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lost ground.”
    “So the guy got away?”
    Drift nodded.
    “What happened to the other guy, the one with the long hair?”
    “We don’t know.”
    “He didn’t come back?”
    “If he did, the neighbor didn’t see him,” Drift said. “What he did see is you lay on the ground for a minute or two, then stagger to your feet, get in a car and drive off.”
    Pantage processed it.
    “So I didn’t kill Jackie,” she said.
    “No. In fact—and this is just between you and me—she was raped,” he said.
    Pantage pictured it.
    Her chest pounded.
    “Here’s the problem,” Drift said. “You saw the guy’s face.”
    “If I did I don’t remember it. I can’t help you.”
    “That’s not what I’m getting at,” Drift said. “What I’m getting at is that the guy is going to be a whole lot better off if there wasn’t a witness around.”
    The words landed with the force of a sledgehammer.
    “Are you saying he’s going to try to kill me?”
    “I’m saying it’s a possibility.”

     
    11
    Day One
    July 18
    Monday Morning
     
    Drift dropped Pantage off at Denver General to get her head and memory checked, in spite of her initial resistance, then headed back to the law firm where Sydney was just finishing going through the victim’s office and emails. As they walked down the stairwell forty-one floors to ground level, he told her about his meeting with Pantage and, particularly, her loss of memory.
    “Here’s the problem,” he said. “If her memory comes back at some point—and I assume it will—she’ll be a material witness. Technically I’m in a conflict position because I’ve had a relationship with her, albeit only for a couple of days. If I follow the rules like I’m supposed to, I should bow out of the case.”
    “Why?”
    “Because if this ever goes to trial, Pantage's credibility will be at issue, just like every other witness in a trial,” Drift said. “The defense will argue that she’s lying to support her lover, who happens to be the lead detective on the case.”
    “ Former lover,” Sydney said.
    “No, lover .”
    She gave him a look.
    “You’re going to make a move on her?”
    “No, she’s going to make one on me.”
    “You should leave her alone Dent. She’s vulnerable. Take the little guy and let him play in someone else’s back yard if he absolutely has to play somewhere.”
    He smiled.
    “ The little guy?”
    “You know what I mean.”
    He did.
    He did indeed.
    “Mr. Roundtree,” he said.
    She winced.
    “That’s more information than I need,” she said. “You probably should bow out of the case. That’s my point.”
    “I can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because someone needs to protect her.”
    “Other people can do that.”
    “Not the way I can.”
    “Look,” she said. “I’m not going to tell anyone about your past with her. If I were you though, I’d think long and hard about where you’re heading.”
    “Long and hard? Are you talking about the little guy again?”
    She punched his arm.
    “I should get double pay for having to be around you all day.”
    “Put in for it,” he said. “You never know.”
     
    Forty-one floors was a long way, even going down. By the time they reached the lobby Drift’s legs were on fire and his chest pounded for air. He wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.
    Then his phone rang and the voice of Leigh Sandt came through.
    “Your victim out there in Denver is number six,” she said. “At least number six. Before her there’s Brooklyn Winnfield, Ashley Gibson, Rikki Amberdeck, Abby Night and Kimberly Johnson, in that order. They were all killed the exact same way, namely repeatedly strangled while they were being raped and then got their left ear cut off.”
    Drift exhaled.
    “What cities?”
    “All over,” she said. “Are you at the office?”
    “I will be in ten minutes.”
    “Check your email when you get there,” she said. “I’m gong to start sending the files over.”
    “Come to