“Eight months before her disappearance, the same damn profile was posted. Different dating service, but one that also caters to ‘mature’ clients with ‘discriminating tastes.’”
“Word for word?” Drex asked.
“Like a fingerprint.”
“Bad joke,” Gif said.
The man they sought had never left a fingerprint. Or if he had, no one had found it. Freakin’ Ted Bundy.
Mike shook the last of the nuts straight from the jar into his mouth. “Pittsburgh didn’t take him as long,” he said as he noshed. “He solicited ‘companionship’ with ‘a refined lady’ only three months before Loretta Doan’s disappearance, more than six years ago.”
“Are all the services you scanned nationwide?”
“Yes. Relocation isn’t a deterrent to him. I think the asshole likes the changes of scenery.”
“When was this most recent profile put out there?”
“Couple of months back.”
Drex grimaced. “He’s looking for his next lady.”
“That’s what I deduced. So I gave it a test run. I replied, using buzzwords I figured would make me sound like a prime target. I described myself as a childless, fifty-something widow who’s financially secure and independent. I enjoy fine cuisine, good wine, and foreign films. Most men find me attractive.”
“Not me,” Gif said.
“Me neither,” Drex said.
Mike gave them the finger. “He must not have, either. He hasn’t taken the bait.”
Gif thoughtfully scratched his forehead. “Maybe you oversold yourself. You sounded too self-assured, sophisticated, and smart. He looks for women with a dash of naïveté. Vulnerability. You scared him off.”
“Or,” Drex said, “he picked up on the buzzwords, smelled a rat, figured that this dream lady was actually a fed on a fishing expedition.”
“Maybe,” Mike said. “But another, more likely possibility—the one I fear—is that he jumped the gun. Solicited too soon. He hasn’t responded because he hasn’t ditched his current victim yet.”
It was a reasonable theory to which Drex gave credence because it caused his gut to clench. “Meaning that she’s in mortal danger as we speak.”
“Worse than that
.”
“What’s worse than mortal danger?”
Mike hesitated.
“Give,” Drex said.
The heavy man sighed. “I repeat, Drex, I may be wrong.”
“But you don’t think so.”
He raised his catcher’s mitt–sized hands at his sides.
“Why do you think it’s him?” Drex asked.
“Just promise me—”
“No promises. What makes you think this guy is our guy? My guy?”