need an apology, I'll offer it. I'm sorry. Now take off, or I'll stop being this nice. Got it?'
I gave her wrist a little extra twist to make my point. Roxy grunted and gave me an enthusiastic nod. When I let her up, she was beet red, and Don was studying his shoes. Neither said another word, and they moped off without further incident.
I sat back down and wondered how badly I'd ruined my chances with Latham. Could I be any less demure?
'I'm sorry,' I muttered. 'I'm really not a violent person.'
'Don't be sorry.' Latham looked flushed. 'This is actually the most exciting date I've ever had in my life. What are you doing tonight?'
'Pardon me?'
'I get off at six. Can I make you dinner?'
'Uh, that would be great.'
'Eight o'clock?'
'Fine.'
He grinned. The waiter came by and we ordered our entrees.
Maybe all that money I spent on Lunch Mates was a good investment after all.
Chapter 31
HE KEEPS FALLING ASLEEP, WAITING FOR something to happen.
The discovery of the body in the cooler is exciting, but he has to stay too far back for fear of being seen. By the time the excitement dies down, Jack is back inside her office.
And now, the effects of a sleepless night are taking their toll. His eyelids keep closing. His head keeps lolling forward. Even the anger, the fuel that spurs him on, has been replaced by fatigue.
He uses the cigarette lighter to keep himself awake.
Charles knows he's grasping at straws. The surveillance on Jack is tight. Even the weak point, the shift change, proceeds smoothly. No matter where Jack goes, there's a team following her. But there has to be some kind of way.
He almost nods off, and again has to apply the lighter. He concentrates his efforts on his chest, where the burns will be out of the public view. Pain works so much better than caffeine.
Lunchtime comes, and his stomach rumbles. He hadn't expected to go on a stakeout, or he would have packed something. There's ice cream in the truck's freezer, but he hates ice cream. Maybe he can step out and grab a bite at -The sedan he's following takes off. Jack is on the move. He starts the truck and follows, having to keep closer than he had last night because traffic is heavier. Once, he loses them at a red light, but they continue down the same street and he's able to catch up.
The destination is Jimmy Wong's on Wabash. Did Jack and her fat partner come here for a bite? He parks at a bus stop and watches.
An hour passes. He opens the door a crack and pisses on the street. He eats a Popsicle. He burns his chest again. He thinks about having Jack to himself, keeping her alive for days. Jack is the closest anyone has ever come to understanding him. Having her undivided attention would be delicious.
He knows Jack will just die for it.
Jack leaves the restaurant -- not with Herb Benedict, but with another man. They shake hands, and she gives him a peck on the cheek. Friend? Lover? Brother?
There's only one way to be sure.
The man begins to walk away. Charles starts the truck and tails him for a block.
'Hey, buddy.' He rolls down the window, pulling up close. The syringe is in his pocket. 'I'm lost. Can you tell me how to get to Belmont?'
Chapter 32
I WAS FEELING PRETTY GOOD ABOUT myself. In one fell swoop I'd shaken off the vestiges of Don and had met a man who was attractive, interested, and much better suited for me. Even being grilled by Herb upon my arrival at the station hadn't hurt my mood.
'You're welcome.'
'What for?'
'I seem to recall sending you off to Lunch Mates in the first place. The thank-you doesn't have to be formal. You can express your gratitude in a gift.'
'Something to eat, perchance?'
'By happy coincidence, I've got a Mario's pizza menu in my pocket.'
Benedict handed over the menu with instructions on what he liked on his pie. I wasn't shocked to find out he liked everything.
Formalities aside, we dove into the paperwork pool, gathering and collating information, trying to gain a better perspective on our perp.
We had yet to get any reports back on the third victim. The ME did a cursory inspection on site and drew several conclusions. She was a white female, late twenties to mid-thirties, blond hair, blue eyes, between five four and five six based on the length of the femur. She'd been hacked apart, Maxwell Hughes guessed, by some kind of heavy-bladed knife or sword. All of the dismemberment appeared to be postmortem. Her right hand was missing, as was a good deal of tissue.
Cause of death was unknown. There was a large abrasion on her head consistent with a blow by a heavy
