David Morrell - The naked edge

"Stabbings?" Rutherford frowned.

"Homeless people. Drifters. Back-alley drunks. The sort of victims who wouldn't be missed and didn't look like they could defend themselves."

"This guy sounds scarier and scarier," Rutherford said.

"Maybe you should check Iowa City, too." Jamie looked up from her omelet. "And any other place Carl lived."

"And where he was stationed in the military," Rutherford decided.

"What about Ali Karim?" Cavanaugh asked. "Did you find anything?"

"Still seems squeaky clean. But Global Protective Services lost another operator last night."

Jamie set down her fork.

"Frank Tamblyn," Rutherford said.

"I know him." Cavanaugh's voice was stark. "A former Army Ranger. Eight years with GPS. Wife. Two children. Dependable, always ready to be the first operator out the door to check if it's okay for a client to leave a building."

"Apparently, he loved to bowl."

"Why is that important?"

"Last night, he got in his car to drive to a bowling tournament. Afterward, around midnight, he returned to his car. He probably checked it for explosives. Not that it matters. When he got behind the steering wheel, a spring-loaded knife burst from under the dash and hit him in the groin. There weren't any trip wires, so he wouldn't have spotted the device. It was rigged to a vibration switch. Death was so rapid, the blade must have been coated with poison."

Greenwich Village, New York.

Kim Lee stepped out of a martial-arts studio and turned left on Bleecker Street. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes intense after two hours of practicing aikido. She wore jeans and a blue sweater, and carried a gym bag. Around the corner, she came to a cafe that, on this not-yet-chilly October evening, still had tables on the sidewalk, although most of the customers were inside. She sat, ordered tea, removed a magazine from her bag, and settled back to read.

But she seemed more interested in her surroundings than in her magazine. The tea came. She tasted a few sips, looked around again, reached under the table, detached something, concealed it within her magazine, and put the magazine in her bag. She paid for the tea and continued down the street, glancing behind her as she turned a corner. No one followed, and she soon fell into a comfortable pace, her cheeks no longer flushed.

At her brownstone, she took the elevator to the third floor, unlocked her apartment, stepped in, closed the door, locked it, flicked the light switch, and turned toward the living room, only to freeze at the sight of Cavanaugh and Jamie.

"How did you get in here?"

"Picked the lock," Cavanaugh said. "Maybe you're like a physician who forgets to have a yearly medical exam or an accountant who's too busy to balance her own check book."

"What are you talking about?"

"For someone who works at a security company, you don't pay much attention to your personal security," Cavanaugh said. "You should phone GPS and order a technician to install an intruder-detection system."

"Right. I'll do that just as soon as I call the police." Kim picked up the phone.

"Good idea," Jamie said. "I'm sure they'll want to know what's in your gym bag."

"Gym bag?"

"Black-market prescription drugs. Probably OxyContin."

Kim stared.

"At the cafe, they were taped under the table you used," Jamie said.

"This isn't funny." Kim scratched her arms.

"With so many operators getting killed, aren't you worried about walking around in the open?"

"Maybe if I were an operator. But there doesn't seem to be a bounty on computer specialists." Kim set down the phone. She picked up the gym bag and headed toward the bathroom.

"Time for another pill?" Jamie asked.

Kim didn't answer.

"I'm told getting off Oxy is a nightmare," Cavanaugh said. "Or maintaining your addiction when you can't find any more doctors to write prescriptions for you and you need to turn to dealers."

Cavanaugh gestured toward the living room, which was sparsely furnished, only a lamp, a canvas chair, and a small television, not even a rug.

"Been selling things to feed your habit?"

"Since we're being so candid, why don't I stop the charade of going into the bathroom?" The pupils of Kim's eyes were pinpoints.

She opened the gym bag and took out a plastic bag that contained a fist-sized quantity of white pills. With a look of defiance, she put two in her mouth and chewed.

Jamie frowned. "Why do you-"

"The pills have a time-release coating so the body absorbs the painkiller over twelve hours," Cavanaugh explained. "If you just swallow them, you can't get a rush. You have to pulverize them and snort them."

"Or chew them," Kim said. "What the hell do you want?"

"GPS's assignment records," Cavanaugh said.

Kim looked baffled.

"You still haven't sold the computer in your bedroom," Cavanaugh told her, "so why don't you crank it up and get me some information I need?"

"That's what this is all about? For God's sake, why didn't you just come to the office to do this?"

"The last time I went to the office, I almost didn't leave it alive."

"I could have given you the information over the phone."

"Sure. But this way, I know the information hasn't been edited."

"You still believe someone at GPS can't be trusted? Me?"

"Distrust a drug addict? Perish the thought," Jamie said.

"You know, lady," Kim said, "I don't need to take crap from the boss's wife." She turned toward Cavanaugh. "You want to fire me? Do it."

"Just get into the GPS assignment records," Cavanaugh told her.

Kim's cheeks looked flushed again. She went to the bedroom and turned on its light, revealing that there was only a mattress on the floor but that a lavish computer set-up occupied a desk in a corner. Cavanaugh went over to the window and closed the draperies against the thickening darkness.

When Kim touched a button on the keyboard, the monitor came out of sleep mode. Jamie stood behind her while Kim sank into a chair, wincing slightly.

"If you're in that much pain, maybe you need to ease off on your martial arts," Jamie suggested.

"Can't give them up."

"Just like Oxy," Jamie said.

"You don't know. I tried detoxing. Last spring." Kim glanced toward Cavanaugh. "Supposedly, I was in the Caribbean on vacation. But I was right here. I vomited for a week. My bones ached. My heart raced. Hot and cold sweats. Wobbly legs. Twitching. And that was the fun part."

"You tried it on your own?"

"Had to. Would anybody at GPS have relied on me if word got out I'd checked myself into a detox clinic?"

"Go ahead and check yourself into one now," Cavanaugh said. "Take advantage of our great medical plan."

Kim avoided the subject, turning toward Jamie. "You know anything about computers?"

"A little," Jamie lied. "I know the difference between a Big Mac and a Mac Apple."

"Always thinking about food," Cavanaugh said.

"You need to step away while I type in the security codes," Kim told her.

"Don't think so. I co-own the company. I get to see everything."

Kim looked questioningly at Cavanaugh.

"I just made her vice-CEO," Cavanaugh explained.

"Let's see those security codes," Jamie told her.

Kim's fingers flew across the keyboard, an elegant blur that made Jamie nod in wonder as she watched information flash across the monitor.

"This is brilliant." Jamie leaned forward, seeing security code after security code. "I never could have hacked this."

"I hope to God not." Kim's fingers kept working the keyboard.

"As you looked for more OxyContin," Cavanaugh said, "I don't suppose people ever offered you unlimited quantities in exchange for showing them the codes."

"No."

"Cross your heart?"

"I guarantee it."