Baldwin’s phone rang at six in the morning, rousing him from the best sleep he’d had in weeks. He’d gone to bed without the report of another missing girl floating through his brain, without wondering what new horror awaited him when he opened his eyes. He slept dreamlessly, snuggled beside Taylor in the warm bed, knowing that he was close to cracking this case.

Though he’d been a bit circumspect about Jake Buckley’s culpability in the series of murders, the talk he and Taylor had gone through on their way home abated his concerns. Taylor’s theory was a strong one. Quinn Buckley had told the truth to her husband about what happened when she and her twin sister were kidnapped. That they had been raped, had borne a child in secret, that the news was too much for Buckley to take. Already a promiscuous, bullying man, he’d gone over the edge, making his regular travel a cover for murder. A bit thin, but plausible. Today was the day they’d put it all together. The DNA would confirm everything.

The phone call would derail every theory they had.

“Baldwin,” he answered, yawning.

“It’s Garrett. Why are you sleeping so late?”

“It’s 6:00 a.m. Central time, Garrett. You’re an hour ahead of me, remember?”

“I do remember. You need to get up. We have a problem.”

Baldwin groaned and rolled over, realizing Taylor wasn’t lying beside him. Where had she gotten off to? He sat on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair, dreading the answer to his next question.

“What’s the problem, Garrett?”

“The DNA sample you submitted for Jake Buckley doesn’t match the Strangler. He’s still out there.”

Baldwin was wide awake now. “Aw, man, damn. Shit.” He threw out a few more expletives, enough to get Taylor back in the room, eyes questioning what was wrong. He held up a hand, stopping her question.

“But Buckley had Ivy Clark in the trunk of his car. Are you saying that he really didn’t know she was there, like he claims?”

“I can’t tell you that, Baldwin. I’d talk to him again, but without a DNA match, you’re going to have to figure something else out. He definitely isn’t a match to the DNA found at the Dale crime scene, that much we know for sure. I can’t say he didn’t murder those girls, but it seems likely that he’s not your man.”

“All right. Let me get on this. I’ll need to talk to Buckley again. Shit, Garrett, I knew something wasn’t right about this.”

“As usual, your intuition pays off. Always trust it, Baldwin. Now get out there and find us the real killer before he hits again.”

Baldwin clicked off the phone and flopped back onto the bed. Taylor eyed him, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re never going to believe this. The DNA from Buckley doesn’t match the Strangler’s vics. Come on, let’s go to your office. We’re going to need some help on this one.”

Half the day was gone by the time they had gotten Buckley back from the sheriff, interrogated him again, nailed down his timeline, then sent his sorry ass home. Taylor didn’t think he’d be all that welcome when he showed up at Quinn’s door, but didn’t feel sorry for him in the least. The man was a horse’s ass, and she was sorry that they had no charges they could press against him, just for being a jerk.

He’d left threatening to sue, and Taylor waved to him as he left, wondering how quickly the suit would appear.

She glanced at the corner of her desk where Whitney Connolly’s laptop had taken its place of honor. The e-mail light was blinking.

Holding her breath, she opened the cover and booted up the system. Whitney’s e-mail was practically empty compared to the other times she’d checked. There was one new message, flagged in red, and Taylor’s heart began to race when she saw the address. IM1855195C@yahoo.com. It was him, it was the Strangler. And the time code was from the previous evening. Shit, that meant…

“Baldwin!” she yelled. He was right outside her door, stuck his head in as quickly as her shout ended.

“What? What’s wrong?”

She turned the laptop around so the screen faced him. He saw it immediately, rushed into the room and double clicked to open the message. There was yet another poem. He read it aloud.

“Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck’d from thee?
Yet thou triumph’st, and say’st that thou
Find’st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
’Tis true; then learn how false fears be;
Just so much honour, when thou yield’st to me,
Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.

“The rest of ‘The Flea.’ And there’s more. It says, ‘I AM FINISHED.’” He sat down in the chair, white faced. “Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch!” He ran his hands through his hair, shoulders slumped.

Taylor went to him, speaking softly. “He’s still out there, Baldwin. I don’t care if he says he’s finished. He’s not. Someone like that will never just stop what he’s been doing. Never. We have to find him, Baldwin. We have to find him now.” She set a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed. He reached up and took her hand, grateful for her touch. He gathered himself as if a great decision had been made.

“Okay. Okay, let’s do it. This is just further confirmation that someone was setting up Jake Buckley. Someone who would know his schedule, his habits.” He was back on his feet and pacing the small room. “Where’s the information from Nathan Chase? I made a request for his visitors’ log. And we need Lincoln to do the back trace on the e-mail address. Maybe something will hit this time. We deserve a break.” He took a deep breath, composure regained, and picked up the phone. Taylor smiled at him and stepped out to see Lincoln.

She found him on the computer at his desk, trolling through some area of cyberspace that she wasn’t familiar with. He threw up his hands as she walked up, yelling, “Score!”

“Playing games on company time again, Lincoln?” He turned, his smile wide, eyes shining. “Not that kind of game. The more esoteric version. I had a link set up to Whitney Connolly’s address, put a worm in her system that would enable me to see where any message she received came from. I got him, Taylor. I know where your Yahoo guy sent his last e-mail.”