When Trent walked in the door of Thunder Investigations after getting back from the Haunted House case, Sherry Kinney was waiting in a chair for him. Before Kim could introduce them, Sherry stood, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder, and offered her hand.

"Sherry Kinney," she said. "I really appreciate you taking my case, Mr. Malloy."

"Sure," Trent replied. "Won't you come to my office?" he asked. As he ushered her into the other room he raised his eyebrows at Kim. He wasn't expecting this interview to take place so soon. He had wanted Kim to set up the meeting for later in the afternoon, or even Monday. Kim just gave him a sheepish smile, and Trent realized that Sherry probably didn't want to wait that long. In his office, Trent offered Sherry a chair, while he took his seat behind his desk. He studied her briefly—long enough for him to get an impression of her but not long enough that she would feel uncomfortable. Sherry seemed very self-assured, with reasonable brown eyes under a mop of straight brown hair. He sat back in his chair. "The reason I wanted to meet with you was to get a better idea of who I'm looking for," he said, blue eyes earnest and measuring. "Did JC9758 tell you anything about himself? A name? A description? Details are going to find him."

"Um…we didn't really worry too much about that," she said. "Once we discovered how similar we were, we got to know each other. I know that he likes classic literature, but I don't know what color his eyes are."

"What happened exactly?" Trent went on. "All I know is I'm searching for a man that you were involved with somehow whose name or appearance you don't know."

"This is going to sound silly," she said, crossing her legs, "but I met him in a chat room one night. It's hard for me to date men because they all find out sooner or later who I am and turn into monstors. I've been through one hellish marriage already because of my family's wealth. So I thought if I looked online, I might find someone who could love me for me, instead of my money. This is how I met John."

"He gave you that name?" Trent asked as he scribbled it down.

"I called him John and he called me Sherry. Anyway, we talked about everything under the stars, barring family and looks. And even if it sounds corny, I fell in love with him. Then a few weeks ago, he just disappeared. I just want to give our love a chance," she added sadly.

"What about a birthday? Or an age?" Trent continued his inquiry.

"It's in his screen name, I think," she said. "September 7, 1958. Or at least I sent him a gift on September 7th."

"Excellent," Trent murmured. "That's a great start." He went on to ask questions about Sherry herself. Experience had taught him that knowing her would give him an edge to finding his target since the two were connected. For intimate connections, especially, one person invariably left their mark on the other. After the interview was completed to his satisfaction, he thanked her and showed her out. Next, he reviewed his notes. He still had time to visit the last internet café before he took off for the night.

As Trent suspected, his last internet café brought him no closer to finding "John." Instead, the detective headed back to one of the sites he had visited yesterday. The girl who had told him he could see a list of customers was working the front desk again.

"Why don't you come back here?" she ushered Trent into a large office out of the sight of the customers. Trent looked around in awe. In every nook and cranny lay stacks of paper. He picked one up and recognized the form all computer users were made to complete before being allowed to use the services.

"Are all of these forms from paying customers?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "These are just the hard copies, though. The secretary doesn't believe in hard copy filing, and it's so not my job to do it. I just enter all these into a computer. We keep all information on an electronic database to make things easier to find." She cleared a stack of papers off a beaten-up desk chair and bade Trent sit. "You can use this computer to look up what you need to." She showed him how he could look up people by first or last names, birthday, or address.

Trent sat down, and his search for John's birthday found one person, a Fantine O'Harris, female. Years of experience led Trent to the conclusion that she probably was not the person for whom he was looking. Next, he searched for the name "John," pulling up almost forty names. "Can I print this list out?" Trent asked his hostess, who had come back to check on him.

"Sure," she said. She leaned over his shoulder and punched a button. A few seconds later, the printer whirred out two pages of Johns and their information. Trent thanked her and returned to Thunder Investigations to consider his next move.

Trent worked under the assumption that one of the Johns on his list was, in fact, JC9758. Short of researching each of the thirty eight Johns, there was little he could do to get any further clues. Or was there?

"Kim," Trent walked out of his office and leaned on her desk. She was busy painting her toenails, and looked up guiltily "Can you get into a chat room and track down this guy?"

"What server was he using?" she asked as she looked over the notes Trent had taken during his interview with Sherry. Finding what she sought, she turned her attention to the computer. Her fingers became a blur as they danced across the keyboard. It was times like these, when Kim was in her element, that Trent really appreciated her abilities. "Here you go," she said just as he turned to go back into his office. She spun the monitor around, and there was an information sheet for his screen name.

"This doesn't help too much," he mused as he looked over the meager profile. "I already know his supposed name, and there's no mention of his birthday."

"Maybe she just assumed his birthday from his name," Kim said absently. "Maybe the numbers have something to do with numerology instead." Trent stared at her. It was an insane idea, but if Carlos was here, he'd go for it. Trent grabbed his coat and yelled over his shoulder that he would be back in an hour.

Carlos sat in his parked car and used binoculars to single Nicole's silver sports car out of a full parking lot. If her car was any indication, she wasn't kidding about being worth lots of money. She should be leaving work soon, at which time he would follow her home. While he waited he surveyed all around him, looking for an old red sedan, the best description she could give him of the car she thought pursued her everywhere. The more he pressed her for details, the more generic and evasive her answers became. Something about this case didn't feel right.

His cell phone rang, and he answered it. It was his mother. "Be sure to tell Trenton that he is absolutely not to bring me flowers," she said excitedly.

"He actually can't come," he replied.

"What? Why not?"

"He has plans, Madre," he said. "Plans with his girlfriend that he cannot break under penalty of death." He cut off his mother's ensuing rant about how Carlos needed to find a nice girl to settle down with, and did Margo have a Catholic sister, when he saw Nicole exit the building. "Ma, I gotta go. I'm working." He was still arguing with her, this time about respecting elders, when he pulled away from the curb after Nicole. "No really, I'm sorry, Ma. I'm just in the middle of doing my job, and I need to go. I'll call you tonight, I promise." There was a pause and a guilt-trip from his mother. "I love you, too. Bye." At last he could give his whole attention to following Nicole while obeying all posted signs and looking for another red car trying to do the same thing.

He parked behind her in front of a very nice apartment building in a rich part of Dallas. The only other times he'd been there was driving around at Christmas time, gawking at the festive lights. This neighborhood always had the best displays because they could afford gaudy, over-the-top displays. He got out of his car and tugged on his coat nervously, somehow knowing that his worn suit, while very becoming on him, was not up to par here. He entered the building where he had seen Nicole go in. She was waiting for him just inside the doorway.

"Did you see anyone?" she asked eagerly. Carlos shook his head. "You believe me, right?" she asked, laying a hand on his crossed forearm.

"Of course," he replied sincerely. "Why wouldn't I?" There was a confusing pause, chock full of sexual tension, until Nicole broke it.

"Don't be a stranger," she said lightly. "Call me sometime."

"I will," he assured her as she moved closer.

"You'd better," she grinned, reciting the conversation they had four years ago in Johnny's bar. Like that conversation, this, too, ended in a shy kiss. Unlike that conversation, the shy kiss evolved into something deeper and more exciting. By the time Carlos left the building, his head was spinning with thoughts about Nicole, memories of El Vaquero, and mixed feelings about both. He shoved them aside and grew wary as he saw a strange man leaning against his car.

"Who are you?" Carlos asked in a gruff voice. He pulled himself up to his full six feet of height and ineffectively stared down at the other man, who was barely an inch shorter. He was tan, with sandy hair that was starting to bald, and a five o'clock shadow. He crossed his muscular arms, nonplussed at Carlos.

"Rock Avery, PI," he introduced himself. "I was hired to keep an eye on Mrs. Ratcliff. She doesn't need you to bother her further, Mr…."

"Sandoval," Carlos finished. "Carlos Sandoval, PI. I'm sorry; did you call Nicole 'Mrs. Ratcliff'?"

"Nicole Ratcliff, yes," Rock answered, confusion in his dark eyes. "What brings you into this?"

"Into what?"

"Mr. Ratcliff is…suspicious of his wife's goings-on, and hired me to keep her out of trouble," he explained. Carlos nodded. Translation: Rock was to stop the affair Mr. Ratcliff guessed Nicole was having.

"Smart girl, isn't she?" Carlos smiled wryly. "She hired me to protect her from a man who was following her. That would be you?"

"It would seem that way," Rock agreed in the same tone of voice. At least he had a good sense of humor about the situation.

Carlos scoffed. "So what are we going to do?"

"Set her up, I guess," the other man replied casually.

"That won't end well with your client," Carlos replied offhandedly. Rock shrugged. Carlos smiled at him and handed him a business card. "We'll get in touch about this later," he said before he slid into his car and drove away.