FBI Special Agent Lang knelt by the corpse and aimed his flashlight on the young man's face. "What do you have, Detective?"

"Alexi Cherenkov. Age 22. No prior record. We're running a check now," replied Detective Russel, pulling off his latex gloves. "No sign of external trauma. We'll have to wait for the coroner's report, of course."

Lang snorted. "For all the good it will do us."

Russel nodded, once. Lang inspected the body with his flashlight, searching for any clues the Detective might have missed. Russel had done a thorough job. No surprise there.

Shaking his head in frustration and rising to his feet, Lang said, "I can't believe this isn't connected to the Paleniski case. Identical circumstances. Do you want to make the statement, or is it my turn?"

"It's my turn, I'll do it." Russel didn't seem thrilled at the prospect of facing the press, held back by the lines of yellow police tape and blue uniforms. "I'll see you back at the station," he said.

Lang ducked under the cordon and made his way to his car. He knew there was a connection between the two cases, but what was it? He climbed in his car and drove off. About six blocks away his phone rang. "Lang here," he answered.

"Mr. Lang? Um, my boyfriend Timmy gave me your number and said I should call you if I ever got in trouble, which I am, I mean, well, I've seen some really weird stuff that's freaked me out and now Timmy and Lexi are both missing, Oh god, please help me," said a female voice breathlessly in his ear.

"Hold on, slow down Miss, who are you and where are you? I can help you out, but...."

His car slammed into a dark object parked in the middle of the street. Airbags deployed, the phone flew out of Lang's hands. He sat, stunned, as white powder settled over the car interior. Coughing, he struggled out of his seatbelt and pulled at the door handle, trying to open the door. On the fourth try the latch worked, the door swung open, and Lang staggered out of the wreck of his car. Sadly, he didn't see who hit him on the back of his head and knocked him unconscious.

A young woman walked over from the shadow of a nearby skyscraper to join the four men efficiently dragging the body away from the wreck. Smiling, she calmly pocketed her cell phone and looked over the fallen agent.

"Well, I think you'll be able to help us after all, Agent Lang," she murmured. "Provided we can break you of your habit of talking on the phone and driving at the same time." She placed a hand on Lang's face. "Torch it," she said.

The men hurried to obey, one of them dousing the wreck with gasoline. The old station wagon they had rolled into the street was already loaded with kerosene and fertilizer. The men produced a body and placed it in Lang's car, backed away to a safe distance, and then tossed a cigarette into the pool of gas below the wrecked vehicles. When Detective Russel arrived on the scene an hour later the fire had already burned the corpse beyond recognition.

The other men carried Lang into a waiting Suburban with heavily tinted windows, relieved him of his gun and placed him in the back seat next to the woman. They left before the explosion shattered windows across the street.

The young woman leaned over her unconscious prize, vowing that this time she wouldn't be as careless and let him escape, not like poor, dear Alexi. This one would serve her much better than that traitor, she thought as she bared her fangs.