Twisted (38 page)

“You said ‘aims to accomplish,’” Sloane repeated. “Is your program capable of doing that yet? Have you developed it to the point where such results are attainable?”

“I’ve run a few tests on data sets with known outcomes. The results have been encouraging. I’m still fine-tuning the program so it can dynamically adapt to each specific set of data and yield the most precise outcome. But that’s not what you’re asking. What you’re really asking is, can I adapt my program to analyze your particular set of information and find patterns in the victimology, maybe even links to the offender himself.”

“Okay, fine.” Sloane waved her hand impatiently. “That’s what I’m asking.”

“The answer is, I won’t know until I try. My opinion? I think it’s more than possible. I’ll need to define new variables, get a complete, detailed rundown of every victim, and of the offender himself—including characteristics you either know or suspect about him, and their relative weightings. I’d also need every unrelated but significant bit of data you collected, and access to the major law enforcement databases—
VICAP
,
CODIS
, and
RTCC
, given the
NYC
crimes. Between all that, plus some additional programming on my part, we should have what we need. In many ways, both analyses are similar. We know there’s a needle in the haystack. The question is, how fast can we find it? So, in a long-winded way, I’d have to say yes, I’m cautiously optimistic that we can do this.”

Sloane knew Elliot. He was hard as hell on himself. So if he thought he could pull this off, that was good enough for her. “How long would it take to get results, and what kind of access would you need?” she pressed him.

He thought for a minute. “I’d say about ten days. Most of the work would involve building interfaces between
VICAP
,
CODIS
,
RTCC
, and my system.” Elliot paused, a frown knitting his brows. “Hypothetically, I could start the process while you get the authorizations and the right people on board.”

“Getting you those authorizations would be my job to accomplish.” Sloane grimaced. “It isn’t going to be fun.”

“But I do have project contacts at the
FBI
,
NYPD
, and
NSA
, and the necessary security clearances for working cybercrime, for whatever that’s worth. They know me and my work well. I can call in a few favors—prime the pump, so to speak. I’ll give you the names of my contacts so you can work them along with the powers that be for access to the crime data I’ll need. I’ll call my contacts, too, and give them a heads-up to maximize the chances of getting the decision makers on board quickly.”

“That would be great. Hey, every little bit helps.”

“Doing this would be amazing.” A note of pride crept into Elliot’s voice. “I’d be using my program to help catch violent criminals early in their crime spree. We wouldn’t have to wait for enough time and victims to pile up so that law enforcement could establish the investigative trail they’d need to find and convict bastards like this one. I could be directly saving lives, not just eliminating the money that enables the killers.”

“Yes, you could.” Sloane studied Elliot’s expression, heard the conviction in his tone. “This isn’t hypothetical anymore, is it?” she asked bluntly.

“Nope.” His response was equally blunt. “Not if you can get the right people on board, it isn’t.”

Sloane shot him a wry look. “Have you ever known me not to get what I want?”

“Not even once.”

“Well, I don’t intend to start now.” Sloane rose, reaching across Elliot’s desk and extending her hand, ready to seal the deal. “I’ll get started on my end right away. Are you in?”

Elliot didn’t hesitate. He clasped Sloane’s fingers in a firm handshake. “You bet your sweet ass I am.”

DATE:
21 April

TIME:
0700 hours

OBJECTIVE:
Persephone and Demeter

The weekend was a total success. I was brilliant. The gods were with me. Their cheers drowned out the shouts of the demons. The demons can no longer stop me. Nor can the mortals. The gods won’t permit it. They’ll never again question my allegiance. And, in a matter of days, they’ll guide me and the goddesses to Mount Olympus.

I have Demeter and Persephone. That was my major triumph.

I arrived at Penn State right on schedule. Professor Helen Daniels and her daughter, Abby, followed their customary Sunday routine. They attended church, then stopped at Stone Valley Recreation Area for a picnic, followed by an ambitious hike around Lake Perez.

I’d memorized the wooded, deserted section they’d pass and at what time they’d pass it. The rest was easy. Both women were slight, so it was easy to keep them quiet while the hypodermics did their job. Besides, they were so terrified by the combat knife that they scarcely made a sound.

I put them in a room together to accelerate their adjustment. It was the right thing to do. The proximity would give Demeter a chance to calm her child. Persephone would reap the benefits that only a mother could provide, and Demeter would draw comfort from that fact. Together they would soothe each other, which would swiftly and ultimately help them accept their fate.

Everything was almost ready. I had only to settle Gaia and—at long last—claim my Artemis.

Office of Professor Elliot Lyman

John Jay College of Criminal Justice

New York City 8:10 A.M.

After a sleepless night, Elliot left his East Village apartment at dawn, hopped on the subway, and made his way to Columbus Circle, where he got out and walked the two blocks to John Jay.

The sun was still rising and the halls were deserted when he unlocked his office. Most people would probably think he was nuts for being so obsessed with this project. But with his initial work complete, and just a little more tweaking before he’d be ready to test his system, he was champing at the bit.

Sloane had come through, just as she’d said she would. Her
FBI
colleague, Special Agent Derek Parker, had kicked in, working hard and fast with some of Elliot’s contacts at the Bureau to navigate the back channels of the Department of Justice so Elliot could gain access to
VICAP
and
CODIS
.

The
NYPD
had been a tougher sell. It had taken days of lobbying—not only by Elliot and by Sergeant Erwin—but by Erwin’s captain at Midtown North, to pull off the coup of getting Elliot access to the Real Time Crime Center. Given that the
RTCC
was the NYPD’s enormous data warehouse of criminals, arrest records, and public records, the top brass at Puzzle Palace was less than enthused about handing over full access to a computer professor.

Midtown North’s lobbying had been a great help. Then again, the groundswell of negative publicity surrounding Cynthia Alexander’s disappearance from John Jay, and the mayor’s daily calls to the police commissioner, pressuring him for answers, hadn’t hurt either.

Now Elliot leaned back in the chair at his workstation with a sigh of relief. Just yesterday, with the help of a trusted grad student, he had digitized the last of the remaining police case files into crime description profiles—a detailed collection of facts, figures, and descriptions about each crime. Last night before heading home, Elliot had typed the cryptic command to run the load script and fill his system’s database with years of violent crime data on rapes, murders, and assaults. The process had taken all night to complete on its own. Perfect timing. He’d walked in just after it finished. He’d then spent the past two hours double-checking and fine-tuning.

It was now time to test the latest refinement of his life’s work.

With great anticipation, Elliot typed in three simple words:
find related crimes,
and then pressed the enter key. It would be hours before any results were displayed. And his meeting with Sloane, the
FBI
, and the
NYPD
wasn’t happening until one o’clock. So, rather than sit here and drive himself crazy, he grabbed his jacket and decided to walk up to the Krispy Kreme on West Seventy-second Street. He’d buy a couple of dozen donuts for himself and his grad students, and then head up to Central Park, where he could sit at the lake, eat, and think.

Any way you sliced it, this was going to be a very long day.

Hunterdon County, New Jersey

10:15 A.M.

“Don’t you
ever
need sleep?” Sloane mumbled, stuffing her face in the pillow.

Derek grinned, moving her hair aside so he could kiss her neck. “When you’re in bed next to me? Not a chance.”

Sloane cracked open one eye and glanced at the clock. “It’s after ten. Weren’t you supposed to go through your Army Ranger workout at the crack of dawn, or at least do some push-ups or something?”

“I did my whole workout at five when you were out cold. But I could definitely go for some more push-ups.” His palm ran down her side, over her hip, and across her thigh, his fingertips making lazy circles toward his goal. “By the way,” he muttered. “I gave the hounds a two-mile run. So if they complain, they’re lying. Ignore them. I, on the other hand, am still enjoying being used. You did promise to outdo my fantasy with your reality. You made a nice dent last night. But then you conked out. Which means you still owe me. So pay up.”

Laughter bubbled up in Sloane’s throat, and she rolled onto her back, gazing up at him. “You’re impossible.”

“It’s one of my best qualities.”

“No, that would be your stamina.” Sloane’s palms glided over his biceps, then across his hair-roughened chest, and down to his six-pack abs. “Mmm. I can feel the burn. Good workout.”

“Thanks.” He caught her hand and dragged it down his torso, right to where he wanted it. “Now
I
can feel the burn.”

“A mere spark,” she assured him, her eyes glinting. “I’m just getting started. You’ll go up in flames before I’m through. After all, I did say scout’s honor.”

“Yeah, you did.” Derek gritted his teeth as she teased him with her fingertips, her touch feather light—and right on target.

“Were you a Girl Scout?” he managed.

“Mm-hmm.” Sloane repeated the motion, this time intensifying the friction. “For years and years.”

Derek arched, his entire body rigid. “Thank God.”

The foreplay lasted as long as either of them could withstand it. Then Derek hooked his arms under her knees, lifting and opening her as wide as possible, and pushed all the way inside her—and then some.

He was going for amazing.

It was better.

Banter vanished. The only sounds in the room were harsh groans, ragged breathing, and the creaks of the bed frame, which kept getting louder and faster with each stroke, until the headboard was slamming against the wall.

Neither of them heard it.

Derek pinned Sloane to the bed with the full weight of his body, his thrusts deep and primal, his chest heaving with each breath. Sloane wrapped her legs high around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust, as their climax roared down on them.

A split second before he came, Derek grabbed Sloane’s hands, lifted them high over her head, and interlaced his fingers with hers. She didn’t fight it. She didn’t pull away.

She didn’t want to.

Her grip tightened in his as the first spasms of her orgasm wrenched through her. She cried out, convulsing again and again as Derek spurted into her, coming as violently as if he hadn’t done so just a handful of hours earlier.

The whole experience was overwhelming—far more than Sloane had wanted it to be. Not just the sex, but what went with it. Emotions were starting to get tangled up in whatever was going on between them. Then again, maybe those emotions had never gone away. Maybe the two of them were playing out some elaborate charade that was more avoidance than it was reality. If that was the case…well, right now Sloane wasn’t ready to think about it. And she certainly wasn’t ready to talk about it.

Obviously, neither was Derek. His muscles relaxed, and he sank onto her and into her—blanketing her body with his, and emitting a wiped-out groan that sounded as if he’d survived a shipwreck.

Still trembling with aftershocks, Sloane managed a weak smile. “Can I take that groan to mean ‘paid in full’?”

“You can take it to mean I think I’m dead.”

“You’re not. I can vouch for that.”

“Good to know.” Derek’s voice was muffled, his face buried in the curve of her shoulder. Their fingers were still intertwined and neither of them made any attempt to change that. “You’re so damn sexy,” he announced drowsily. “I go crazy when I’m inside you.”

“I noticed.” A pause. “I go crazy, too.”

“I know.” He left it at that, then gave a huge yawn. “Nap time.”

“No, get ready for meeting time,” Sloane reminded him.

Another groan. “Let’s send proxies instead.”

Laughter rippled through Sloane. It felt good to laugh, and to feel so languid and vibrant all at once. The past few weeks had been one long, frustrating uphill battle. And now they had two more abductions thrown in the mix. A professor and her daughter. Kidnapped from Sloane’s alma mater.

Today’s meeting was going to be long, tough, and intense.

“Given all that’s going on, I doubt proxies would work,” Sloane informed Derek. “But you get points for trying.” She wriggled a bit. “I need a shower. So, by the way, do you.”

“Two minutes.” His voice told her he was drifting off. “And, no, not paid in full. Paid for now.”

“For now?” Sloane blinked in disbelief. “After an all-night marathon, you want more? Dear God, I’m dealing with a sex machine
and
a loan shark.”

“Yeah, but a hot one.”

“I can’t argue that. You
are
hot. Arrogant, but hot.”

“Damn right.” Derek’s words were slurred and sleepy. “And that’s a good thing. Because you’re way too much for any other man to handle—in bed and out. I’m the only one qualified for the job.”