Killjoy

plural.

'You already asked me that, and, yes, I'm still sure she said they have her. Why is that important?'

He could barely contain his excitement. 'Because just maybe Monk is waiting for you at that spot on the map, and that gives me

a unique opportunity to kill the bastard. If I can figure out a way to get ahead of him…'

He didn't go on, but she noticed he increased their speed again. 'I think it's time for you to answer some questions,' she said.

'Like what?'

'Why were you looking for Carrie? How do you know her?'

He had to confess. 'I don't know her.'

'But you said…'

'I lied,' he said curtly. 'I know the man who…'

'Who what?'

He was going to say the man who killed her because, if Monk was continuing with his pattern, those three women were already dead and buried. He had changed one thing, John Paul acknowledged. He was obviously now working with a partner.

'… who is after the women,' he said. 'The man calling himself Monk. I doubt that's the name on his birth certificate.'

'Tell me what you know about him. Who is he?'

'A professional killer.'

'A what?' she asked sharply.

He repeated himself, and then he glanced at her face to see how she was taking the news. Not well, he decided. Not well at all. She was rapidly turning green.

'Are you gonna get sick?' He asked the question without a bit of sympathy in his voice.

'No.'

He didn't believe her. 'Roll down the window and lean out if you think-'

'I'm okay,' she said, even as she hit the button to automatically lower the window. She took a couple of deep breaths. The air

was heavy with an earthy, musty scent. It made her want to gag. No, fresh air wasn't helping.

A professional killer. My God, she thought.

She exhaled and tried to clear her thoughts. Deal with what you know as fact, she told herself. Think it through.

Anne Trapp. Sara Collins. Those two women were throwing a wrench in her analysis. What was the common denominator?

'There has to be a connection,' she said, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she shook her head. 'No, I can't assume that.'

He concentrated on the road. He had increased the speed once again because there weren't any other cars around, and he was betting the highway patrol was busy monitoring the more congested areas. He eased up on the gas pedal when the needle hit seventy.

'Road ends in five miles.'

She grabbed the map. 'How do you know?'

'I just read the sign.'

'We're supposed to take the access road.'

'I'm looking,' he said.

She glanced at the watch for what had to be the hundredth time and saw that a full twenty minutes had passed. Then she measured the distance in her mind to the red X.

He glanced over at her. 'Without good roads, it's going to be close. We might not make it, Avery.'

'We'll make it,' she insisted. 'We have to make it.'

'Ah, here we go,' he said as he swerved off the road onto an access. Gravel spit up over the tires and hit the windshield as he flshtailed up the winding road. It was only wide enough for a single car, and the branches of the evergreens scraped the sides

of the SUV as it zoomed past.

'We're headed in the right direction, and that's all that matters,' he said.

'If we're lucky, maybe farther up we'll hook into a better road.'

'Or no road at all.'

'How exactly do you know Monk?'

'I've never met him, if that's what you're asking. He's become a hobby of mine. He went after someone close to me.'

'Someone hired him to kill this friend of yours?'

'No,' he answered. 'But she got in the way. It was my sister. He was hired to get some information she had, and he tried to kill her to get it. Fortunately, his plans got all screwed up, and he ended up going to ground.'

'So you've been tracking him for some time.'

'Yes,' he answered. 'The man I called from Cannon's office also has a vested interest in Monk.'

'Who is he?'

'Clayborne,' he answered. 'Noah Clayborne. He's FBI,' he added with a note of disdain.

'But he's a friend of yours?'

'I wouldn't call him that.'

She tilted her head as she studied him. What was his problem? He turned her attention then when he said, 'Like I said, Monk went underground for over a year. Couldn't find more than a hint of his work… until now.'

'How did you know he was in Colorado?'

'He used a bogus credit card he'd used before in Bowen… that's where I live,' he said. 'Bowen, Louisiana.'

'Then the FBI knows he's in Colorado too,' she said.

'No, they don't.'

'But if you tracked him with the credit card receipt, surely the FBI-'

'They don't know about the credit card receipt.'

'You didn't notify them?'

'Hell, no.'

There it was again, that surly edge of hostility.

'Why not?'

'Because I didn't want them to screw it up.'

'The FBI does not screw up investigations. They're experts and extremely efficient in their-'

He cut her off. 'Spare me the platitudes. I've heard all the propaganda before. I didn't buy it then, and I don't buy it now. The Bureau has become too glutted with bosses all trying to break the backs of the agents working under them so they can get to the top. There isn't any loyalty these days. It's just dog eat dog. They're… bureaucratic,' he added with a shudder.

'You're cynical.'

'Damn right.'

She looked out the side window. 'Thank you anyway.'

'What are you thanking me for?'

'Coming with me. You could have refused.'

'Just so you understand. I'm not doing this for you or your aunt. I want to get Monk before he kills anyone else.'

'In other words, you have your own agenda, and you aren't doing me any favors. I understand,' she said.

She didn't understand, though. How could anyone be that hardened? She found herself wondering if he ever went out of his

way to help anyone in trouble. Probably not. He was the type of man who drove past accidents and stepped