"My car's across the street." Agent Webb headed for the door of Jim's apartment.

The rage in Jim's gut was back to levels he'd not felt since before his first anger-management class. At first he'd only gone because the court mandated it, but he soon realized the time with the group did him good. Like AA for people with shitty lives. But none of the stupid exercises were going to help with the absolute fury he felt brewing at the moment. When he got his hands on Sophie's knife he would be slitting her throat. Eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a slit throat and dust to dust.

"I'll meet you there."

Agent Webb hesitated but then flew out the front door. He calmly walked through his converted garage office and grabbed the small key hanging by the back door. His bike sat there, dusty and unridden for months. It roared to life with a turn of the throttle and a little ignition. He was closer to the neighborhood than Miller. He knew the back roads and the cut-throughs. The advantage of hour after shitty hour of surveillance in this town.

He whipped that bike through the side streets, ignoring stop signs, until he found a familiar path.

The dirt path cut from one subdivision to another. Kids used them to go from the smaller subdivisions and sneak into the pools of the larger. At the end of the third path was a narrow opening between fences. Six-foot chain link. He'd walked it before but his bike was bulky. At this speed, if it was too narrow, the consequences would be ugly. Pucker factor high.

He gunned it and zipped up the sidewalk and righted the bike as fast as he could so the machine would be straight up when he reached the gap. From this vantage point it looked like he was never going to make it.

He twisted the throttle. Grip it and rip it. The front wheel bounced when he hit the dirt.

"Never gonna fit," he yelled as he went through. A jerk yanked the bike to the right as the handle bar brushed the metal fence pole. The fishtail pulled the rear tire to the left. Gripping the bars like his life depended on it, he did his best to minimize the oversteer. The dusty path didn't help, but he'd made it.

Without slowing, he kept going, popping out at an intersection close to the new safe house. Cut a good five miles off his journey. He slammed on the brakes in time to skid up to the driveway. There was a fire truck across the street. People lined the sidewalks, taking pictures with smart phones. Everyone wanted the shot to post on their Facebook or Instagrams.

He rushed in. First thing he saw was a female face-down in her own blood in the hall. Must be Miller's plainclothes girl. Jim stopped to check her pulse. None. He moved into the open living area.

Stephen was holding up Lynette's limp little body. Her chair was lying on its back next to them. The back door was open to the night.

"Is she … " Jim didn't want to say it.

Steven was crying but shook his head. "She has a thready, weak pulse. I called for help."

Miller and his team came in with guns up, ready to shoot.

"Officer down. Repeat, officer down," Miller shouted when he saw the woman on the floor bleeding out. He glanced at Jim. "Momma okay?"

"Not really," Steven said.

Miller signaled two men through the back sliding glass door. "See if they left a trail. Anything!" Two officers went into the night. He pointed at two others. "Check upstairs, see if Dan's up there."

Jim hadn't bothered to check. Dan was gone. He knew in his bones that Sophie had taken him. He was long gone. Along with Sandy.

"FBI agent down out here." Jim and Miller left Lynette's side. The officer checked for a pulse. Too dark to see the blood on his jacket. With the shake of the officer's head, they all knew the agent was dead.

Jim squatted back by the table. From that angle, he saw the young agent's face. No open casket for his family. Fresh blood ran in streams along the scores in the concrete patio. Lynette shuddered violently in Steven's arms. Her labored breathing got thicker with the struggle.

"Was she shot?" Jim didn't see any blood on or around her. Maybe she'd be okay. That would be a miracle from the looks of this place.

"Help me get her to the couch." Stephen lifted her upper body. Miller grabbed her tiny legs under the knees and helped move her. Sirens were approaching, but with all the commotion across the street Jim had no idea if it was the medics or more fire equipment.

Steven checked her over, careful not to cause any further damage to her frail body. "I don't see anything."

She coughed, gagged.

"Heart attack from the stress?" Miller headed back to the front room. On the radio. "Where's my medical? I need at least two."

"Could be something like that." Steven straightened her dress as she struggled to breathe. It was automatic for him to do his best for her, to make her comfortable.

Medics came rushing in.

It was too late.

The life had drained out of Lynette as the EMTs tried to assess her condition. They started CPR, connected a mask to help her breathe.

Then she was gone, right before Jim's eyes. Lynette Hodge's obituary would join the articles on the wall.

If Jim didn't find Dan, who would write her story? No more than seventy-five words. How could the life of a firecracker like her get wrapped up in seventy-five words?

Jim's rage shifted gears. Sorrow, deep and profound.

He sat back on the recliner across from the medics. The sounds of their voices muted. Miller was screaming away in the front room, but that was white noise as well.

One of the medics went out to check on the FBI agent lying just outside the door on the patio.

Agent Ava Webb walked slowly into the room. Her weapon was drawn but she quickly holstered it. She headed straight for her guy on the porch. The medic shook his head.

She said his name. "Foster." Ava knelt by his side. She touched her guy's back. She too was now wrapped in a wet blanket of sorrow. Anger.

Jim's anger slipped away, lost in yawning anguish as he watched Ava kneel there beside Foster and shed a tear for him. The medic returned and covered him with a sheet.

After a moment, Ava stood, her tears gone, her game face back in place.

Jim had moved in her direction without realizing. She found his gaze and looked down. Maybe she didn't want to share the moment of sorrow. He understood.

The carnage around him was raw, fresh. In his line of work, the closest he came to a fresh crime scene was when defense attorneys hired him. His arrival came long after the fact, often when the tape was gone and the area clean of all signs of bloodshed. His job was digging to uncover missed clues and follow up leads. Not this.

More police showed up. More FBI.

Jim made his way to the front room and looked out the window. The yard and the fire scene across the street were both being roped off with yellow and black tape. He wished he had a cigarette. Some scotch.

Miller came out. "How'd you get here so quick?"

Jim pointed to the bike. "Took a couple off-road shortcuts."

"You see her?"

"Nope." Jim leaned against the rail. "Didn't hear any shots either. She was gone."

"Dan wasn't upstairs."

Jim knew that. Didn't say anything.

They moved back toward the kitchen and the dead police officer on the floor. Ava approached and stopped before the bloody floor. Her body was slack with shock and pain. "She never used a gun before. With her profile, I'd have never thought she would." Ava looked back to the porch. "Foster had drawn, finger not on the trigger. She had to be damned good to hit him."

Miller tilted his head toward his officer, the woman on the ground with the slit throat. It was as if he didn't want to look back at her. To see her again. "Kahill was a marksman." He picked up the spent smoke bomb with a gloved hand. A burnt chemical smell lingered in the room. "But we'd said the perp was a knife wielder. And Sophie used the fire and smoke for cover."

"Dammit!" Ava kicked the side of the counter then paced the length of the small kitchen. "I have to go make a phone call I don't want to make. Foster had a wife and two young kids. I need to get someone to his house before this hits the news."

She walked away without waiting for a reply. Jim gave into the desire to follow. He managed only as far as the front porch, and then his legs stiffened. He hadn't the slightest clue how to comfort this woman. So he watched her climb into the big FBI car and drive away.

Miller walked up behind him. "Thank god my captain makes those visits."

A job Jim wouldn't want. He kept watching as Ava's car turned at the end of the street. "Lynette?" he asked.

"They think she was hit with the ketamine. Too much for her." Miller shook his head.

Jim's throat closed from the acrid taste of how much that pained him. Hard to breathe. All he could do was push that shock and sorrow to the back of his throat and try to swallow it down. He thought of Sophie Evers. Got mad. Anger was much easier to manage than pain. Always had been.


The girl was crying. She was awake enough now to know she wasn't where she wanted to be. It was a pathetic whimper, really.

Sophie needed to pee. It was midafternoon and she'd driven for hours without a break. Dan would be rousing soon too. She needed to stop and manage all three.

"You ready to stop, baby?"

Carla jumped up from her comfortable pillow on the passenger seat.

"Okay. Give me a minute." She'd seen a sign a ways back for a rest area. "Should be able to stop in a sec." She patted the dog on the head.

You are more stupid than I ever imagined. Changing things up like this …

"Shut up. Shut up." They approached the exit sign. "It's only minor. Besides if Bean found my birth mother … our mother …"

No response to that taunt. The voice was not her. Or it was separate from her, but it was her. It had started with talking to herself as a kid. Trying to make herself feel better. It never worked. Eventually the internal conversations changed, and one day she couldn't turn it off. It was all very confusing. The kind of thing that could give a girl a headache. Pinching the bridge of her nose didn't help clear things up.

Sophie now figured the voice was her mother. At least the last few years it had been that cranky old shrew. Always there. Always nitpicking. That was a mother, right?

"It's better this way. Plan C."

If she could figure out how to do it, she'd get rid of the voice as well.

Nothing's ready at that house. It's all in Cali.

Sophie ignored the nagging and pulled off the highway, parking in the most remote spot in the rest area lot. Many cars were parked down around the bathroom and that meant lots of eyes.

She twisted to the back. The girl was still crying but out of it enough that she wouldn't be any trouble. Sophie put Carla on the leash.

"You go. Then I'll take care of our passengers."

The dog hit the grass and squatted.

"I wish I could do that."

After the dog was empty, Sophie did her own business, bought a vending machine coffee, and returned to the van.

"Where am I?" The girl was struggling to sit up.

Sophie patted her head. "Not to worry. We'll be there soon and you'll get to be in a much more comfortable position."

Dan also moved, probably in response to the conversation.

She touched his face. His cheek twitched. The movement was cute, like a mouse wiggling whiskers. He had a tiny bit of gray coming on his temples. Mrs. Hodge's hair was all white. Maybe the premature gray thing ran in the family. She imagined him salt-and-pepper with his rough face weathered and wrinkled from years in the sun. She smiled and carefully injected his neck with more of the tranquilizer. His eyelids fluttered.

Sandy whimpered again, breaking the tender moment with Dan.

Sophie chose another syringe and plunged it hard into the girl's neck. It was the third or maybe the fourth time. There would be a few more. Hopefully it wouldn't kill her before Sophie was able to play this out. It wouldn't work without the waitress, but Sophie'd had a great idea on the road that made the girl much more useful. Another change of plan.

Stupid.

"No. Genius."


The meeting room would have been drab under the best circumstances given its tiny putty-gray tables and folding chairs with chipped brown paint.

The walls were decorated with a poster reporting some Vegas crime statistics, a picture of a missing kid, and several other memos. All taped to the wall. They reminded Jim of Lynette and her articles. It was downright depressing.

Ava looked ten years older than she had the day before. Yep, he was thinking of her as Ava all the time now. It didn't really matter. What mattered now was getting Sophie. But Ava looked beat. Her neat hair was in a ponytail and mussed a little on one side. She'd not bothered to fix her makeup from the tears.

But then again, Miller looked like he was in need of a good stiff drink, and a clean pressed jacket. The one he wore looked like it had been tossed in the back of the car more than once that day.

"We got a hit on Maria Callas." Ava tossed a sheet of paper on the table. "No address other than the PO box in Bakersfield, but we found an employer. Medical software. High-end stuff. I have the address."

California. Miller was stuck. Out of his jurisdiction.

"Our office has the address and a supervisor's name. I'm flying out in an hour."

"I'm coming." Jim figured that was going to be a no-go. Not that it mattered. At this point he'd find a way to get there on his own. He wanted Sophie himself and if he had to admit it, he didn't want Ava facing this freak on her own. Of course she was FBI, she wouldn't be on her own. But Jim didn't want her facing Sophie Ryan Evers without him.

She almost smiled. "There's an FBI flight scheduled. I managed to get you on as my witness. In reality, you are the only one who has seen her in person. My director wants a confirmation on her ID since this is such a high-profile case now."

No shit? He'd expected to be left on the tarmac as she flew off like the heroine in an old romance flick.

Miller looked pissed. Jim knew the drill. Las Vegas police had a dead Cynthia Hodge, a dead neighbor, a dead cop, and Sandy was still missing and all Miller could do was sit on his hands while the Feds chased down the out-of-state leads.

Jim felt for him but was once again happy that he could play by the seat of his pants.

Miller was stuck. He might not even get to prosecute Sophie for any of his warrants. Feds would choose the charges that would be the easiest to make stick. Probably not even in Vegas courts.

"When do we leave?"

She glanced at her phone. "Thirty minutes."

"That's barely enough time to get to the airport."

"Then we should go."


MediBridge resided in a midsize building in Bakersfield. The receptionist was cheerful. The decor was a mix of bright orange and teal that gave the visitor the impression that the place was crisp, the business intelligent.

Jim leaned over and gave the receptionist his best smile. "Do you have pictures of your employees on your website, miss?"

She straightened her headset. "We do." She held up a finger. "Mr. Layton, some people from the FBI are here to see you." She paused to listen. "I'll tell them." She disconnected the call with the push of a button. "He'll be right here."

Ava moved closer. "Can you show us a picture of Maria Callas on the site?"

She typed away and then turned the screen in his and Ava's direction. A professional-looking photo of Sophie Ryan Evers took up the left half of the screen. Her credentials were listed on the right side. It was a boring picture. Hair pulled back so you had no idea how long it really was. Beige suit, white shirt. Not like the yellow she was wearing when she came to him and started this ride. But it was definitely her.

Ava asked, "That her?"

"Yes, ma'am." His stomach did a little flop. His brain immediately supplied the memory of the night in Texas.

Before he could get too worked up, a man came striding into the reception area in a very expensive suit. Jim was familiar. He'd seen plenty such on the big-time players on the Strip.

He greeted Ava first. "I'm Dave Layton. How can I help you?" Dave was typically handsome with a tight jaw and stubble just enough to make him look rugged. His fake, overly white smile and surgically perfect nose made Jim immediately think car salesman.

Ava was on her feet, showing her credentials and giving her name. Her suit was looking a bit better than it had that morning, but this guy and the receptionist had both out-labeled her for sure. Not that Jim gave a rat's ass about fashion. He didn't. In his business he would often use clothes to get a read on a person. See what they thought of themselves. How they wanted others to see them.

Jim was still in jeans and a black T-shirt and didn't care what anyone thought of his fashion sense.

"We're investigating a case and think one of your employees might be able to assist us," Ava stated as matter-of-factly as possible.

Dave's expression faltered for an instant. "Wow. The FBI? Really?" He glanced at the receptionist, who was still listening even though her head was facing the computer screen on her desk.

"We should pop into a conference room." He gestured through the glass doors separating the reception area from the rest of the business and led them to a small conference room with a table that would accommodate eight attendees.

They all stood. He took a position at the far end of the table.

"Tell me about Maria Callas," Ava said before he had a chance to ask her any questions.

"What about her?" He crossed his arms. Defensive.

"Where does she live?" Ava kept her arms limp at her sides. Relaxed.

He huffed. "Not sure how much I can divulge about her, you know, legally."

"I assure you that, legally, you can tell me her home address and her phone number." Jim wasn't sure that was true. But the FBI had more leeway than regular Joes thanks to the national security umbrella of changes.

"Not sure I want to." Dave was trying for tough, but he just looked smug. Jim wanted to punch this guy right in his perfect nose.

Ava strode over to him, stopping right in his face. "If I want to, I can charge you with interfering with a federal investigation, Dave."

Something told Jim that Special Agent Webb was not impressed with the pretty boy in the expensive suit.

"Harboring a fugitive." One side of her lip rose as if she were thinking hard. "Maybe even accomplice?"

"Hey!" Dave put his hands up as if to surrender and took two steps back before his butt hit the wall. "Not so fast. I'm just saying that HR might not like me giving out personal information. What's this really about anyway?"

"National security. Can't tell you." She opened her jacket. "Now am I arresting you, or do you have the information I've requested?"

"I have her number on my cell, but I'll have to get the address and shit." He dialed the speakerphone on the table. "Helen, I need Maria Callas's records in first floor, conference two, ASAP." He hung up after the woman confirmed the request. "So really, Maria is my best salesperson. Brings in about seventy million a year. Is she in trouble?"

Jim ignored the last part. "She works commission?"

"Oh yes." He grinned. "And she's good."

"You sell hospital supplies?" Ava asked.

"No." Dave's face lit up. "Software that integrates all systems in the hospital. Accounting, ordering, inventory, HR, even patient care and records. A portal. One-stop shop."

"But she's in hospitals all the time?" Jim asked.

He shrugged. "Yeah."

So she had plenty of access to drugs, assuming she had the talent to get by security. But then again she'd gotten by a cop and federal agent in the safe house and evaded getting caught for about umpteen murders.

Dave continued, "She travels all over the world visiting potential clients. She's gone all the time. I've only seen her in person maybe five times."

A woman knocked on the door. Another young, pretty, upwardly mobile person stood on the other side of the glass.

Dave opened the door for her and she beamed her whitened teeth at him. "Here you go, Mr. Layton."

"Thank you, Helen. That will be all."

She hesitated after seeing the strangers in the room with her personnel file.

"Really. I have this."

She backed out.

He opened the file. "Breckenridge." He made a surprised sound. "I didn't realize that. Strange, she never said she lived up there."

Jim figured it wasn't so strange at all. Lots of ski cabins up there. Lots of privacy to do whatever she wanted.

He read off the address. Ava typed it on her phone. Jim memorized it.

Dave also rattled off her number. Jim would remember that too.

"Her area code is Bakersfield?"

"Yeah. Company phone. Company car." He shrugged. "You make the sales she does, you get all the perks."

"How much you figure she earned last year?" Jim asked.

He looked up at the ceiling as if to add in his head. "Can't remember exactly. Probably close to a million."

Well. That was certainly enough to bankroll all her activities. "And she works her own hours?"

"I thought you said you wanted to talk to her as a witness. This sounds more like she's in trouble for something." His bright smile was gone, replaced by tight eyebrows that were also perfectly shaped. Jim wondered if he had them tweezed.

"If she calls, please don't tell her we were here, Mr. Layton. That would be grounds for charges. You understand?"

Dave nodded, his smugness exchanged for a hint of fear.

Ava handed him her card. "You keep the conversation to whatever normal business you'd conduct and then call me if she calls in."

"Is Maria in trouble?"

"You could say that."


The road twisted up to Breckenridge. Back and forth, winding like a snake with a bellyache. It was summer, so there was no snow to fight, just vacationers in their oversized campers taking up both lanes. Jim supposed it should be a pretty drive, but the circumstances distorted the beauty of the scenery.

When she got a clear bit of asphalt, Ava pushed the Town Car along far above the posted limit. She bit her bottom lip and tapped the steering wheel with her index finger. Anxious. Worried. Pressured from her boss to get this psycho before she made more headlines.

No one had been told of the connections to past killings. The media was focused on the brutality of the Cynthia Hodge murder and was unaware of the depth and breadth of Sophie's killings. It wouldn't be long until someone leaked something. Secrets were not long kept in Vegas, no matter the city's slogan. It should be Whatever will make news in Vegas will make the news.

They came to the fork in the road. Ava eased left. Before long the pavement gave way to a white-graveled path that would take them to Sophie's hideout.

The driveway was long and tree-lined. Postcard material. The forest was too thick to make out any structure from there. Too dangerous to drive up to the house, and their backup was still on the way.

She pulled the car off just past the drive. Foot power from here on out. Ava opened the trunk, loaded, and cocked a shotgun. She offered it to Jim without words.

He considered it, then shook his head. "Not for me." He looked toward the house. "Shouldn't we wait for the SWAT team?"

"We're just going to take a peek. Assess the situation." He liked her style.

Twigs, pine cones, and other material crushed beneath his feet no matter where he placed his big boot. A particularly loud snap made Ava stop and glare at him. He cringed. How Native Americans used to be so quiet was beyond him. Maybe that was historic urban legend.

Sneaking up like this had his heart flopping around in his chest like a super ball. This much tension was bad. Made him nervous. Jumpy. It was dangerous. He attributed it to the fact that he wanted Sophie too bad and was worried over Sandy.

Personal investment was doubled down in this case. Bad mojo made for bad outcomes. Declining the gun had been a good idea. He was ready to jump out of his skin. And just like O said, a squirrel could run by and startle him enough to shoot Ava in her cute little ass.

She glanced back as if she heard his thoughts but pressed on. The sapling trees and vines tripped them up, slowing progress. A bead of sweat had rolled down his back and more would follow. He had his slap-jack in his right hand. Ava had her handgun at the ready and the shotgun hung over her shoulder.

She eased through the woods with a grace Jim would never possess, as if the branches and twigs were intentionally not in her way. That wasn't possible. The bottom line was his mass and momentum carried a volume hers did not.

She stopped and braced with her back against a tree. She pointed ahead. There was a narrow cabin at the end of the gravel. Two-story, given the height of the windows. Nice. Something a family from L.A. would rent for a week of skiing in December. He could picture a large Christmas tree covered in fat multicolored lights reflecting onto new snow through the wall of windows. Of course it was the middle of the day in August and nothing twinkled. Regardless, not the kind of place a murderer brought her victims to be tortured and killed. His gut told him something was off.

"No cars." It was a very low whisper.

"Maybe around back?"

Ava nodded. She pointed to the right and to him. "On three," she said without sound.

"What about the backup?"

"They'll be here."

Not what he meant. She held up one narrow finger. No polish. No rings.


She would go to the left, he to the right. But the place looked deserted.

She didn't look back at him. Her brain was already on her mission. Jim's brain was deciphering what his gut was screaming at him. Would Sophie leave her hostages unattended after so much careful planning?


Ava moved out. That left him no choice. He turned and headed in his assigned direction, skirting just inside the tree line.

The yard was narrower on his side, bringing him closer to the house. Glare from the sun blocked his view inside the tall front windows. A cheerful spring wreath with white birds on it adorned the front door.

Maybe this was the wrong place. Maybe she'd used a false address with her employer. That would make sense.

He crouched and ducked behind the front bushes to try for a glance inside. He stopped just short of the floor-to-ceiling windows. He peeked in quickly, saw nothing, and then waited a few seconds before a second look, this one longer.

Bright, open, and airy. There was cabin-themed decor everywhere. A bear rug and log furnishings with heavy plaid fabrics. The kitchen was at the back of the large two-story room. No one in sight.

He headed back the direction he'd come and continued to the back of the cabin. That side of the building was logs all the way up. One small window, shoulder height. Bathroom. It was covered by a curtain. Nothing to see. He made it around the back.

That was better than expected as well. Multi-level deck. Hot tub. Grill. Flowers decorated the area. It was only ten yards from a large pond. High-dollar for a hideout.

Ava stood at the back door, weapon lowered. "I didn't see anyone."

"Me either. Looks like we might be in the wrong place."

She shook her head. "I don't think so. May look pretty, but it feels creepy as hell."

He looked in the back door window around the drawn curtain.

She tried the door. The knob turned.

"Thought you wanted it all by the book?"

"That would be best. But …"

"Sandy's clock is counting down," he said, glad she was using his line of logic today.

She nodded. "Dan's not exactly safe either."

A low chirping noise repeated several times. Not a bird. Electronic. He looked down, following the line of the bottom rail of the deck. A small round device was screwed to the post closest to the door. That was some kind of trigger. Triggers meant things going boom.

"Motion detector."

"What?"

He grabbed Ava around the waist. No time to explain. He pulled her away from the door. Tangled legs made them both stumble down the two levels of deck steps. He recovered first and pulled her toward the pond. She caught her footing and started running with him. They were about five feet from the water when the world ended.


No sound.

Jim was deafened. His legs were numb and he couldn't breathe. No way this was good.

He tried to breathe, drew in water. In a panic his lungs coughed out the fluid. Jim tried to move his arms. They answered.

In an instant his body returned to the normal responses to his mental commands. But his hearing was still off. He realized he was in the pond, one leg pinned under a large piece of timber. He sat up and his head was above the water.

Heat pressed against the back of his head. He twisted around. The cabin was ablaze. All of it. Immense logs of the framework had folded in on themselves like a Boy Scout campfire on steroids. The yard was littered with the shards, large and small, of the exploded timbers.

"Ava!"

He didn't see her. He dug in the mud, pulling at his leg. It didn't feel broken, only trapped. This was going to leave a mark. He held his breath to fold forward and dig at the mud holding him under the wood.

Ragged shards scraped his trapped leg. His foot twisted first, then his calf. He pushed up with all his weight and the timber rolled off. He stood in the water, testing his steadiness. His shin would carry a nasty bruise for a while, but he'd live.

"Ava!" Strange to listen to himself yell and not hear a thing.

He started out of the water and saw her sit up in a tall patch of reeds a couple of yards away. Her hair was a soaking-wet mess, her head was bleeding and her arm hung limp and twisted in an impossible direction. Her shoulder was dislocated or broken. Either way, she would be in a great deal of pain when the shock of the blast wore off.

Smoke billowed past, obscuring his path as he waded in her direction. The cabin burned like dry kindling.

"You okay?" He said it but was sure her hearing would be as dampened as his.

Her reaction was neither positive nor negative. But she did mouth something he could understand. Her hand went to her head wound first. She gently tested the cut and then inspected the blood it left on her fingers. Then she tried to move her left arm. He barely made out the screech of pain that accompanied the action.

"Keep it still."

He dug for his phone. Wet. No bars. No signal. They had passed several other cabins on the way in. Surely someone heard the explosion. Backup was on the way. He took off his shirt and wrapped it around her body, tucking it under her arm with the least amount of movement to her shoulder as possible. She cringed again.

"Sorry."

He tied it off, making a sling of sorts. Would hold it better than nothing.


The cell phone on the dash started talking. A ring tone. The cartoon. Marvin the Martian. "Where's the Kaboom? There should have been an earth-shattering Kaboom."

No need to respond. It was an electronic message sent from the device planted under the cabin.

She closed her eyes, ignoring the road. The bastards had found her happy place. Her retreat. The thought was a soul-sucking wound in her stomach. There wasn't much she was attached to in this world. That cabin had been about it. Since they found her birth mother, Sophie had suspected Bean may be good enough to find her.

She was right. He would be punished.

She took in a yoga breath. Long, deep, it filled first her chest and then her belly with fresh air.

Good thing she had trusted her intuition and headed northeast.

"Fucking PI."

A horn blared. She opened her eyes. She was half in the right lane. Who cared? Calmly she steered the van back into her lane.

She envisioned the explosion. The creep she'd bought the C4 from promised spectacular. Even setting them up she'd been torn. That plan was a double-edged sword. If it worked, the cabin—her dream home—was gone.

Not what she planned. No.

Told you so.

"Shut up."

You should have just found Danny yourself.

"Not now."

The nag was right. There had been no lack of trying on Sophie's part. For months she had searched for Dan. She sat taller so she could see him through the rearview mirror.

He was sleeping, his body laid out on the bench as if he was in his bed, a peaceful expression on his angel face

Sophie sighed. She should have kept at the hunt herself. Instead, she'd lost patience and hired that irritating PI. Bean was supposed to be a loser only after a quick buck. He had even acted like a loser both on the phone and at that pathetic diner. No professionalism. No receptionist. No office building.

She gripped the steering wheel. With any luck Bean was right there when the house blew. Standing on her porch, or even better, inside. She closed her eyes again. She'd loved that house and had looked forward to living her perfect life with Danny there. Fucker. He'd been nothing but trouble.

She turned up the radio and let the music fill the rolling metal box. It was loud. Violins echoed off the walls. It was not a proper sound stage for Schubert, but it would help soothe Sophie's worn nerves. Carla raised her head for a moment and settled back down.

Let it go. Move forward. She tried to push the rage away. Send it down to that place where it disappeared in her gut in a tiny ball of shit to be flushed away. Anger did her no good. The house was just full of things. Nothing she couldn't replace.

The bigger problem was that Bean and his helpers were so close on her tail. Digging in her business. She wasn't used to people knowing about her, knowing her history or her details. A strange sense of anger and shame filled her. Not that she was shamed by any of her actions. No. Only the few loose ends she'd left behind caused her any embarrassment. One day she would go back and eliminate all those loose ends.

A situation like this called for going on the offensive. No running for Sophie Evers.

She glared at the waitress in the back. She didn't look as comfortable as Danny. She was sitting, her head at an awkward angle. Good. It was time to use that leverage.

The GPS unit said she had one hour, twenty-three minutes until arrival. Sophie needed to hold it together that long. She needed to get those two unloaded, count her losses, and then solidify a new plan. There was lots of stuff at the cabin that could be evidence. But she was sure there was nothing about Indiana. And if there was, the explosion and the incendiary devices should have destroyed all of it. Still, you could never tell with fire. It did what it wanted.


A man came running around the back of the house. He was tall, red-headed, and had a dry phone in his hand.

He fell to his knees beside Ava. It was clear he was talking. Some sound was drifting through the haze of Jim's hearing. Not enough to understand completely.

Call maybe. Others? Jim shook his head no. At least he hoped there was no one in that cabin. God, he hoped Sandy wasn't in there.

Jim pointed to his ear and shook his head. The universal I can't hear you gesture earned a returned sign for I called for help.

The man opened up a fanny pack medical kit. Johnny-on-the-spot this guy was. He rinsed Ava's forehead with water from a squirt bottle. She closed her eyes to keep from getting fluid in them. The cut wasn't as bad as Jim had first thought.

Jim got up and strode to the burning structure. All he could think of was the bonfires his buddies used to throw in college. In his past life. Before his world fell to pieces. He'd gotten it together since then. Some. But now he found himself in the middle of what looked like a war zone.

Then it hit him that if Sandy was in that massive bonfire, his heart would break once again.

He was pushed back by a wall of heat as the front of the structure collapsed in on itself. Everything was burning. The place had been rigged to be totally destroyed if disturbed.

He heard the pop and searing of the wood push through the empty numbness of his ears. He could make out the muffled sound of a fire truck coming down the drive. The driver swung it wide, rolling through the shrubbery along the path, to spin it around so he could back closer.

Behind the fire unit was the ambulance. They followed, stopping short of the walkway. Jim's vision blurred as two men and a woman filed out, large plastic cases containing all manner of medical equipment in tow. Ava would be fine.

Behind them were three black SUVs. Backup. At last.

Jim felt a little wobbly. The female medic stopped by his side and tried to steady him.

"I'm good."

She pointed at the grass and pushed him into a seated position. Seemed reasonable. He let his legs give way; she eased him down. "Anything hurt, sir?"

"I couldn't hear."

"Explosion?"

Jim didn't say anything, just gave her a small nod.

She shouted, "Common. Should return fairly fast unless there's damage." She looked in his ear but didn't make any proclamation as to the future health of his eardrums. "Anywhere else hurt?"

"I just had a piece of wood fall on my leg. It's okay."

Without permission she cut straight up his pant leg, all the way to the knee, and yanked it open. There was a large round area that was trying to start a bruise already.

She felt around the wound. "Nothing feels broken." She checked his eyes and had him follow the path of her moving thumb a few times before she left him to go see if the others needed help.

The firemen worked in a choreographed dance with water and time to put out the flames. Jim watched for longer than he intended and then got up to go check on Ava.


Agents, cops, and firemen were scattered over the lawn like ants. The house had burned hot and fast. His hearing came back in increments. The last guy Jim spoke to figured there was a large amount of accelerant expelled during the explosion. No one there was a bomb specialist, but that much was obvious.

He sat beside Ava on the tailgate of the fire marshal's truck, drinking off-brand bottled water and waiting as the crew searched the smoldering structure for any remains. Jim's gut told him Sandy and Dan were not in there.

Neither of them had spoken for a few minutes, both staring at the remains of the house.

Agents had found two other triggers. The bomb could have been set off from the front porch or a trigger by the pond. The entire property had been booby-trapped.

"That was close, Agent Webb."

She let out a little laugh. Her hair was free and dangling in her face. Mud drenched her white shirt. She'd lost one of her shoes. "Again, I think you can call me Ava. After all, you saved my life."

Jim said nothing. He wasn't sure how he felt about being on a first-name basis with her. He'd been calling her by her given name in his mind since the scene at the house. Out loud was another matter. She was strong, beautiful.

He took another drink of water. It was good. Soothing.

"Now what? Where would she take them?" She shoved her hair back again. It seemed to irritate her.

"Why not cut it off?"

"Cut what off?" She didn't look at him. Just watched the men moving around with hoses and long pry bars.

"If your hair bothers you, why not cut it off?" Easy enough. He liked it, but he could understand why a woman in her position would keep it short.

She looked down at her hands. "I don't want to come off too mannish at the office. I have enough trouble because of my job as it is."

"Trouble?"

"Never mind, Bean." She stood. The paramedic rushed over.

"You need to sit, ma'am. I wish you'd let us transport you. That's a bad dislocation." He'd iced and wrapped it but didn't have the skills—or the pain meds—to reset the joint. Agent Webb—Ava—had refused to go to the hospital until she was sure no one was in that house.

One of her agents approached. "For you." He held out the phone to Jim.

"Hello?"

"Hey, my man. Hear you're having a blast up there."

Ely always had a way with words. "Not funny."

"You guys okay?"

"Head hurts. Ava has a few cuts and a dislocated shoulder."

"Ava? Must be getting cozy."

"Shut up. What do you have?"

"Well, I think I know where she might be going."

Jim straightened. Ava turned her attention away from her agent and was obviously eavesdropping. He held the phone out some so she could hear.

"There's one little cross-reference from a car sale. Elizabeth Stanton sold a 2009 Toyota and traded it in on a cargo van. One like the caterers and shit use. The dealer remembered the picture I sent him because the woman said she was buying the van for her aunt. She insisted the title be put in the name Eloise Fowler."

He looked at Ava. "That name ring any bells for you?"

"None."

Ely broke back in. "It shouldn't. Eloise Fowler was a single woman, no kids, who died in a car accident four years ago. But I found where she got a ticket driving from California to Nevada last week."

Ava stood, holding her arm, and looked at her guy. "You find any of this?"

He shook his head.

"You have an address, Ely?" she shouted a little too loud at the phone.

"Why yes, I do, Miss Lady Fed. And for you, I have one other little treat."

"You do?"

"I found an online veterinary medical distribution. I called and said I was working for Dr. Eloise Fowler and needed some ketamine. That I didn't have my account log in. They wouldn't let me order, of course, but I managed to find out they sent a large shipment just last month to …"

This had to be where she went. It was her drop location. It may not have been her first choice, but Sophie had been numerous places. "Where is she?"

"Knoblesville, Indiana."

"Text the address to this phone." Ava was still loud talking. Evidently, her hearing wasn't all the way back.

"Yes, ma'am. Right away, ma'am!" The phone dinged. The text was there.

"Nice work," she said. "If you ever need a job, give me a ring."

"Already did my civic duty, ma'am. I like my … recreational activities way too much for government work."

Jim laughed. "You have Annie?"

"I do, indeed. She's sleeping on the eagle as we speak."

"Eagle?" Ava asked.

Jim eased off the tailgate. "Ely has some rather impressive hanging sculptures in his place. Annie likes them."

Into the phone she said, "Later, Ely. Let me know if you find anything else."

Jim paced away. "Sophie changed her plans. Why?"

"We got too close. This was her plan. To make a perfect home for Dan. She got spooked, took the waitress, and changed her destination. She's unprepared. Probably angry. My bet is Dan's not going along with her scheme. She's going to get off-balanced in a hurry."

"As if she's not now." Jim paced back.

"She's been calm and collected for years. Her killings had been planned or at least convenient. Now she's running. I bet she never considered what to do if we caught onto her. Psychopaths assume they are correct, even justified in everything they do. They have no respect for the police. Or you. Probably picked you because she thought you weren't capable of figuring her out—no offense. Now that we've tracked her, she's got to be in a panic. Or worse."

"That makes her even more dangerous." Jim thought of Cynthia Hodge, disfigured and dumped. The dead agent on the back porch of the safe house without a face. A limp Lynette Hodge in Stephen's arms. He didn't want to think of Sandy and Dan stuck with Sophie Evers as she fell apart.

And again, all because he'd found Dan for her. Fuck, he wished he hadn't taken this job.

Jim looked at the young agent standing beside Ava. "Can you get us a ride to Indiana?"

He didn't answer. Just looked over at Ava.

"Do it."


Jim eased back in his seat. They should be getting close to the small town where they believed Sophie was holed up. Locals had done a drive by and someone was in the house. That's all they were asked to do.

The fruity smell of the Tahoe made his stomach turn. He was in the back seat. Maybe this had been a K-9 unit at some point. He couldn't narrow down the offending scent. Using stinky shit to cover the smell of stinky shit confused him. The vehicle was thick with the strawberry perfume. And not the fresh-picked strawberries like mom puts on shortcake kind of smell. No. It was the medicine-ish, kid's cough syrup kind of strawberry.

Ava's face was pale. A military medic on the plane had popped her arm back into the proper position. It had to hurt like a motherfucker. She now had a brace, a better sling, and a little pain medication. She'd refused anything stronger.

"You shouldn't be here."

"I'm the agent in charge, or have you forgotten?"

"Wow. Um, no, I have not. I was just worried—"

"Don't worry."

He looked out the window. A light rain. Clouds. That was good. Made it darker. Easier to sneak up. Of course, a SWAT team would be doing that.

It churned his gut being so out of control. What if they fucked it up and Sandy was hurt? But no one was concerned about his worries. They were all following some book on tactical and hostage situations. Jim wanted to follow his gut, go in there and strangle that bitch with his bare hands.

They pulled up into the parking lot of a long-ago closed gas station. How a gas station went out of business with the price per gallon so high, he'd never know. There were several police units, five FBI cars, and a tactical van there.

Ava climbed out gingerly and addressed the officer in charge of the Knoblesville police.

Jim hung back. She'd told him pretty clearly that she was in charge from here on out. He leaned against a police car and watched. Still within earshot, of course. The house was a doublewide, north of town. At least fifteen yards from any other structure.

"Well, brother. Looks like Lady Fed doesn't need the likes of us any longer." Double O strolled up and leaned on the car right next to Jim.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

He shrugged, put a toothpick in his mouth like a lollipop. "Was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by."

"The neighborhood?"

He shrugged, lit a cig, and handed it to Jim. He needed it. The nicotine wouldn't ease his problems, but it sure made them easier to swallow.

"Ely called. I was at the airport, changed flights." It was good to have one person he could depend on. "The SWAT team decided to wait until full dark to go in."

"Great idea. As long as you aren't being held hostage by a maniac," Jim muttered.

"Look at that. Fifteen cops, at least that many agents." O spit out the toothpick. "The crazy bitch will see all that coming a mile away. She was smart enough to booby trap the house in Cali, she'll have done the same thing here." O situated his jeans by pulling up then down on the waistband. "You know, a couple smart guys could probably get in there quieter and easier than that big SWAT team."

"You think?"

"I do.

"Rental's back there." O motioned behind the mess of official vehicles. "Got GPS and the address."

Ava would kill Jim if they moved in first and messed up her perfectly planned rescue. Only, her plan left one thing to be desired: the element of surprise. Sophie Ryan Evers had time to prepare for it.

"Let's go."


"Oh my, but you do looked pissed."

The waitress had been awake a while. She'd screamed her fool head off for about an hour. Now she was quiet, her red-rimmed eyes hard. Her cheeks flushed with fear that Sophie guessed was quickly turning to anger. She didn't want the child to be resistant; she wanted her crying and pleading.

The girl didn't answer.

"I'll be killing you soon enough, no need to be getting yourself all worked up. I just need to make sure your friend doesn't show up and try to ruin all my plans."

She looked confused, but still didn't speak. Sophie hadn't asked her a question, had she?

"You hungry?"

She paled. So much ketamine would have been rough on her. Puke bucket Sophie had left nearby was half full as it was. She shook her head but still didn't speak.

"You have a bad-ass hangover, girl. You should sleep that off."

"How long?" Her voice was very scratchy, hoarse.

"Ah. No wonder you weren't speaking." Sophie had added it up on the way here. She'd kept the poor girl out for almost two days. She was surprised the girl survived even though Sophie had tried to keep the doses weak enough to keep her alive but strong enough to render her incoherent. "A long time. Too long. Your head will hurt and your stomach for a while. But I figure you'll be dead before you feel better, so you sure you don't want some food?"

Her bound hands shook in her lap as she sat on an old cot, her back against raw boards.

Dan was up at the trailer. Sophie had brought the girl out to the shed so Dan wouldn't hear her. Didn't want him distracted. He was stirring as well and she wanted to be there when he was in that twilight stage so she could give him just the right amount of the shit to make him accommodating.

You should have him kill the girl. Make an official bonding between you two. A marriage of sorts.

"Shut up."

The waitress looked confused again, but if she refused food, what the fuck? Less work for Sophie.

Seriously, if he kills her when he's under the influence, then he'll be better off staying with you because you can keep him away from the law. It's what you do.

It could work. He could use her blade.

Dan was moving a little bit when she got back inside. Trying out his legs, his fingers, but his eyes were still closed. That last dose had been a big one. It was all she'd had in the van. But she'd stored a good bit of the ketamine in the dreary kitchen of this shitty trailer. She'd used it as a warehouse of sorts, only coming here to restock. The neighbors thought Eloise dead, her relatives fighting over the land.

Pffft. The land wasn't worth a shit. It stunk. The thirty-year-old trailer was moldy. She'd passed herself off as a realtor and asked them to call her if they saw anyone hanging around. Now she was the one hanging around.

"What are you doing, Soph?" Dan's eyes didn't open.

Her heart stopped for an instant. He was still calling her Soph. Maybe … She was afraid to think of maybe. "Getting you some water."

His eyes opened. "Where are we?"

"Indiana."

He sat up, pausing to realize his leg was shackled to the bed and his hands were still bound. She helped him up then handed him the water.

He wiggled his foot. "Why am I tied up?"

She shrugged. This wasn't going too easy. She'd expected yelling. But his head probably hurt too much.

"You need to be this way to start. You'll see soon. You'll want to be here and … Then I can untie you."

"I need to piss."

Cowboys. She pushed an empty paint can closer to him.

"Really?"

"It's the best I have. This is not where I wanted us to start up, Danny. I had the perfect spot in the mountains, a little lake. It was magical."

"What happened to it?"

Rage filled her again. She needed to move. She got up and walked to the door and leaned on it. "That private eye. He found us. Well, it. He got there first. It's gone." Her belly knotted at the thought. "I hope he burned up with it."

Dan just nodded. He didn't look upset. He wasn't happy either. He was just there.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"I feel like I drank all the beer in Austin last night."

She couldn't help a hint of a giggle. The last time she giggled was when she was a kid. "I, um … I want us to be …"

"Happy?"

He looked her in the eye when he said it. She felt his sincerity, but she knew better than to trust it. Too many men had used that ploy on her before.

But for the moment she'd enjoy the possibility that he could love her without going through her treatment plan. The fear that the plan would fail and she would have to slash his throat had faded some. But she would do it if need be.

She remembered playing cowboys and Indians when they were kids. She was the Indian, of course. He tracked her down. He held that cap gun to her stomach. Looked her in the eye as he pulled the trigger. Over and over.

You shot me, she'd said. Easy to remember the hurt and surprise.

You've committed nineteen crimes against god and humanity, he'd replied with a smile. It's what I do.

And that was it, wasn't it? It was what she did too.

Looking at his stern face, she thought she might kill him anyway. He'd hurt her so many times. And all she'd ever done was love him. That was not how she expected to feel. She thought once he was here, he would fight and she would convince him … of what? That he loved her?

The cops and that fucking PI were closing in. Her throat was tight.

"Drink. You have to be thirsty."

He looked down at the glass in his bound hands. "More drugs?"

She gave him a small smile. "No," she lied.

If he killed that girl, that would make Sophie happy. She wanted to see him do it with the same smug look of the cowboy who shot little girls with crushes in the stomach.

"Are you happy to see me?"

He took a sip. Good. "I'm worried 'bout you, Soph. You've caused a truckload of trouble."

"It's what I do."

He nodded. Did he remember the words he'd uttered to her all those years ago? Did he remember that he'd laid his body on top of her and kissed her hard right after that? She'd felt his desire for her. Did he remember that? Did he remember acting like it never happened the next day?

"Talk to me." He took another sip.

"About what?"

"Why are we here? What do you really want me to do?"

His hair was a mess, his clothes rumpled and twisted on his body. She'd waited so long for this moment and now she wasn't sure what she wanted out of it. She'd pined for him. Wished for his attention. She knew he would complete something that was missing, some huge piece inside her. But now all she felt was …

"I want … wanted … But you're not."

"Not what?"

Not what I remember. Not what I really want. Not worth a shit for fucking around all these years.

She needed to think.

"Drink your water."

There was a soft bong like a doorbell several rooms away. She jumped. He tried to move.

"Stay put."


"You stole a baton from a cop?" O shook his head.

They made their way past the property at 11103 Southwest Highway. Its driveway led into the dark. No way going in the front door was going to work.

They had gone to the next farm road and cut through the woods on foot. O held his gun at the ready. Jim had managed to find a police baton lying on the hood of a car before they left the checkpoint. "He left it laying around. You know how bad crime is these days."

"Right."

The SWAT team need not have waited. The forest was so dark Jim had a hard time negotiating the stumps and roots. Again, there was no way to be quiet about it when the damned blackberry bushes were reaching out and grabbing his clothing. Did not help going in stealth mode one bit.

They headed toward a couple of lights twinkling through the trees. They eased closer, doing their best to be quiet. Again Jim wondered how the hell he made so much more noise than everybody else. O had at least forty pounds on him and he was ghostlike as he moved around the trunks and over the dried leaves.

They stopped and hunched down behind a couple of downed trees. The trailer wasn't the only building on the property. Closer to them was a shed large enough for a car. A small outdoor light burned on the corner, revealing an ancient tractor rusting behind the shed. The seat and steering wheel were gone. The tires were flat and cracked by time.

For the second time in as many days, Jim was hit by the shockwave from an explosion. This one was smaller, farther away. In the front of the trailer. He and O both ducked for cover.

Jim peeked over the logs. Fire and smoke rose over the trailer.

"Cops came in the front. So much for waiting till dark."

Jim saw movement off to the side. Three men in assault gear were creeping through the woods, moving in unison around the back of the trailer. Jim suspected the formation was mirrored on the other side. They hustled into the yard.

Mistake.

Within seconds one stepped on a mine. The explosion was loud. Jim's not-quite-back-to-normal ears complained.

Guys came in and retrieved the screaming men and dragged them to the relative safety of the woods. They would fall back. Call for more help.

"They'll reconvene," O whispered.

"Probably send in a negotiator."

Ten minutes passed. Nothing moved. Not a curtain. Nobody crossed in front of the back windows. "You think it's another dead end?"

Jim thought about it. Remembered her smug look the morning after she'd … He closed his eyes. The sooner this ended, the sooner he could forget Sophie Evers and move on with his life. Dan wouldn't be so lucky. If he was still alive, he'd lost his mother and his sister to the crazy bitch.

"She's arrogant. She may have had one backup plan, but I doubt she has two."


She chewed her fingernail. Dan was looking at her, his eyes sparkling as if he were amused. She considered slapping him for his smugness.

"You know how this ends, don't you, Soph?"

If she didn't know better, she'd say his expression had changed to pity. She didn't want his fucking pity. She was in control of this situation. Regardless of the number of police in her backyard. She peeked through the curtain.

"Why don't you turn off the lights if you don't want them to see you?" His eyebrows rose. "You know they'll cut the power soon anyway. Just like they do in the movies."

She spun back and slapped him. "This is not the movies, you bastard. I am in control."

No, you ain't.

She ignored the voice and rushed to cup his face. "I'm sorry. I have to think." She had nowhere to go. No way to get away from his disappointed gaze.

The party's over, stupid. Might as well slice these two. You have a better chance of getting out through the woods alone.

She didn't want to be alone. All the planning. All the struggle.

The whoring. Fucking old, ugly men. Those nasty pimps. You whored yourself all the way up to a cush job and still no one wants you. Your boy sure don't.

NO! Dan did want her. He was here. He wasn't fighting her.

He thinks you're trash.

He didn't. And she would prove it. He was on the bed. Sitting there with that water glass still in his hand. It was half gone, so he'd drunk most of it. He was a little fucked up, not all the way.

"Danny."

He looked at her.

She inched forward. Schoolgirl butterflies performed a complicated dance in her belly. Gently she cupped his face again. His expression was blank. She was sure that would change. She leaned forward, waiting to see if he did the same. He did not.

She eased down to her knees. She'd loved this man since she was nine. And this was the last chance they had.

Leaving her eyes open, she tilted her head and made up the distance to his lips. They were warm, soft. And she was sure he was kissing her back.

She pulled back an inch.

He was looking at her, face still blank. She was filled with joy and he was blank?

"That's the last time you do that." Cuffed hands and the water glass flew at her face. He faltered backward, flailing. Trying to get his hands around her neck. Comical almost.

She shoved him. "Asshole."

"Whacko." He kicked out at her.

Well, that settles that, doesn't it?

"It does." Her heart broke. There would be no time for the treatment. To convince him. She retrieved her gun from the counter. She unlatched his foot. "Move."

"Where to? The FBI is out there."

"So is someone I want you to meet."

She assumed he didn't remember seeing the waitress or he would have asked about her first thing, with his cowboy ways.

"You doing the suicide by cop thing?"

She laughed. "Hardly. I have insurance. And you'll probably like her. She's cute and young. She's our ticket out of this hellhole. If you're good, I'll let you watch me kill her. If you're not, I'll make her kill you."


"Lights went out," O said.

"Time to move." Coming from inside, her night vision would be lacking. They'd have a few seconds before it adjusted. "Stay on the gravel path. Less likely to get blown up. She had to leave herself a path out of here." Jim hoped.

He went first, running low. Staying in line with the shack so she couldn't see him. Moving as quiet as his clumsy feet would take him. He made it to the tractor and realized the farm equipment was hiding a small car between it and the building. Some kind of all-wheel drive, all-terrain thing.

O pointed two fingers to the right. Jim went left. He made it around the corner just as Sophie and Dan closed the shack door behind them. Sandy screamed. It was worn, tired sounding.

He approached the door, O pointed the gun and just before Jim's hand landed on the handle, the door flung open.

Jim stumbled back. Sandy stood there, crying. Sophie was behind her with a long, shining blade at her throat.

"Hello, lover," she cooed at him. His skin crawled. "Come back for more?"

"You can put the knife down now."

"And then we'll talk about this? Hardly." She cut Sandy's neck, enough to make her screech and blood dribble from the wound. "You and your buddy will get up and walk away. You'll tell all your cop friends out there to let us drive away. Otherwise she dies." Sophie quickly glanced back. "Danny. Come here."

Dan stumbled through the opening and onto his knees. He was under the influence of the ketamine and she'd crudely taped something around his waist.

"I'll blow him up and cut her. By now you know I'm more than willing."

Dan tried to stand. He made eye contact with Jim. Winked.

He then stumbled forward, knocking Jim backward. Jim landed on something hard. Metal. The downed SWAT team member had dropped his weapon in the explosion. Jim easily scooted it behind his back and then helped Dan to sit back beside him.

Two hostages, cops, explosions: the scenario was too much for Sophie. He could see it in her fidgety eyes. She was losing control, her mental state degrading just as Ava said it would.


Sophie tried to breath normally, to calm and assess. Dan was too far away for her to manage without dropping the knife. She had the detonator for the explosive, and the charge was large enough to take herself out with it. Maybe that was the way to go. Take them all out.

Blaze of glory, really? Stupid girl.

Rain started to fall. Hard. Cold. Running down her face, into her eyes. She didn't know where to focus. Her gaze darted from the PI to the big guy, to the girl, and landed on Dan.

"What other choice do I have?" Her voice sounded weak in her head.

O inched closer. "You can let the girl go and give me that thing."

She laughed. "Yeah. That would be smart."

Just do it.

Numb fingers curled around the detonator as if they were part of someone else's body. Under someone else's control.


Dan staggered, struggling to make his way to his feet with his hands tied. He was still looking at Jim.

Jim mouthed, Now.

Dan flung himself backward, into the girls. Sandy screamed, probably assuming her death was imminent. Sophie scrambled up, still holding the detonator, and glared down at Dan. If she pushed that button, they were all goners. She hesitated, her face softened.

Jim grabbed the gun he'd been lying on. Prayed to the heavens there wasn't a safety on it—he had no idea where it would be—swung it, and aimed for her middle. He squeezed the trigger. Several rounds blasted from the barrel.

The force of the bullets pushed Sophie back a couple more steps. Her eyes went wide. Her arms slack.

She looked down at her stomach; it was blooming blood from her right side.

She dropped the detonator.

O grabbed it.

Agents and police rushed up, careful to remain on the path. They were shouting.

Sandy scrambled to Jim, crashed to her knees, and buried her head in his chest.


Stupid girl. You should have killed them all.

"I couldn't kill Dan."


Lynette Hodge died tragically Wednesday the 18th of August.

Born in 1928 in Austin, Texas, Lynette received a M.Ed. in Nursing Education from Texas Christian University in 1955. Hers was an entire life spent putting others first, even perishing to protect her son. Lynette was a beautiful individual, a jokester, Fitzgerald hater, and a dear friend.

She is survived by her son, Daniel Hodge, who brought her great joy and cake in her later years.

Dan read the text, nodded, and handed back the words Jim had scribbled on a legal pad. Had taken two hours to get the wording just right. It mattered.

"Seventy-five words. Perfect." Dan smiled, though his eyes were dull and lifeless. "She would love it. I've got to get going. Have a date with a mortician. Thanks. For this"—he held up the obit—"and for everything."

Jim stood as Dan did.

"My guess is I still owe you money even after that retainer."

Jim waved him off, not sure what to say. "You going back to Utah?"

"Yeah. I fit there and I don't have to hide anymore. So, who knows?" He saluted with the folded paper. "Anyway. Thanks again."

Special Agent Ava Webb entered the Coffee Girl about fifteen minutes later. She was in jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. Nothing fancy. Long legs were all the accessories she needed. Jim shook his head at himself. Always wanted the things he couldn't have.

"They'll be filing tomorrow. She's going up for nineteen murders." She eased into the booth.

"That's what Dan told me. But he put it a little more dramatically. He said 'nineteen crimes against god and humanity.' I think it meant something to him. Does it to you?"

"Nope. I like it, though. Sounds more applicable than Murder One."

They both sat for a moment, not speaking.

Nineteen souls gone, just so Sophie could try to play house with a boy from her youth. He wanted to ask about the rape charges and Max, but he kept his mouth closed.

Turns out his shooting did suck. He hadn't killed her. Once Sophie recovered, she would be on death row. What difference would an additional rape charge bring? He would deal with his mixed emotions on that subject at a later date. It might involve a great deal of scotch.

"Sandy doing okay?"

"They're going to keep her one more day, just to make sure there's no lingering aftereffects of the ketamine. It could have killed her."

"Should have."

Another waitress showed up. Her name tag read Lou but Jim was sure her name was Louise. She was new. "Would you like to see a menu?"

"No thanks. I'm not staying." Ava smiled at the girl and then looked back to Jim. "Flight's in two hours."

That was a problem too. Ava lived in Dallas.

"She's coming back to work soon, so you get your morning routine back?" Ava gave him a wink, as if knowing his routine was a major accomplishment.

"No. She's not. I talked to her last night. Offered her a job."

That brought a surprised look.

"She's almost through with school. The girl needs some real experience. I offered her an office management position with a reputable detective agency."

"Reputable?"

"Yes. Do I detect disbelief, Agent Webb?"

"If you mean like having the reputation of a guy who would move into a hostage situation, disregarding the tactical plans and orders from FBI agents and police officials, then no."

Dang, she was cute out of that suit and the pressure that came with it.

"It turned out I saved your ass out there and you know it. But I bet that's not what's in all the reports."

She gave him a shrug. "Did you manage to find a home for that dog, Mr. Reputable Detective?"

"I did better than that. I found its owners. Turns out Sophie stole her from outside a café. A young lady was very happy to have her princess back."

"Too bad I can't get the dog to testify."

"I think you'll make the case, Agent Webb."

She gave him a little grin. "If you're ever in Dallas, Mr. Bean," she said as she stood, "I would still like to hear your story. I have a friend with a similar one. I understand how tiny ripples can disrupt an entire pond."

She walked away.

Never looked back.

Damn, he liked her.