there it was. Except for the physical description of himself, it was word for word, comma for comma, identical to this most recent one. Likes, dislikes, five-year goals, philosophy of life and love. All that bullcrap. But the kicker? It was posted six months before Pixie went missing.”
Patricia Montgomery, known as Pixie to her friends, had vanished from her Tulsa mansion, never to be seen again.
“Coincidence, Mike,” Drex said. “Acquaintances of Pixie’s who were interviewed swore that she never would have used a dating service to meet men.”
“The acquaintances of all the missing ladies have sworn that. They’ve also sworn their friend was too savvy to be taken in by a con man. But Pixie disappeared within days of selling her stocks and emptying her bank accounts of her oil fortune.”
Gif said, “The only thing missing from her home was her PC. Her seducer left behind tens of thousands of dollars in jewelry and furs but took an outdated computer.”
“So there wouldn’t be evidence of an online flirtation,” Mike said. The leather seat beneath him groaned as he leaned forward to take the near-empty jar of nuts from Gif. “You’re frowning,” he said to Drex.
“I want to be excited, but this is awfully thin.”
“You’re right. Thin as onionskin. So I went back to his victim after Pixie. At least the one we suspect to have been his victim.”
“Marian Harris. Key West.”
“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?”
“Drex, you can’t go—”
Gif said, “Rudkowski will—”
“Tell me, goddamn it!” Drex said, shouting above their warnings.
After another pause, Mike mumbled, “He’s married.”
Drex hadn’t seen that coming. “Married?”
“Married. Do you take? With this ring. I now pronounce you.”
Gif confirmed it with a solemn nod.
Drex divided a perplexed look between them, then shook his head and huffed a laugh of bitter disappointment. “Well, that shoots everything to hell, and you’ve wasted my morning. If we hurry down, the restaurant will still be serving breakfast.” He pushed his fingers through his hair.
“Shit! Here I was getting all excited, when what it looks like is that our lonely heart has struck out again and is still seeking his soul mate. But he’s not our man. Because a wife doesn’t jibe.”
“It did once,” Gif reminded him.
“Once. Not since. Matrimony, do you take, with this ring, hasn’t fit his profile or MO in years. Not in any way, shape, or form.”
“Actually,