself into his desk chair, continuing to stare at the skull-and-bones icon that blinked at him from the corner of the computer screen. Any other time he'd be anxious and excited and ready to play. Instead, he felt his stomach churning again. His finger hesitated, then he double clicked the icon. The screen jumped to life immediately, the words filling the space in bold type.
YOU BROKE THE RULES.
Gibson gripped the chair arms. What the hell was this? Before he could figure it out, the screen came alive with a new message.
I SAW WHAT YOU DID.
CHAPTER 5
Maggie waved off the busy hostess. She made her way through the crowded restaurant, trying to ignore the heavenly aromas of grilled beef and something garlic. She was starving.
She found Gwen waiting in their usual corner booth. A large goblet of what Maggie guessed was Gwen's favorite Shiraz sat untouched in front of her.
'Did you not want to start without me?' Maggie asked, pointing to the glass as she slid into the opposite side of the booth.
'Sorry, just the opposite. This is my second glass.'
Maggie checked her watch. She was ten minutes late, if that. Before she could respond, Marco appeared alongside their table. 'Good evening, Ms. O'Dell. May I interest you in a cocktail before dinner?'
Maggie marveled at his ability to make them feel as though they were his only concern in the crowded, noisy restaurant. Despite the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, she thought he still had that youthful, tanned sleek look of an experienced and well-paid cabana boy. One who took pride in knowing his clientele. He sure knew Gwen and Maggie well enough that when they reserved a table he made sure it was this corner booth.
So it was without hesitation or confusion that when Maggie told him she'd have her 'usual,' he said, 'Of course. I'll have your Diet Pepsi with a twist of lemon right out.' Just like that. No further questions. No lectures, or worse, sympathetic glances. She liked that.
Marco handed her a menu, 'May I suggest some fresh escargots for an appetizer?'
'No,' Maggie said too quickly. 'None for me,' she added, hoping she hadn't already telegraphed her disgust at the very idea. After an afternoon filled with maggots, she wasn't sure she could stomach a plateful of snails.
'None for me, either,' Gwen agreed.
'But perhaps we could start with an order of stuffed mushroom caps?' Maggie suggested. The scent of garlic had already primed her mouth for the delicious appetizer.
'Excellent choice,' Marco said, rewarding her with a smile. 'I'll have those out to you right away.'
When Maggie glanced at her, Gwen was smiling, sipping her wine.
'What?' Maggie asked. 'I'm starving, but I'll share.'
'I wish you could have seen your face when he recommended the escargots. So it must have been one of those afternoons, I take it?'
'Maggots. Way too many maggots,' she said as she pushed strands of hair off her forehead, surprised to find them still damp. She had gone back home for a quick shower, hoping also to wash away the memory and the feel of the wormy critters even though she hadn't touched a single one this time. Then she added, 'The District PD finally called us in on the decapitated Jane Doe cases.'
'Does that mean they believe both were killed by the same killer?'
'It looks like the same M. O. Plus _ ' Maggie stopped while Marco placed a goblet of Diet Pepsi with a wedge of lemon in front of her.
'I'll be back with your appetizer. Is there anything else I can get either of you at this moment?'
'No thanks,' Gwen told him. Then to Maggie, she said, 'Go on,' before Marco was gone.
Maggie, however, waited until he was out of earshot. She couldn't believe Gwen. Usually she wasn't so abrupt and never was she indiscreet. In fact, lately she seemed to be only humoring Maggie by listening, at times appearing bored and tired of the grisly details. Why was she so anxious? Almost overly anxious. Maggie leaned forward, wrapping her hands around the goblet and keeping her voice hushed. 'A third head was found today.'
'Jesus,' Gwen said and Maggie watched her sit back as if the comment had shoved her against the booth's cushion.
'Oh, and Racine's first detective on this one,' Maggie said, shaking her head as she took a sip. 'I think she's already in over her head.' Then she gulped half her glass.
When she had raced back home to shower and change, Harvey convinced her they had time for a quick run. Only now did she realize how thirsty she was.
'Are you sure you're being fair?' Gwen asked. 'After all, you're not Racine's biggest fan.'
It wasn't the first time Gwen had reminded her that she wasn't exactly objective when it came to Detective Julia Racine. Maggie thought about it while she chewed some ice, a recent nervous habit that kept her from replacing her empty Pepsi goblet with a Scotch. Whether she liked it not, Gwen was right. She had started out years ago with very little respect for Julia Racine. The detective had advanced her career by taking advantage of too many shortcuts given to her just because she's a woman, while Maggie had always fought to be treated like any of her male FBI colleagues. The result was that sometimes Racine got careless, oftentimes even reckless. It didn't help matters that she had made a pass at Maggie several years ago while they worked their first case together. Throw into the mix the fact that Racine had saved Maggie's mother from committing suicide. But Maggie had repaid that
