THE BELL OVER THE DOOR JINGLED, and Bart walked in.

Gil nodded toward him. “News?”

“Yep, it was pretty easy. Fallon is here. I don’t mind following her around.” Bart leered at Gil. “She’s staying at the La Quinta, and she just met with two guys I never saw before.”

“What is she doing here, anyway?” He’d not told Bart the whole story; he’d only said there was money in keeping an eye on Fallon and a couple other people. Bart was, after all, his legs, the one who could sneak about without being obvious.

“She’s all worked up about a cold rape case, like the guy said. I bought some coffee and listened for a little bit while she talked with the two guys. Apparently they’re private investigators here to work on the case. I left when they started eating lunch. Got the license plates for both cars, like you asked.” Bart handed him a sticky note.

“A cold rape case?” Gil took the paper. “Fallon is always on about crime in her blog. Why this cold rape case?” Gil wanted to know if the reason that the case was being investigated now was because of a new lead. He didn’t think that was possible —in fact, he’d bet good money this was just a shot in the dark —but he’d like to know what the people were saying.

“I don’t know. Something about the statute of limitations. You know that chick —it’s always about crime and victims.” Bart made an L with his thumb and forefinger and held his hand up.

Gil agreed. Faye Fallon was a loser in one respect, but not in another. He bet every red-blooded American male in the AV knew Faye Fallon. Gil loved to fantasize about him and Fallon, what they could do together if he still had two good legs. But the money phrase was “statute of limitations.” That was why the case was being reinvestigated. There were no new leads.

“Bart?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“I’m going to go home for a bit. Can you handle things here?”

“Sure. Anything wrong?”

“Nah, just need some downtime. Be back in a couple hours.”

Gil rolled out of the store and into his van. The fear was gone, replaced by calculation. He needed to know everything there was to know about these “cold case warriors.” Jerry had e-mailed him quite a bit of information. He doubted they’d ever get remotely close to him, but if they did, he’d show them what he was made of. Along with hacking, Gil was proficient with weapons and explosive devices. He could also make their electronic world a nightmare if he chose to. And if worse came to worse, with his knowledge of electronics, it would be a piece of cake to set up some kind of device on a timer or a remote and blow those two investigators to bits. Whatever he did, he’d plan it carefully.

Once home and safely locked inside his man cave, he powered up his personal computer, set up with an Internet connection that was more secure than the Pentagon’s.

Luke Murphy was easy to find, YouTube videos and all. Gil sneered. For such a proficient PI, he wasn’t that computer savvy. He had some safety protocols on his home computer, but in half an hour Gil was through them, and he knew everything there was to know about the private investigator. Still lived with his mommy and daddy. Hmm, he had a pretty little daughter.

Gil checked out the kid’s electronic trail and then filed away what he knew about her, thinking it might be useful at a later date.

The other guy, Robert Woods, was more problematic. He didn’t have an electronic trail. There were a couple news articles about him. Gil pulled them up and printed them out. The guy was old, probably didn’t know anything about computers. Gil’s dad had resisted computers to his dying day.

His next foray into cyberspace was to find the victim. He never knew the full name of his victim ten years ago, and the blog only used a first name and gave no address. Gil knew it wouldn’t be a problem to ferret that information out for himself. He could access so many databases that he had no business accessing.

When he found the girl, he sat back and laughed. She was right in his backyard, living in Lancaster, working for an ambulance company. And she had family living even closer, here in Tehachapi. If he could still stand, he would have been dancing. He doubted that she would be able to identify him now, but seeing her name and remembering the night she got away made him angry. He picked up the grip strengthener he kept on his desk and began to squeeze, five times with the left hand, and then transfer to the right.

The anger took him back in time to when he had two legs and the perfect MO. Picking up stupid girls, doing what he wanted with them because he was stronger and smarter, was a blast, proving each and every time he was at the top of the food chain. He’d successfully dumped three empty-headed girls out in the desert before this one, and it irritated him to no end that she got away. That night, when he saw her running, and then the other headlights, he panicked. The first and last time he’d ever given in to that emotion.

He’d fled, knowing that he was headed out of the country the next day. It was an irony. He’d been trying to get out of the trip to Iraq, was having too much fun hunting girls, had even considered not showing up and letting the plane leave without him, no matter the consequences. As it was, he was the first guy to arrive at the staging area, congratulating himself because being in Iraq was the perfect alibi.

He remembered thinking he’d finish the job with the girl when he returned home, but the accident changed everything, changed him forever. Until this stupid pair of cold case warriors reminded him of his one great failure, Gil had actually begun to think of life after the accident as different, but better. He’d proven he was still as dangerous and capable as ever, maybe more so because of his talent with computers.

This could not stand. He had to deal with this girl, put an end to any investigation as soon as possible. He knew that he could; he had the skills. But he needed to figure out the best way, the most devastating way. And he would. Maybe he’d even take care of Faye Fallon as well.