"Nope. She's got a husband and I know he gets off work in an hour, so Butterbean better get done with his business."

"Well, stick around," Rainey said, "You might see some action, if he waits too long."

Mackie chuckled and it rumbled through the receiver, "I hope the husband comes home and shoots his fat ass. I'm tired of tracking him down every time he skips. How's it going over there?"

"Got another note today... with a picture of me shaking hands with Katie," she finished quickly, hoping he would not over react.

Mackie remained surprisingly calm, for the moment, and then asked, "What did the note say?"

"Why do you tempt fate?" Rainey answered.

Mackie was quiet. She could hear him breathing. Rainey knew he was thinking it through before making a decision. Mackie liked to mull things over. She had learned to be patient when he was quiet like this.

Finally, he broke his silence, "Look, after I get old Charlie locked up, which should be any minute now, I'm going to come over there so we can talk. You up for company?"

Rainey was glad he suggested it. She did not want to ask him to come and sit with her, but she really wanted to go over the case with him, get his feel for this guy. Mackie could have been a criminal analyst with no problem. He had a keen knack for knowing how their twisted minds operated.

"I'm parked on the south side of the block. Park on the other side and walk up," Rainey told him.

"Okay, I gotta go now. It looks like Butterbean's finished gettin' his grove on. He's coming out the door now. See you soon."

After her talk with Mackie, Rainey pulled up the pictures she had taken yesterday. She clicked through the files until she found the three hundred and sixty degree shots she took, in front of the Wilson home. This was when the stalker had taken her picture, so there was a good chance she got a shot of him or his vehicle. She flipped the visor down and looked at the picture again. From the angle of the shot, the person who took it had to have been standing somewhere across the street, near where Rainey was currently parked.

She looked out the window at the row of hedges that nearly came to the edge of the sidewalk. The guy could have been lurking on the other side and she would never have seen him. Damn these people and their old boxwoods. Rainey found the picture of the area where she suspected the stalker had been standing. She looked carefully at the hedge, zooming in on a dark spot behind the thinning boxwood. There, just off the sidewalk and hidden by foliage, the shape of someone blocked the sunlight from coming through the hedge. That son of a bitch had been right there, watching, listening to them talking.

She checked the images before and after she met Katie, but there was no way to tell if any of the people belonged with the shadow behind the hedge. She paid very close attention to the males who fit the description that she developed while waiting at the Center. She made notes on her legal pad and labeled a folder on the laptop screen, "possible suspects," dragging the pictures into it. He had been there and she missed him. She probably walked right past the guy. She would have to show the folder containing the pictures of "possible suspects" to JW. Maybe he would recognize someone.

"Damn it! I forgot to ask about the bathing suit picture." Rainey said, slamming her fist down on the legal pad resting on her knee.

Rainey checked the time. It was now after ten and most of the lights were off in the Wilson home. She would have to ask JW where the photo was taken, tomorrow. She hoped he was resting comfortably, in bed, holding his beautiful wife. They did make a handsome couple. JW had George Clooney good looks that seemed to age so favorably. She was stunning all by herself, but Rainey was sure they turned every head in the room, when JW walked in with Katie draped on his arm, his dark good looks complementing her fair-haired beauty.

She glanced at the picture, on the visor, and was catapulted away from her imagery of Katie and JW, making their grand entrance.

"Start with the victim you idiot," she said aloud. All those years of training and she had not yet utilized a major tool of the investigator. When law enforcement is faced with a seemingly motiveless crime, a hard look is taken at the victim. Sometimes the victim's particulars could tell all that was needed to know, to establish the type of person, who would commit a crime against this individual victim. She needed to ask herself who the victims were and what attracted the stalker to them? Rainey was sure, at this point, that both of the Wilson's were being stalked and it was not clear who the real target was. She had to look closely at both JW and Katie and the nature of their relationship.

JW had turned out better than Rainey had imagined he would. He was a wild child, rebellious, always taking risks. He and Rainey were never romantically involved or even best friends. They were part of a neighborhood group that kind of watched each other's backs. She was along on many of his misadventures, from the time they were in elementary school until graduation. None of their misdeeds was serious, more mischievousness than malice was involved, but JW had gotten into some serious trouble in high school.

Both Rainey and JW had been highly skilled jocks. He played football, basketball and baseball, while she played volleyball, basketball, and fast pitch softball. They of course both played golf, having grown up in the clubhouse, during the summers. JW's hopes, for a college baseball career, were crushed when he broke his leg in two places, during a snow skiing accident, in January of their senior year. Later that spring, the "misunderstanding" happened.

Because of his legacy status, his father and his father before him having been members, JW attended fraternity parties, long before he was ever a student at the university. After a hard weekend of drinking with his future frat brothers, JW did not come back to school for several days. Rumors swirled around his involvement in a rape, at a frat party. Rainey had not believed JW would rape anyone. Why would he? He had girls falling all over him since grade school. Usually, all he had to do was ask.

The details of the event began to emerge, as the days went by, with no word from JW. A college freshman had allegedly been beaten and raped, by someone fitting JW's description. In fact, everyone was pretty sure it was JW. When Rainey finally saw him days later, she confronted him with what she had heard. That is when he explained it had all been just a "misunderstanding."

"I was drunk," he had said. "She kept coming on to me and insisted that we go upstairs and make out. We had sex and then she said she was going to tell everyone I raped her."

JW was so calm, when he said it, that Rainey had found it hard not to believe him.

He continued, "The doc's had me on steroids for my leg. I've had trouble lately with my temper and I got really angry at this chick. I knew she was just after money. I guess I just lost it and hit her. I didn't beat her up, like everyone is saying."

Rainey had been shocked. She knew JW had a temper, but he had always been such a gentleman around her. She believed, in her heart, it was a onetime thing. Anyway, the whole mess just went away. Money talks and it can also shut people up. Soon everyone found something else to gossip about and the incident turned into a forgotten "misunderstanding." Rainey had not thought about it in years. She was sure it was something JW wished he could erase from everyone's memory.

When Rainey left for Virginia, she and JW lost touch. She kept up with him through her mother, during the infrequent times she talked to her each year, mostly around holidays and birthdays. She knew about him becoming a partner in his father's law firm and his political career. She had even been invited to his wedding, but work prevented her from attending. That is pretty much what she knew about JW, except what she read in the newspapers about his politics.

Rainey Googled JW and when the results came up, three images appeared, at the top of the page. One was the standard Representative shot, in front of a blue backdrop, flanked by the national and state flags, with the NC State seal in the background. The next shot showed the handsome politician cutting a ribbon on some property. The last image was of JW and Katie together. Rainey clicked on the image. A page came up showing JW in a tuxedo with his exquisite bride by his side. She wore a simple black evening gown and pearls, but there was nothing simple about the way she looked. Rainey had been right. They were stunning.

The hyperlinked caption under the picture read, "Representative JW Wilson and wife, Katherine Meyers Wilson (shown here at a Republican fund raiser last year) involved in auto crash. Wife in critical condition. Details on page 2."

Rainey clicked the link for more details. An article came up on the screen, dated January fourth, and was accompanied by a picture of a crumpled sedan, the passenger side embedded in a tree. Rainey read the article. It explained how JW and Katie had been coming home from a fundraiser, when a teenager on a bike had come out of nowhere, crossing directly into the car's path. A popular off road bike trail was located nearby. In an attempt to miss the biker, JW had crashed into a tree. Katie, who was sleeping in the passenger seat, was ejected from the car when, unexplainably, the door had flown open and her seatbelt had come undone. JW had survived with minor injuries from the airbags, but Katie had not fared so well. Along with the bruises and lacerations, she suffered from internal bleeding. She had been six months pregnant and subsequently lost the baby. She remained hospitalized in stable, but critical condition. The teenager had not been found and there were no witnesses. This was the accident JW referred to in Rainey's office.

Rainey looked at the picture in the visor again. Wow, she thought, you would never know Katie had gone through such an ordeal, just six months ago. Rainey could understand feelings of loss and the pain of recovery. Katie bore no outward signs of trauma, at least none that Rainey had seen, even in the bathing suit picture. Looking again at the crumpled car, Rainey thought, it was a miracle that anyone survived. It was hard to say, but Katie may have been lucky her seatbelt failed and she was thrown away, from the car.

Rainey looked away from the picture, because it made her feel queasy thinking of the anguish the Wilson's had gone through, especially Katie. It was obvious, from watching her interact with her students, that Katie loved children. How cruel it must have been, to lose a baby JW said they had wanted so much. She looked out through rain-streaked windows, at the traffic slowly passing. The glistening, wet roads were black as night. The drizzle kept the foot traffic to a bare minimum. Still Rainey took a hard look at everyone who even came close to matching the stalker's physical description.

The rest of the results on the search page were mostly about JW's politics. He was a rising young star in the Republican Party, a family values candidate, who did not mind giving people a hand up, but he was staunchly against Obama's handouts. A short biography on his State webpage contained no new information for Rainey. She switched her focus to Katie.

She typed in the name from the newspaper article, Katherine Meyers Wilson, and hit search. The same pictures from JW's search popped up on the page. There was a link to her elementary school, a link to an article about the Literacy Center and one concerning the accident. All the other links were redundant or were related to JW. The elementary school link turned out to be a bust, just a picture, so she tried the Literacy Center article. This article contained some personal details about Katie. It turns out that Katie was the former Katherine Anne Meyers, a granddaughter of one of Durham's tobacco mogul families. She had earned both Bachelor's and Master's degrees in Early Childhood Education. The focus of the article was on the opening of the Center and the fundraising efforts of Mrs. Wilson and her husband. Katie had been instrumental in opening this and two other Literacy Centers, in the triangle area.

Rainey now had enough information to start a victim's analysis, which she would discuss later with Mackie. Ernie had packed another cooler, but Rainey wanted something hot, and she had to go to the bathroom. She decided to leave her post, slide over to the Franklin Street, for a hot sandwich and coffee. She would also use the time to cruise the neighborhood a few times, just to take a look. She hoped she would get back before Mackie came looking for her. She thought about calling him, but changed her mind. Rainey did not want Mackie to think she was worried about being alone, after last night. She would not be gone that long, and he would know she was probably just doing surveillance around the area.

Her cell rang on her way back to the car, after stopping at the closest fast food restaurant. She checked the caller I.D. and seeing Mackie's name flashing in the window of the phone, she opened it.

"Hey Mackie, I'm on my way back from a potty break. Can I get you something?" She said this while trying to open the car door and balance the coffee, without dropping the hamburger.

"No, I just stopped for coffee. Finished locking Mr. Beasley up about ten minutes ago." Mackie answered. "Wanted to let you know I'm on my way."

"What took you so long? I thought you had an eye on him two hours ago," Rainey asked.

Mackie laughed, "That damn fool tried to run on me. We had to stop by the hospital before we went to the jail."

"You didn't run over another one with your truck, did you?" Rainey teased Mackie.

"No, this time I let Junior tackle him," Mackie said, followed by a loud chest rumbling laugh.

Junior was Mackie's twenty-two year old nephew. He was as tall as Mackie and built like the defensive end Mackie had been, back in the day. And Junior was bad fast. He worked for his uncle, because he just would not buckle down on the books in high school and missed his chance to play college ball. Mackie rescued him from the streets when he was nineteen and he had been working his way back to football ever since. Junior just was not the college type, so he was training for the arena football league tryouts, next January.

"He sure does come in handy, doesn't he," Rainey said, laughing along with Mackie.

"Yes, that he does," Mackie, said through more rumbles of amusement. "See you in a few."

"Great, I'll be back in my parking place in five minutes. I've got lots to talk over with you," she said, finally getting situated in the car. "See ya'."

Mackie arrived before Rainey. She passed his parked Escalade. The rain had stopped and the streets were beginning to dry. When she turned the corner, she saw the giant man standing in the street, where she had recently been staked out. In his hand, he was carefully holding, by one corner, what looked like a manila envelope. It appeared to be like the one JW handed her earlier. Mackie turned when he saw Rainey's car coming. He stepped back up on the sidewalk, so she could pull in and park.

Rainey popped the lock on the passenger door and the tall man twined his broad body down into the seat. Good thing Rainey kept the seat pushed back, as far as it would go. He shut the door and held out the envelope.

"I found this in the street, look who it is addressed to," his tone was ominous.

Rainey looked at the envelope. She tried to be careful of leaving her prints or smudging possible prints from the suspect. It was unsealed and appeared to have one sheet of folded printer paper inside. She turned it over. On the front, where the address would be, there was only one word typed out in capital block letters, Caroline. Rainey's heart began to pick up the pace. She carefully removed the piece of paper from inside the envelope. She expected to see a picture fall out, but none did. The plain white sheet of paper appeared to be blank.

Rainey checked the inside of the envelope again. There was nothing left inside. Mackie peered over her shoulder at the blank sheet of paper.

"That's it just a blank sheet of paper?" Mackie commented.

Rainey took the flashlight from its holder on her waist. She clicked it on and examined the paper closely. She had not seen it at first, but there, in the center of the page, was a single letter, Y.

Rainey froze. She stared at the letter in disbelief. Then, as a reflex, her eyes darted around her in every direction. Mackie saw her reaction and immediately placed his hand on his hip, where his own Glock rested in its holster.

"What is it?" he asked, his eyes darting from the paper to his surroundings.

Rainey looked back down at the paper then turned to Mackie. In words that revealed her deepest fears, she simply said, "He found me."

CHAPTER NINE.

A little over a year ago, Rainey's unit was contacted by a detective from the Raleigh area. He was working cases that involved the rape and murder of three women near the Capital, in downtown Raleigh. Due to the nature of the killings, the detective was positive he had a serial murderer on his hands.

The murders had been linked by the unusual signature of the killer. Each of the women had been a high priced escort, beautiful women who kept company with the rich and powerful men of the capital city. Each of the bodies had been found in Lake Johnston wrapped in contractor trash bags closed with duct tape. The most striking element of the murders was what assured the detective that the same suspect had committed all of the killings. The women had Y-incisions, like the medical examiner used during autopsies, their chests and abdomens sliced open.

Three more escorts had been reported missing during the same time as the other murders. The detective was sure the bodies of these women would soon surface at the Lake. He called the BAU in hopes that they would assist his department in searching for this killer. Rainey and her colleagues were dispatched to help analyze the crimes and develop an investigative plan to catch the murderer that the press had now dubbed, "The Y-Man Killer."

The BAU members evaluated the victims, examined the dumpsites, pored over the initial crime reports, and closely analyzed the Medical Examiner's report, which included viewing the bodies. The information was compiled and analyzed. Their conclusions helped direct the course of action taken by the investigators. What they found reiterated that the Triangle had a very sick boy on their hands.

The victims were high-class call girls, the kind of date a rich, lonely man could buy, in any upscale restaurant or hotel bar. Although the women were all beautiful and Caucasian, they were different physical types, one blond and petite, the other two tall and brunette. After talking with friends and associates of the victims, the investigators learned each of the women worked solo and usually took their dates to expensive, nearby hotel rooms. The victims were last seen in different locations. One disappeared from the Mayor's Club in Chapel Hill, one from the Hampstead Spa in Cary, and the third was last seen at the Fourth Estate Restaurant and Tavern, in Raleigh. No one remembered seeing the victims leave with anyone. The location of the killings was still a mystery.

The autopsy reports revealed the cause of death as manual strangulation. The bruising on the victims' necks showed large hands had squeezed the life out of them. The victims' stomach contents suggested each had last eaten strawberries, chocolate and champagne. This indicated the women had gone willingly with the assailant and shared a last meal, shortly before their deaths.

At some point, a stun gun was used, leaving burn marks on the victims' necks. There were no signs of defensive wounds or skin beneath the nails, indications that the women were rendered unconscious. Toxicology reports stated the women were drugged with a sedative given by intramuscular injection commonly used by dentist, before the practice of oral sedatives took its place. These drugs could also be found in a hospital or veterinarian office. The dosage indicated he used just enough to render the victims unconscious while he gained complete control over them and then re-dosed them later. There were ligature marks on the wrists and ankles where the victims were tied and marks, in and around the mouth, indicating a gag had been used.

The women were beaten; the pre-mortem bruising indicating the killer used his fists, in a fit of rage. The killer probably strangled his victims during the initial rape, but indications were the murderer had sex with the corpses shortly after death. There was no semen recovered from the bodies indicating he used a condom. A few dark head hairs were found, but contained no viable DNA. The Y-incisions were sliced into the victims' skin postmortem. The depth of the incisions ended just below the skin, leaving the organs undamaged, the skin pulled back, as if the killer were peeking inside. It was the killer's signature.

A timeline developed when the approximate time of death had been determined. One of the victims had been killed the previous November, followed by one in December and then another January. The three missing escorts had disappeared in consecutive months starting in February and ending in April. It was assumed the missing women would soon be found to be victims four, five and six. It was May and everyone was waiting to hear of the next missing woman or floating body.

The summation; they were dealing with a sexual murderer, an organized killer who planned and orchestrated his crimes. The man they were looking for was probably of average to above average intelligence. He was probably the first born or only son of an ambivalent mother and would have had a poor relationship with his father. He would have a poor quality of attachment with other family members as well. The discipline he received as a child would have been inconsistent and he was probably abused physically or sexually during his childhood and or adolescence.

The suspect would most likely be above average in looks and was probably over six feet tall and well built. He would be socially competent, able to move among people without suspicion. The organized killer would usually be involved in a relationship and live with that person. This suspect would be from the upper class and have disposable money. He would have a car in good condition and have a skilled job. The killer would also need a place to take his victims in order to insure privacy, while he committed his crimes.

The investigators were told to talk to the escorts and call-girls and give them a physical description of the killer. Female officers were placed undercover in high-end restaurants and hotel bars. Since all the bodies, found so far, had been dumped in Lake Johnston, more than likely tossed off the Advent Ferry Road Bridge dissecting the lake, stakeouts were scheduled in hopes of catching him drop off his next victim. Every single person involved was positive there would be a next victim.

It was at this time, on May tenth, that Rainey's father was killed in a drive by shooting, while apprehending a gang banger, who had skipped out on his twenty-five thousand dollar bail. Billy Bell had stepped in front of Junior, when he saw the gun barrel flash, from the open window of the low rider crawling by. Junior was not hit, but Billy Bell took a bullet, straight in the heart and died instantly. Rainey had just eaten breakfast with him the day before. They were both happy she was working so close to home and spent as much time together as possible.

Rainey took two weeks off after her father's funeral and then returned to the task force working the Y-Man murders. The fact that she was just a little over twenty miles from the bait shop office made taking care of her father's estate business easier, but it did not ease the devastation she felt at the loss of the most important person in her life. Her mother's side of the family was merely a supplier of genetic material, as far as Rainey was concerned. She hated everything they stood for, most of all their pretentiousness. Billy Bell had not only been her father, he was Rainey's best friend. It was the first time she felt truly alone in her whole life. In hindsight, she was too emotionally disconnected to have returned to the field so soon, but she had asked to stay near home to close out her father's business.

On the twenty-eighth of May, Rainey was sitting in a black SUV observing the Advent Ferry Bridge north entrance. The co-occupant of the vehicle was her fellow agent and longtime friend, Danny McNally. They had joined the BAU at about the same time and had a brother-sister relationship that meant they loved each other, but sometimes they fought. They had been parked near the boathouse since midnight and it was now almost four in the morning. Danny had obviously eaten something awful, because his stomach rolled incessantly. Rainey was one of the boys most of the time and suffered through their bathroom humor, but she drew the line at sharing farts. It particularly made her angry when they farted and did not warn anyone.

"Fuck you, Danny," Rainey had shouted, "You could at least warn somebody."

Rainey exited the vehicle, slamming the door behind her and walked past the boathouse, out on the footbridge that crossed the lake, paralleling the bridge. She was angry at the world these days. She stared at the moonlight sparkling across the hundred and fifty acre lake. It was surrounded by evergreen forest, complete with miles of greenway trails. Lake Johnston was beautiful this evening, but Rainey did not see it. Her mind was racing with unfulfilled revenge. Mackie and his posse had run down the gunman, four days after he killed her father, only to discover he was a fourteen-year-old boy, earning his way into a gang. He did not even know at whom he was shooting. Rainey's revenge had no outlet, so it smoldered under her skin.

Rainey knew she had over reacted with Danny. His behavior was atrocious, but did not warrant her stomping off like that. She wondered if she should take some more time off to get her head straight. She could not concentrate or focus on the job, as she should, and she snapped at people, which was totally out of character for her. She couldn't remember the last time she had a good night's sleep. She stayed on the footbridge contemplating her situation for the next twenty minutes.

Rainey decided to head back to the vehicle, thinking she had probably been gone long enough for the air to clear. Maybe they should leave and find Danny a bathroom. She was just coming to the edge of the boathouse, still hidden from the view of the parking lot, when she heard something that made her stop. That was the last conscious thought she had until she awoke sometime later, in the killer's lair.

Rainey knew she had been drugged. Her arms and legs felt heavy and her eyes could not focus on the room around her. She could tell she was in a bedroom. She could tell that she had been raped. She felt the mattress through the plastic under her naked body. She was tied by her wrists and ankles to the bedposts, splayed out and completely vulnerable. A cotton cloth was tied in a knot and stuffed in her mouth, the ends tied behind her head. She could hear music playing in the other room, but the Doppler Effect from the drugs made it impossible to make out what the song was.

She felt the burning ache on the side of her neck where she must have been hit with a stun gun. A shadow moved just out of her view. She could feel his presence, just inches from her. Her heart pounded in her ears, her breathing rapid and shallow. She tried to scream, but only primal, muffled, guttural sounds left her throat, blocked by the gag in her mouth.

"Oh goody, you're awake. We can play now," a voice said, over her right ear.

It was a man's voice, but it sounded like an imitation of a small boy. The man moved into view. He was tall and muscular, completely naked, except for the black leather, sadist mask he wore over his head and face, latex gloves on his hands, and a condom on his penis. He carried a scalpel in his hand as he climbed on the bed and straddled her. He placed the scalpel on the bed, by her head. She was tied so tightly she could not move at all. Rainey was completely defenseless and about to die. No one knew where she was. She was alone with a psycho killer with no hope of rescue. Rainey's only thought was she hoped he killed her fast.

The childlike voice squealed out in joy, "I'm so happy you were able to come over and play today."

Then the torture began. He pulled on her nipples, squeezing and twisting them, pulling on them until Rainey thought he would tear them away.

"I love boobies," he sang, over and over, to the made up tune of a child.

He slid down her body and examined her vagina like a boy examines a bug. He poked and prodded, pulling her labial lips, stretching the skin to its breaking point. He jabbed his fingers into her, ripping her skin. Rainey screamed in agony, but he paid no attention to her muffled protestations.

He cheerfully sang out, in his childlike singsong, "Don't make too much noise, Mommy will catch us playing doctor and she won't like it."

Rainey pulled on the restraints, fighting for her life. She thrashed from side to side, bucking her attacker off balance, while he tried again to straddle her.

His singsong stopped and he whined like a child, "I don't like it when you move."

The first fist slammed into the side of her face snapping her head to one side. A wave of nausea accompanied the searing pain. It was not until the second fist crashed into her temple that she lost consciousness. She awoke to her eyes almost swollen shut, her mouth full of blood, and the man raping her. He had beaten her unmercifully and continued her torture while she was unconscious. When he realized she was awake, he stopped. He lay down on top of her, his face close to hers. She saw tears in his eyes when he looked at her. Suddenly he sat up, his knees on either side of her hips.

His voice trembled, as he said in his little boy cadence, "I'm sorry, but it only works when you play dead."

Rainey saw him pick up the scalpel from the bed. She knew what was about to happen and she steeled herself against the pain. The cold metal cut into her skin above her right breast. Wait, wasn't he supposed to kill her first, strangle her. She bit down hard on the cotton in her mouth and growled with pain, as he continued to slice down to just above her belly button. He plunged the scalpel in again above her left breast, sending a new wave of pain through her body. She arched her back against his weight on top of her. She tried to buck him off, but he drew the second slice to meet the first, joining them into his signature Y.

Rainey thought she would pass out from the pain. She prayed that she would. Just when she thought she could take no more, he stopped. He jumped up from the bed and ran out of the room. A few seconds later she heard a door shut somewhere off in the other part of the living space. Rainey fought to stay conscious, but lost the fight as the edges of the room turned to blackness and slowly closed around her.

She woke to Danny's voice screaming her name, "RAINEY!"

She opened her swollen eyes a crack to see his face, desperate for some response from her. The room grew louder with other voices barking out orders.

Danny saw her eyes open. He yelled, "She's alive, get those paramedics in here."

He removed the gag from Rainey's mouth, very careful not to cause her more pain. Through her badly cut and swollen lips she whispered, "Thank you."

Danny stood up and let the paramedics get to her. He pulled out a knife and cut the restraints from her arms and legs. She could see that he was crying.