Free Pitch Black by Leslie A. Kelly Page B

quickly bringing up her own Web site. “I did a feature post on that issue six weeks ago, with tips on how to avoid being victimized. Starting with never going alone to see someone you’ve only met online. Whether it’s for a sale, a job interview, a dating service . . . ”
    Dating service. Her mother’s latest brilliant idea. God, if she went through with it, Sam was going to tie up the fifty-going-on-fifteen year-old woman and lock her in the basement. The idea had upset her so much, Sam had done a rant about the dangers two weeks ago. Uncle Nate had even tried talking to Mom—heaven knew as a judge he saw some awful stuff on a daily basis. But he’d had no more luck than Sam. Her mother simply had no yellow warning light in her brain; she was all green, all the time.
    Kind of like Tricia.
    “Job interview?” Agent Lambert said, exchanging a meaningful look with his partner.
    Sam nodded. “Sure. There was a case about a month and a half ago of a woman killed when she responded to an online help-wanted listing.”
    As if thinking in tandem, knowing they had gotten as much as they could out of her, the two agents rose. “We know,” Lambert said.
    She sensed they knew a lot. A whole lot. But she wasn’t exactly in a position to ask them to share. To be honest, she didn’t want them to. Realizing she’d had a brush with one murder victim, however slightly, was going to keep her up tonight. She didn’t want to picture all the other ugly things these agents had to deal with.
    “Here’s my card,” Agent Lambert said. Before he passed it to her, he grabbed an expensive-looking pen from his inside jacket pocket and scratched through the phone number, scrawling another. “This is my cell number. If you think of anything else regarding your interactions with Ryan Smith, please let us know.”
    Agent Stokes blew out a huffy breath and tugged her own business card out of her pocket. “Here. The office number. Call either of us if you come up with anything else.”
    Realizing Lambert had given her his personal number, Sam swallowed quickly. What was she supposed to make of that?
    “I was recently reassigned and haven’t had time to get new business cards printed up,” he said, as if reading her thoughts and sending a gentle message of clarification.
    His partner was less gentle. “Yeah, and he hasn’t even had time to memorize his new work number yet.”
    Okay, clarified. Sam mentally kicked herself for the moment of wondering. Why should it matter, anyway? Even if the good-looking agent had wanted her to get in touch with him for private reasons, Sam wouldn’t necessarily do it.
    Not interested. Nice touch or not .
    Especially not since he’d just heard her best friend talking about her drying-up girl parts.
    Agent Stokes tugged on her coat, nodded at Sam, and said, “Thanks for the coffee,” before heading out the front door.
    Lambert began to follow, then paused to extend his hand. As Sam took it, she noted the sympathy still evident in his eyes. “I know you’re blaming yourself, and it won’t do any good to tell you not to. Logically, you’re smart enough to know there’s nothing you could have done. Emotionally, though, you’re not ready to believe it.”
    Sam nodded once, wondering if she was usually so easy to read or if it was just this particular FBI agent’s forte.
    “Remember, the man who did this is good at what he does, and his victims usually want to believe the line he’s selling them. I think you could have stood in the driveway and tried to physically block the other boy’s car, and he would have driven around you, his buddy Ryan Smith riding shotgun the way he had throughout their lives.”
    Then, with a final encouraging nod, he walked out the door, letting Sam return to her solitary night. And her work.
    The work, however, didn’t come easily. Sitting at her desk, she kept going over everything she’d been told, picturing those poor boys. Wondering yet again why people put