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pages. Each line, each word, each image, cast her into the past.
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Looking back, it would seem astonishing that he could have escaped de-26
tection. He drove his own car, often used his own name, moved easily in 27
the daylight. Later, some would speculate that he’d actually wished to be 28
caught. And yet, for at least a decade, Gage killed with impunity. Even 29
witnesses he’d spoken to were hard-pressed to describe him. All agreed that 30
he was tall, handsome, but no one could say much more. Good-looking 31
yet eminently forgettable, the perfect disguise for a killer. He didn’t need to 32
wear a mask. His own face served that function. He glided into his victims’
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worlds, taking them with him when he left. Even when the bodies were 34
found, he left no trace of himself. No hair. No fibers. No fingerprints.
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They called him the Vanishing Man.
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It all washed over her, again, the horror of what he’d done.
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And it wasn’t just the victims but those they’d left behind. Now, 2
with a child of her own, she found the pain past imagining.
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She thought of Dahlia Schuyler’s family, the families of all the 4
others, dozens, hundreds, of broken lives, never to be the same.
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She thought of Dahlia’s younger brother, who blamed himself for 6
her death, believing that if he hadn’t been late to meet her, 7
Dahlia could have been saved. And all the other lives snuffed 8
out, the endless list of names. Fanny Light. Clara Flanders. Dana 9
Koppleman. Dozens of young, beautiful women, with long, straight 10
blonde hair.
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It happened slowly, not all at once, but something inside her 12
was changing. Beneath the turmoil of her racing thoughts, some-13
thing was growing clear. A belief that she could do what it took 14
to protect the life she’d built.
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Slowly, she closed the book and stared at the face on the cover.
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She forced herself to study it, refused to look away. Bulging eyes, 17
distended veins, teeth bared in rage. She wasn’t frightened any-18
more, just filled with a sense of purpose. Gazing at the book, she 19
whispered, “This time, you’re not going to win.”
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Monday, April 10
T
1
h e Prada suit fit perfectly.
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As one of Mr. Lin’s best clients, Melanie had convinced him to 3
complete the alterations on Saturday. Now, heading down the 4
hall toward her office, she sensed the admiring glances. The long 5
black skirt hugged her hips, flaring out slightly at the bottom.
6
The black jacket clung to her body, nipping in at the waist. She 7
felt both armored and seductive, a heady combination. A woman 8
who could afford this suit wasn’t someone you’d want to mess 9
with. She smiled to herself as she walked down the hall.
10
Look, just don’t touch.
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“Wow. You look great!”
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“Thanks, Tina.” Melanie smiled at her secretary, turning as she 13
reached her office door. “Listen, I’ve got to take care of some-14
thing. Will you hold my calls for a while?”
15
Closing the door behind her, the smile faded from Melanie’s 16
face. There was a reason she’d worn this suit today. She wanted 17
to feel in control. Outside, twenty-two floors below, traffic streamed 18
down Park Avenue. She watched the scene for a bit, then turned 19
to the phone. It was just after eight-thirty, but Frank got to work 20
early. One of the things they’d had in common. One of the few in 21
the end.
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“Frank Collier, please. This is Melanie White.”
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“Yes, Ms. White. I’ll get him.” The secretary’s voice was unfa-24
miliar, but she obviously knew who Melanie was. Waiting for 25
Frank to come on the line, Melanie wondered what she’d been 26 S
told. Can you