Tam had left Marcus sleeping when she crept out of bed and went into the bathroom to shower and get ready for work. Saturday was supposed to be an off day, but there was no such thing when she and her partner were working a new case. She hadn’t slept worth a damn last night despite being exhausted and getting to bed well past midnight. The image of Whitney Poole kept popping into her sleep-deprived brain. Like Jill Scott and Debra Gregory, Whitney was a young woman with her whole life ahead of her, but unless they could find her in time, she would become another of the Rocking Chair Killer’s victims.

Tam halfway understood crimes of passion when someone murdered out of hurt and anger and misguided love. She certainly understood killing to protect yourself or a loved one. But senseless murder, without rhyme or reason except in the murderer’s deranged mind, was terrifying on so many levels, because the victims were random, leaving a large segment of the population vulnerable. In the Rocking Chair cases, it seemed that any young, attractive brunette who fit a general profile was at risk.

Usually on Saturdays, she and Marcus slept late, woke, and made love. And afterward, he always prepared his delicious Southwestern omelets for their brunch. But this morning, Tam didn’t even have time to put on coffee. She’d pick up some at a fast food drive-through on her way to headquarters.

After sliding her Smith & Wesson semiautomatic into the hip holster, she put on her black blazer and headed for the door.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

The unexpected sound of her husband’s voice startled her so that she gasped for breath before turning around and smiling at him. He was still wearing only his low-cut gray briefs, his smooth, muscular chest bare and his morning arousal more than evident. She knew that if she had awakened him earlier, he would have wanted to make love, and as much as she usually enjoyed sex with him, there just wasn’t time for that this morning.

“I didn’t see any reason for you not to sleep late just because I have to work today,” she said.

“I’ll forgive you for trying to sneak off if you’ll give me a good-bye kiss.”

She studied his sly, provocative smile and slowly, seductively sauntered toward him, lifted her arms up and around his neck, and then kissed him. When he deepened the kiss, she sighed and opened her mouth completely, her tongue joining his in exploration.

His big hands cupped her buttocks and lifted her up and against his erection. Tam ended the kiss somewhat regretfully, grasped his wrists, and yanked his hands off her butt. “I have to go to work. Save this for tonight.”

Pursing his full lips into a mock pout, he frowned at her, but he let her go.

“I love you, Marcus Lovelady,” Tam told him.

He grinned. “I love you, too.”

Tam thought she caught a glimmer of sadness in Marcus’s beautiful brown eyes, but it was gone so quickly that she wondered if she might have imagined it. Surely, he didn’t doubt her love for him. Had she ever said or done anything that might make him doubt how much he meant to her?

“I’m sorry that I have to work today,” she said.

“It’s all right.” He ran his hands up and down her arms. “You have a job to do, Officer Lovelady, an important job.” He kissed her nose. “Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?”

“Oh, Marcus…”

He shoved her away from him. “Go to work, woman.” When she turned to go, he swatted her on the behind.

She laughed, enjoying that one sweet moment of happiness, knowing it would be the last contented moment she would have all day today.

J.D. had slept like the dead—for four hours. He had set his alarm for six-thirty. When it woke him, he shut the damn thing off and lay in bed for a few minutes, his mind in chaos. His thoughts jumped from one thing to another, not concentrating fully on anything.

He needed to call George Bonner and run a few things past him, things like the existence of Corey Bennett, a man who claimed to be Regina Bennett’s nephew.

Another young brunette was missing, presumed kidnapped by the Rocking Chair Killer. If they didn’t find her within a week, her odds of coming out of this alive were probably nil.

Forcing himself to get out of bed, he headed straight for the bathroom. After taking a leak, he washed his hands and then drew warm water into the sink. As he lathered his face and shaved, J.D. planned his day. Call Bonner on his way to police headquarters to meet Tam and Garth. Call Zoe and tell her to have a good time with Audrey—with Dr. Sherrod—today. Call Holly and…And what? Make a fuck date for tonight? Why not?

Maybe you should spend some time with your daughter, even if it makes you both miserable.

The family-counseling session yesterday afternoon had barely gotten off the ground when he had received the call about Whitney Poole. Zoe had been pissed at him. And he’d gone down a couple of notches in Dr. Sherrod’s opinion, although he suspected her opinion of him as a parent hadn’t been all that high to begin with.

Audrey Sherrod had surprised him by taking such a motherly interest in Zoe. He’d never pegged her as the motherly type. She came across as cool, controlled, and unsympathetic to the weaknesses of mere mortals.

J.D. chuckled as he stepped under the hot shower. Why was it that he thought of Audrey as an elegant goddess made of cold marble? She was just a woman. Flesh and blood. Mortal like the rest of us. A woman with hopes and dreams and human needs. And emotional baggage.

I lost my mother when I was quite young, so I understand. Was that why she seemed to honestly care about Zoe, why she was being so damn nice to his kid? If Audrey was any other woman, he’d question her motives. It wouldn’t be the first time in the past year that some woman had pretended to be interested in Zoe when all she really was interested in was luring J.D. into a relationship. He’d give Holly that much—she hadn’t even pretended to like Zoe, let alone show an interest in her.

And Audrey Sherrod isn’t interested in you, buddy boy. The lady doesn’t even like you.

But she does like Zoe.

Half an hour later, J.D. washed down a sausage biscuit with black coffee, both purchased at McDonald’s on Taft Highway, before he hit US-27 and headed south. As he’d gulped down his fast-food breakfast, he had wondered what Zoe and Audrey were having for breakfast that morning. No doubt something homemade and a damn sight more appetizing than what he’d eaten. It wasn’t as if his biscuit hadn’t been good or that it wasn’t his usual fare, so why had the thought of a gourmet breakfast crossed his mind?

No reason. Just a wild thought.

Using his Bluetooth headset, J.D. placed a call to George Bonner. Too bad if Mayor Bonner usually slept in on Saturday mornings. Halfway expecting to get the former FBI agent’s voice mail, J.D. was surprised when Bonner answered.

“I thought you’d be calling this morning,” Bonner said.

“I take it that someone has already notified you about Whitney Poole.”

“Chief Mullins got in touch with me last night.”

“I’m on my way to meet up with Sergeant Hudson and Officer Lovelady. I’m tagging along while they follow up on a few leads.”

Bonner chuckled. “Tagging along, huh? Playing backup and trying your damnedest not to take charge. I know how it is.”

“I had planned to call you anyway,” J.D. said. “Before Whitney Poole was abducted. You know I’m primarily working on the old Baby Blue cases, on the off chance that they turn out to be connected to the more recent murders.”

“And you’ve found something you think we missed?”

“No, not that. But I have discovered something interesting.”

“I’m all ears,” Bonner said with a note of impatience in his voice.

“Did you know Regina Bennett had a nephew?”

“She didn’t. Regina was an only child. She didn’t have any siblings. And her aunt and uncle were childless. What makes you think she had a nephew?”

“Because he not only visited her every week the last few months of her life, but he paid for her funeral.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“The only problem is that, so far, I haven’t been able to locate a Corey Bennett that is in any way connected to Regina.”

“A mystery man,” Bonner said. “Someone who doesn’t exist. An alias, maybe?”

“Maybe,” J.D. agreed.

“Got a description of this Corey Bennett?”

“A vague description. Young, white male, average size, blondish brown hair. Mustache and glasses. That’s about it.” J.D. paused to give Bonner a few minutes to assimilate the info. “Jeremy Arden visited Regina several times before she died. From his driver’s license photo, he fits the same general description as the one of Corey Bennett, minus the glasses and mustache.”

“You think they could be one and the same?” Bonner snorted. “Doesn’t make sense. Why would Jeremy visit Regina as himself and as her nephew? And why would one of her victims pay for her funeral?”

“I have no idea. It was just a thought.”

“No, it was more than a thought. You’ve got a theory. Let’s hear it.”

J.D. hesitated. “Not so much a theory as a hypothesis, and a completely unsubstantiated one at that.”

“You’re talking about a gut feeling, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much. What if while he was with Regina Bennett back when he was a toddler, Jeremy Arden formed an attachment to the woman, maybe even saw her as a mother figure. From what I’ve been able to learn about Arden, he’s been pretty messed up emotionally most of his life.”

“Hmm…go on. You’re making a weird kind of sense.”

“Let’s say that he felt compelled to visit her, to see her, talk to her, so he came back to Chattanooga and reconnected emotionally with her before she died. Her death could have triggered something inside Arden, something that compelled him to reunite Regina with all the toddlers she put to sleep.”

“This hypothesis of yours works only if it turns out that those skeletons belong to a couple of the Baby Blue toddlers,” Bonner reminded him.

“And if they do, then we’ll have a jump start on figuring out a connection. At this point, unless we can find Corey Bennett, nephew of Regina Bennett, then Jeremy Arden is our best bet. He’s the only kidnapped toddler who lived to tell the tale, so to speak.”

“Was he?”

“What?”

“Jeremy was the one kidnapped toddler we rescued, but the bodies of the other five were never found. And even if the skeletons left with Jill Scott and Debra Gregory turn out to be two of the Baby Blue toddlers, that doesn’t mean Regina killed the other three. She confessed to only one murder—her son’s.”

“I subpoenaed Regina’s medical records and I’ve gone through enough of them to tell that she contradicted herself quite often and baffled her doctors a great deal of the time. She seemed unaware that she had killed more than one child. The doctors assume that each time she killed one of the Baby Blue toddlers, she believed he was Cody.”

“That was their opinion, and you know what they say about opinions.”

“Yeah, yeah, everybody’s got one.”

“Why don’t you concentrate on Whitney Poole for the time being,” Bonner suggested. “Once the DNA results come back on the skeletons, then that will be time enough to continue trying to connect the Baby Blue cases to the Rocking Chair Killer cases.”

Zoe had surprised Audrey by choosing a very pretty pink nail polish when given the choice from among more than fifty colors. On their way to the salon/spa, they had dropped by the house Zoe shared with her father so that Zoe could change clothes. Then they had spent hours indulging themselves in hot stone pedicures and deluxe manicures. Lunch at Chili’s, followed by a quick dash into Publix for cookie ingredients, rounded out their morning and early afternoon. They had chatted about a variety of subjects, everything from makeup and clothes to their favorite foods, music, TV programs, movies, and movie stars, and the classes Zoe liked and disliked at school.

But now that the last batch of cookies—two batches of sugar cookies and one of Zoe’s dad’s favorites, chocolate chip—were done, Audrey and Zoe settled down on the sofa in the living room, each with a bottle of Diet Dr Pepper. When Audrey kicked off her leather loafers, Zoe removed her Skechers and wiggled her sock-covered toes.

“Thanks for last night and today.” Zoe brought her legs up, bending them at the knees and wrapping her arms around her upper calves. “Today was fun. I’ve never done anything like this.” She shrugged. “You know, girl stuff. Getting a manicure and pedicure and baking cookies.”

“Didn’t you and your mother ever do girl stuff together?”

When Zoe frowned, Audrey wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t have mentioned Zoe’s mother.

“No. Mom and I didn’t…You’d have to have known my mother to understand. It wasn’t that she was a bad person. She wasn’t. She was a good person, but she wasn’t cut out to be a mother. She liked to have fun. You know, grown-up fun.”

“If you’d rather not talk about her—”

“It’s okay. I really appreciate your not playing counselor last night or today. I didn’t feel like you were studying me and trying to figure out what makes me tick.”

“If the question about your mother made you feel that way, then I apologize.”

“It doesn’t. Actually, I’ve kind of been wanting to talk to you about my mother and J.D. and me and what a mess my life is, but…” Zoe brought her arms up her legs, lifted them until her elbows rested on her knees, and then lowered her chin down on top of her clasped hands. “I sure drew the short straw when it came to parents. I mean, why is it that two people who shouldn’t have ever had a kid, who never wanted to be parents, wound up as my mother and father?”

Audrey felt a sharp, sympathetic stab of pain and paused for a moment to consider how to answer Zoe’s question.

“Oh, I know about sex and how J.D. got my mom pregnant.” Zoe laughed, the sound hollow and sad. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. And I’m not sure I have an answer for you. Luck of the draw. Fate. Meant to be. Take your pick, but none of them seem a satisfactory reason.” Audrey lifted her feet off the floor and folded her legs sideways as she relaxed her back on the sofa arm behind her. “My parents got a divorce when I was five and even now, sometimes, I wonder why they couldn’t have stayed together, why I couldn’t have been one of those kids whose parents spend their whole lives together.”

“Yeah, fairy-tale stuff.” Zoe sighed heavily, a faraway look in her eyes.

“My friend Tamara’s parents are still married, still love each other and are very happy, so a few people do get that happily ever after.”

“It must be nice. She’s lucky, huh?”

“You know, Zoe, your dad might not win any father-of-the-year awards, but don’t you think he’s doing his best?”

Zoe looked right at Audrey. “I thought you didn’t like him, and here you are defending him.”

“I’m not defending him. And whether I like him or dislike him has nothing to do with—”

“Yeah, I guess he’s doing the best he can. For a guy who got stuck with a kid he didn’t want and didn’t even know he had, he’s done okay. I mean, he’s providing room and board and he makes noises like a father even if he doesn’t have any idea how to go about being a real dad.”

“And what’s a real dad like?”

“Humph. How should I know? You tell me.”

“Oh, I’m not an expert on fathers, believe me.”

“What’s your dad like?”

“Oddly enough, Zoe, he’s a lot like your dad.” Strong and brave and totally male. Dedicated to his job. Emotionally aloof. And he’s never had any idea how to be a loving father to a daughter.

“A real pain in the butt, huh?”

Zoe and Audrey laughed and kept on laughing until their sides hurt. And when the laughter subsided, they exchanged knowing smiles, each understanding the feelings of rejection and neglect the other had experienced.

While her father, in his role as chief of police, had made a statement to the media, Tam had stood beside Garth and J.D. and Hugh Nicholson, head of the CPD Major Crimes Division, and shared the frustration the others felt. In the span of less than a month, three young women had been abducted and two were now dead. With the resources of the entire police department, as well as the TBI, and with federal assistance, they were no closer to discovering the identity of the Rocking Chair Killer than they had been weeks ago. Her dad had fended off media questions with the skill of the politician he was destined to become, perhaps even a U.S. Congressman. Being his daughter, she could read even the subtle variances in his facial expressions, and where no one other than her mother might suspect, she knew that the burden of his office under such trying circumstances was taking a toll on him. Willie Mullins cared. He cared about what had happened to the two murdered women and he cared about the hell their families were experiencing. And he cared about Whitney Poole.

Once back at headquarters, J.D. placed his hand on the small of Tam’s back as they entered the building. “You’re worried about your father, aren’t you?”

Apparently she wasn’t as adept at hiding her feelings as her father was. “He’s taking all the hits from the press, when we’re the ones who aren’t accomplishing anything. We’ve got zip. Nada. We have no idea who this guy is or why he’s targeting young brunettes.”

“Unless it turns out that he’s somehow connected to the old Baby Blue cases,” J.D. reminded her.

“And if he is, if the DNA tests confirm that the skeletons belong to a couple of Baby Blue toddlers, what does that give us? How does that help us find this guy?”

J.D. followed Tam into the office she shared with Sergeant Hudson, who had entered the PSC before they had and had gone straight to the bathroom.

“If the DNA test results confirm what we suspect, then that’s another piece of a very intricate puzzle. We start putting those pieces together, one at a time, and you never know what even a partial picture might reveal.”

Tam flopped down in the swivel chair behind her desk, leaned back, and cushioned the crown of her head with her cupped hands. “I didn’t peg you for an optimist, Special Agent Cass.”

J.D. grinned. “And I didn’t peg you for a pessimist, Officer Lovelady.”

“I’m not. Not usually. But seeing the way these cases are affecting my father, not to mention what it’ll do to Audrey and her family if one of those skeletons turns out to be Blake, has put me in a negative frame of mind.”

“All we need is one lucky break,” J.D. reminded her. “Someone who saw something.”

“Someone other than a seventy-year-old, nearsighted woman.” Tam groaned as she sat up straight.

“This guy is human. He’s made mistakes. We just have to find out what they are. Once we figure out how he’s slipped up, then it’s only a matter of time until we nab him.”

“Well, I’d like to figure out what, if any, mistakes he’s made before he kills Whitney Poole.” Tam looked J.D. square in the eye. “If he stays true to form, then we have less than two weeks to connect the dots before he props her dead body up in a rocking chair and sticks a toddler’s skeleton in her arms.”

The phone on Garth’s desk rang just as he entered the office. Without even glancing at Tam or J.D., he walked over and picked up the receiver.

Garth’s face paled. “Why the hell didn’t they notify us yesterday? Yeah, sure. But God damn it, Willie, this isn’t just some case, is it?”

Garth was talking to her father? She and J.D. exchanged puzzled expressions.

“Yeah, I’ll tell them.” Garth gripped the phone with white-knuckled tension. “I agree. We don’t want word of this leaking out until the families have been notified.”

Tam rose to her feet. She and J.D. were so focused on Garth that when he hung up the phone, he couldn’t help but feel them staring at him. He glanced from J.D. to Tam.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

Garth swallowed. “That was your dad. He just got a call from Dr. Reynolds. It seems the DNA test results came back yesterday afternoon, but there was a mix-up about who was supposed to notify the chief.”

Tam’s heart beat so hard and fast that she thought it was going to jump out of her chest. “Tell us. What were the results?”

“The toddler skeletons’ DNA matched the DNA for Keith Lawson and Chase Wilcox,” Garth said.

“Oh, God!” Tam reached out and gripped Garth’s tense shoulder.

“Keith and Chase were the first two, weren’t they?” J.D. said. “The first two toddlers who came up missing. Possibly the first two of Regina Bennett’s victims.”

Garth dropped down into his chair, stared at the floor, and cursed a blue streak.