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covered.”
    Puffing his cheeks, he looked away.
    “He hates when I finish his sentences for him,” Rachel said as she moved back to the computer. “They all do. Which is why I do it. Okay, keep your eyes on screen two.”
    The TV didn’t show the man being tortured on the table, or even the doctor with the bucktoothed surgical mask. Instead, Rachel had blown up an image of the back of the operating room. A few strokes to the keyboard and the still shot moved. He watched, then smiled when a clap of thunder, chased by lightening illuminated a small window.
    “Did you see that?” Eden asked. “Those were trees, right?”
    “Sure did look like it. Rachel, can you replay that?”
    She did, this time in slow motion. Sure enough, the split second of lightening revealed trees outside the operating room window.
    “We can eliminate some sorta basement torture chamber,” Rachel said. “And I highly doubt this is someplace in the city.”
    “He’d want privacy,” Hudson confirmed. “Neighbors nearby wouldn’t do. Not for this guy. So we can likely eliminate the suburbs, too.”
    “So he’s out in the country?” Eden suggested.
    He shrugged. “Hard to tell. Either way, he’d have to be within driving distance to your townhouse.” When he chanced a glance at her, he noticed the worry in her eyes again and cleared his throat. “I mean—”
    “I know what you meant. He’s obviously been at my place, he knows where I live.”
    “He’s also been watching you enough to know someone else is, too,” Rachel added, her tone holding a hint of apology. “In a way, that might not be such a bad thing. Maybe this guy isn’t a threat to you, but just looking at you as his media outlet. Why else would he warn you about a potential stalker?”
    Hudson had given that possibility a quick thought, too. He’d just as quickly dismissed it, though. In his experience, there was no such thing as a killer with a heart of gold.  
    “Is there anything else?” he asked Rachel.
    “I was able to enlarge some of the equipment’s make, model and even a few serial numbers. After you leave, and after I look for our frat boy, I’ll see what I can find. I’m not hopeful, though. This guy probably bought the equipment secondhand. Paid in cash.”
    “What about this?” Eden asked, and pointed to the third screen where vials of medicine sat on a small table. “Were you able to get a name off the drugs he used? If they’re pharmaceutical—”
    “I’ve already tried enlarging the vials, but the angle of the image gave me nothing. Hopefully we’ll have a better view next time.”
    “Next time,” Eden echoed, then drew in a deep breath and looked away from the TV screens. Fear, despondence and worry hollowed her too thin face. For a strong woman, she appeared breakable. He didn’t like her sudden vulnerability, or the urge to wrap his arms around her and give her comfort. He’d already screwed up once today. Revealing that he’d needed “car therapy” to overcome their break-up had been a mistake. Offering physical comfort would be catastrophic. In a matter of twelve hours, old wounds had been reopened and old feelings had emerged. Or maybe they’d never gone away in the first place. Whatever the case, he had to keep his focus sharp.  
    Another DVD would be coming their way.      
    *
    Using the side rail remote, Dorothy Long raised the bed for a better view of the old, thirty-six inch Sony TV. The channel guide promised a marathon of Mama’s Family reruns on TV Land today and she’d intended to watch every episode. She loved the show, and how Vicky Lawrence played the character of Thelma “Mama” Crowley Harper. All that sass and the way she’d run the family reminded Dorothy of herself. Not that she had much of a family anymore, but she still had Pudge.
    Where the hell was that child anyway?
    Lowering the volume, she shifted her head toward Pudge’s room. Half past ten, she needed her pills, her colostomy bag changed