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asked, “Are we going to wait until someone verifies the victim’s identity before we get in touch with the family?”
    â€œWe have to wait.” JT nodded.”Unless we find something more concrete. But it won’t take long for the detective to check it out. In the meantime, we can do some work on this end.”
    â€œYou’d be surprised how much dirt I can dig up on a person,” Brittany boasted, her smile stretching from ear to ear, her eyes flicking over to me. It made me wonder if she wasn’t talking about me, instead of our victims.
    Feeling slightly violated—and I wasn’t even sure if I should—I headed out of Brittany’s computer cave to fax the list of potential victims to the Baltimore detective. That menial task done, I headed back toward Brittany’s office. At the sound of her giggle, though, I stopped and peered in.
    JT was standing very close to Brittany, looking over her shoulder. Brittany was looking up, into his eyes; the smile that had been devious was now dazzling.
    It felt like somebody had kicked me in the gut.
    â€œShit,” I muttered under my breath as I backed slowly from the door. There was no way I was walking in on that ... whatever it was.
    Instead, I went back to my desk. My Netbook had been cleared to use on the network, so I flipped it open and Google Mapped Deborah Richardson’s address, using Street View to get a good look at the house. While I knew Google Maps wasn’t always 100 percent correct in identifying the exact address, it was still worth checking. It wasn’t usually off by much. The building looked very ordinary: a typical middle-class vinyl-sided Colonial on a typical street. The backyard was adjacent to a large park. Nothing suspicious there. Next I mapped Hannah Grant’s residence, also—assuming Google was correct—a suburban home. The brick-and-vinyl Colonial was also located very close to a park—this one with a playground, outdoor skating rink, and nature trails.
    Could I have found something?
    When JT finally emerged from Brittany’s office, I waved him over.
    â€œI was wondering what happened to you,” he said, leaning a hip against my cubicle wall. He dropped his notebook on my desk.
    Hoping I was hiding my uneasiness, I motioned toward my computer screen. “I was making myself useful while you were busy... . Er ... I found something.”
    â€œYeah? So did we. You first.” He set a flattened hand on my desktop and leaned over my shoulder, just like he had with Brittany. I decided it was annoying.
    I shifted slightly to the left, away from him, even though there were a few bits of my anatomy that liked being in close proximity to some of his. Those parts weren’t the most intelligent. “If Deborah Richardson is one of our victims, and Google mapped their homes correctly, two out of three victims live in homes with lots that are adjacent to a park,” I told him, pointing at the map displayed on my computer’s eight-inch screen.
    â€œReally?” His brows rose as a look of surprise spread over the face I was trying hard not to admire. Evidently, he hadn’t uncovered the same fact I had. “We found out Deborah Richardson works less than half a block from where our Jane Doe collapsed. She’s a secretary for a church. I’m confident enough that she’s our victim. I’m not waiting for confirmation. Let’s head out.”

There can be no good without evil.
    â€”Russian Proverb
    5
    Have you ever been really bothered by something, and then been disturbed by the fact that it bothered you in the first place? This wasn’t a first for me, but it was the most frustrating time. And annoying. And irritating.
    When I closed my eyes, I saw in my head Brittany’s big, girly grin. It made me grit my teeth. The fact that it bothered me so much made me even madder. Thus, I probably wasn’t the best company during the drive to