Twisted (Burbank and Parker 1)

“Hey, Skippy.” Elliot swiveled around in his chair, folding his hands behind his head.

Sloane made a face at the reference to her old high school nickname. Always on the run, always attuned to an athlete’s need for protein and electrolytes, she’d been a big fan of peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches. Elliot and his braniac friends had found this hilarious. They’d nicknamed her “Skippy” as a poke at her peanut butter of choice.

“Very funny,” she retorted now. “News flash—maybe if you’d eaten more peanut butter and less Dunkin’ Donuts, you wouldn’t have been such a weenie at our Krav demonstration.”

“Point taken—although, for the record, I’ve switched to Krispy Kremes. They’re high in endorphins. I’m never happier than when I’m eating them.” Elliot took her retaliatory barb right in stride. “Actually, I feel honored that Nancy Drew took off a few minutes to see me.”

“I like seeing you—usually,” Sloane added wryly, her lips twitching at the old familiar banter. “As for Nancy Drew, she had it easy. She handled one case at a time. I’ve been flung into a snake pit.”

“Sounds appealing.”

“It’s exhausting. I wouldn’t mind if I were seeing results. But each day seems to provoke new questions, and yield no answers.” All humor having vanished, Sloane shot Elliot a quizzical look. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Elliot assured her. “Honestly. I’ve gotten used to reporters jabbering outside. As for Cynthia, I realize it looks bleak, but I’m not giving up. I’ve said a few prayers for her. I still believe in those, you know. Weird for a tech guy, huh?”

“Nope. I believe in them, too. And I’m an ex–FBI agent. Prayers are sometimes all we’ve got.” Sloane shut the door behind her with a firm click, and sat down in the chair across from Elliot’s desk.

“Uh-oh.” A wary expression crossed his face. “We’re not talking about prayers anymore. And you’re not just here to say hi. What’s up?”

“What does that mean? I told you the truth—I’ve been thinking about you, and worrying about how you were doing. Plus, I miss hanging out with you and trying to understand ‘geek speak.’”

“I’m sure that’s true. And, for the record, I missed you, too. But those aren’t the only reasons you’re here. You never shut my door so emphatically. Not unless you have something confidential to discuss—which usually involves a topic I’m not going to like.”

Sloane began to laugh. “Nice observation,” she said. “Ever think of writing a software program to analyze body language?”

“Nope.” Elliot’s gaze flickered briefly to his computer screen. “I’ll leave the people reading to you. I’ve got my hands full. Between my classes and my research, I’m toast.” He jiggled his mouse, and when the LCD monitor came to life, he clicked on the results window. Briefly, he glanced at it. “This project is turning out to be even more challenging then I expected. It’s literally taking over my life. I doubt I’d be good for much else.”

“How about expanding the scope of your project? Are you up for that? Because that’s why I shut the door.” Sloane grinned as she saw surprised interest glint in Elliot’s eyes. “See? When I shut the door emphatically, it’s not always to bring up a topic you don’t like.”

“You win. What kind of expansion are you talking about?”

Sloane inhaled sharply. “First, I need your word that this conversation is confidential. Everything that’s said must stay between us.”

“Done.”

“Next, I want you to understand that this whole idea I’m about to broach is mine and mine alone. For now, it’s also strictly hypothetical. I haven’t mentioned it to a soul, and when and if I do, we’ll need to get a lot of approvals to make it happen. If it’s feasible for it to happen. That’s the part only you can answer. Is my idea within the realm of possibility, or is it a great concept but a millennium away from becoming a reality?”

“I won’t know till I hear it. And I’m listening.” Elliot shifted in his seat, rife with surging adrenaline. He diffused it by getting up, grabbing two bottles of water from his minifridge, and handing one to Sloane as he sank back down.

“Thanks.” She twisted open the cap and took a swig. “I’m not privy to the details of your research. Partly because they’re sensitive and classified, a

nd partly because I wouldn’t understand what you were talking about if you told me. But I do remember the project involves identifying traits of cybercrime in a sea of financial transactions. Your program is designed to recognize hard-to-detect patterns in seemingly unrelated data. I also remember a particular high school buddy of mine who had grand dreams of using his remarkable talents to contribute to society in a major way. I think saving lives would fill that bill, wouldn’t it?”

Sloane didn’t need Elliot’s response. It was written all over his face.

“So here’s my hypothetical question,” she concluded. “Could your system do the same thing for violent crimes that it’s doing for cybercrime? If I provided you with a slew of unrelated facts, could your program find patterns that we human investigators might miss? Patterns that could, say, lead us to a serial killer?”

Elliot stared at her for a moment, his eyes blinking rapidly as his mind raced. “Wow. When you think big, you really think big.” He rubbed his jaw. “In other words, you’d supply me with facts and hunches on all the cases, I’d feed them into my program, and we’d see what linkages emerge.”

“That’s the gist of it.”

“Obviously, we’re talking about the pig who kidnapped Cynthia Alexander.” Elliot rolled his pen between his fingers. “According to the information being leaked by the press, the daughter of that big-time cardiologist, Dr. Ronald Truman, was kidnapped last April by the same wack job who kidnapped Cynthia. I figured it was all hype. But now that you’re using terms like serial killer, I have to wonder. Is it true? Is Dr. Truman’s daughter another one of this guy’s victims?”

“I believe so, yes.” Sloane nodded. “I’m very limited in what I can say—at least for now. But we do have circumstantial evidence linking the crimes.”

“We?” Elliot echoed. “Are you involved in that investigation?”

“Penny Truman was my dearest childhood friend. You didn’t know her because she went to a different high school than we did. But I’ve known her since grade school. So, yes, I’m privy to certain aspects of the ongoing investigation.”