New York to Dallas

and complete cooperation. Lieutenant.”
    She stepped forward. “Isaac McQueen is a predatory and violent pedophile. He’s highly organized, intelligent, and goal oriented. He enjoys taking risks, feeds on them, but calculates them. He never intended to be caught, feels no remorse, but a sense of entitlement. His preferred target is female, between twelve and fifteen. Pretty girls. While he has targeted street kids, runaways, he prefers healthy, stylishly dressed targets—the middle-class kid.”
    She looked toward the screen where Roarke displayed McQueen’s image and salient data.
    “He’s an experienced grifter. He knows how to run a game. He enjoys them. Statements from the minor females after his apprehension told us he often forced them into role-playing. He adapts,” she continued. “He blends. He is congenial, even charming, well dressed, well groomed, well spoken. He will live quietly in an urban setting, most probably a mid-level apartment building. He enjoys having neighbors—another kind of role-playing for him.
    “He will go out. He’ll be compelled to, especially after a twelve-year confinement. He will eat in restaurants, visit clubs, galleries. He’ll shop, extensively and well. Shopping is a particular pleasure for him—acquiring. Collecting again. He’ll know the city and his part of it very, very well.”
    She glanced at Roarke, nodded. The next image came on screen.
    “His mother, Alice McQueen, was a popper addict. She trained him in the grift, and she sexually abused him. It’s believed this sexual relationship lasted until he killed her when he was nineteen. She is the prototype for the partners he acquires, uses, and murders when done with them. Older, addicts, attractive, smart enough to be of use, vulnerable enough to be used.”
    She paused a moment until Roarke put the next image up. “We believe this woman is his current partner. At this time, she is unidentified. Through a liaison she was introduced to McQueen while he was in prison. We’ve determined they continued to communicate after the physical visits stopped. Once McQueen selected his target and location, she would have done the legwork. At some point she connected with Melinda Jones, posing as a rape victim. She would have been convincing, and would have developed a relationship with the target. We believe it’s this woman who contacted the target and lured her to McQueen. According to pattern, she’ll have her own residence, but visit his often.”
    She stopped again, scanned the room. Cops taking notes, studying her, wanting to get the hell on with it and find the woman they all knew.
    “Look, I understand your priority is to find Melinda, to get her home safe. I agree with that priority. But be aware, he will be compelled to hunt.”
    This single thought lived in her gut like a parasite. There would be another victim, and soon.
    “A day or two,” she continued, pressing the point, “the juice of having Melinda, of screwing with me may be enough to satisfy him. But he’s out, he’s out eating, shopping—and he sees pretty young girls getting a pizza, window-shopping, running around with friends. He sees them, smells them, brushes up against them on the street. He wants—and he’ll take.
    “He held over twenty girls at one time. He won’t have any problem holding one woman and a girl. She won’t see it coming, so we have to. They’ll work together. They’ll use a van—something common, nothing new, nothing flashy. He most usually hunts at night, but not exclusively. Crowded places. Places girls of that age like to haunt. He’ll use a pressure syringe, enough to disorient her. He’ll need an apartment building with its own garage. If it has security, he’ll jam it. He has excellent e-skills. For now Melinda’s useful to him, and doesn’t fit his victimology.”
    “He raped an adult female in New York,” one of the cops commented.
    Eve heard the bitter temper in the voice, as she turned to the detective. Late twenties, she judged, fit, good-looking, brown and brown.
    And at the moment with a belligerent set to his jaw.
    “He did that for my benefit. He doesn’t need to prove anything with Melinda. He has her, so’s already proven it.”
    “You were confrontational with him during the ’link up.”
    Eve angled her head, gave him a deeper study. Shirt-sleeved detective, hip holster, messy hair—hands scooping through it—tense face, hard eyes.
    “Was I?”
    “You told him to get