Cutting Edge

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Maggie O’Dell’s apartment would alone convict her.

At first, Nora saw nothing out of the ordinary in the small ground-floor garden apartment. In fact, it was virtually empty: The living room had a secondhand couch; the dining/kitchen area a small table with two chairs; and the bedroom a mattress on the floor with sheets and a blanket pulled tightly around the corners. But as she dug deeper into the dark crevices, Maggie’s crimes became clear.

The pristine kitchen concealed death well. A container in the refrigerator matched that one with the fatal iced tea in Anya Ballard’s dorm room. This one, too, was full. Nora didn’t know if it was poisoned, but they would find out.

In a drawer, jimsonweed was spread on paper towels, drying. In the drawer next to it, a set of knives, handmade, perfectly aligned in a special tray that appeared to have been built for this set of knives.

One knife was missing.

Nora wondered if one or more of them would test positive for blood.

It was the bedroom closet that had Nora most on edge.

The closet was a walk-in, nearly as large as the bathroom. The few articles of clothing hung far to the left side. Every inch of the walls was covered with photos and articles. For a moment, Nora thought she’d walked onto a cheesy movie set when she saw a picture of Jonah Payne taken from a distance at his Lake Tahoe house. Written in black permanent marker across the top:

You’re dead.

Pictures of Maggie with Scott, with Anya, with Quin. Quin. What was going on? Nora resisted the urge to pull them down, and swallowed, focusing on the unspoken message Maggie was leaving.

The captions were everywhere. You’re dead. I hate you. I want you to beg. I hate you. Slut. Pervert.

There was a picture of Anya Ballard in a naked embrace with Leif Cole, taken from outside a window. A picture of Quin with … Danny? Yeah, Danny. Whoever was the guy before the new one, Devon. They were at a house Nora didn’t recognize, probably Danny’s. The woman was a voyeur.

The picture of Maggie and Quin bothered Nora the most. Centered on the wall with a big heart around them. She recognized Quin in the picture. It was taken three or four years ago when Quin had gone through a short-hair phase and sported a sleek bob. They both were smiling, Quin’s arm slung over Maggie’s shoulder. The image unnerved Nora. Quin trusted Maggie, and that trust could get her hurt, or worse.

“Nora,” Duke said quietly.

She turned around. He’d closed the door. On the back side was a violent shrine dedicated to Nora.

Traitor. Bitch. Traitor. Murderer. I hate you I hate you I hate you.

Over and over, covering pictures of Nora taken while she worked, while she went to the store, while she was sunbathing in her backyard earlier this summer.

One of the pictures had her head cut off. Another, her throat slit with what looked like dried blood around the edges. And another had her heart cut out.

“Oh God,” she gasped.

Steve Donovan called her name from the bedroom.

She opened the door with a shaking, gloved hand.

“Donovan.” She motioned him to go inside while she stepped out.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“She doesn’t stay here,” Nora said, looking around. “It’s too dark, too barren. No privacy. This is her stop-ping-off point. A place to hide, to regroup, to keep her supplies close. Donovan, we need every photo analyzed to see where it might lead us. Every nook and cranny and hiding place. She has another house. It’s private, no neighbors. That’s where she’s living.”

She stepped outside, close to being claustrophobic in the sterile apartment. She dialed Quin’s cell phone. With each unanswered ring, Nora’s fear grew. She should never have let Quin leave Rogan-Caruso without an armed guard. What had she been thinking? About her own pain and guilt, forgetting that she was dealing with a killer who had a connection to her family. Her only family, Quin. If anything happened to her sister it would be her fault.

Voice mail picked up, Quin’s cheerful voice proclaiming, “Hello, buttercup, this is Quin Teagan, I’m not available-ha ha-but leave a message and I’ll call you when I’m free.”

Nora said, “Quin, call me as soon as possible. Wherever you are, stay there. Let me know where. You need police protection.” She hung up and bit her bottom lip.

“After seeing that you think she’s going after Quin?” Duke sounded both angry and scared. “Did you see what she did to your pictures?”

“But-”

“You’re the one who needs protection.”

“She knows she can’t get to me, not easily. Especially now-you’ve hardly left my side, I’ve been working, I haven’t been alone. Quin is my Achilles’ heel. Maggie knows I’d do anything to save her.” And Nora would. She’d delivered Quin nearly twenty-nine years ago. She’d been terrified of hurting the baby, certain from her mother’s screams that Lorraine was dying. Then she held her, wrapped in a towel, and knew true love.

“How does she know this?”

Nora pushed aside the memories. “Quin told her I was overprotective and controlling. And I’m sure it sounded worse. Maggie is a good judge of people. That’s how she was able to manipulate her boyfriend and Anya for so long. How she was able to fool people into thinking she had a conscience. She knows how to behave. But it’s an act. She’s full of rage and can easily snap. We have to find Quin.”

“Let’s go.”

She glanced at her watch. Seven-thirty. “I doubt she’s still at work. I’ll have police check her house and if she’s not there, her office.”

After she talked to Sacramento PD dispatch, Nora called Quin on her house phone on the chance she’d left her cell phone in the car, while Duke sped out of the parking lot. It rang four times; then voice mail picked up.

“Hiya Sexy, it’s Quin, leave a message and I promise to call ya back.”

“Quin, it’s Nora. If you’re there, pick up the phone. Please. I need to talk to you.”

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

“Dammit, Quin, now’s not the time to be stubborn. I’m worried. Call me back.”

Weather permitting, Quin walked to work because she lived only fourteen short blocks from her office building. Today, she wished she had driven. She didn’t want to go home. She wanted to drive away. Anywhere. Away from Sacramento. From Nora. From her mother. She’d tried to reach Devon, hoping he’d take her to Lake Tahoe. If not, screw him. She’d go herself and find a hot guy on a roll and fill the emptiness inside with good sex. Nora disapproved of her lifestyle, which had spurred Quin on. Who was Nora to judge, anyway?

But Quin didn’t want to find just any guy. She wanted Devon. She really liked him. He was smarter than most of the guys she dated, funnier, cuter. And a doctor. He cared about his work the way she cared about hers. Which is why she’d buried herself in work after walking out on Nora this afternoon.

She turned up the short walk to her town house. She liked the three-hundred-unit complex that took up two square blocks near the river, Old Sac, the movie theater, the K Street Mall. It was convenient, clean, and attractive. Her two-bedroom town house even had a small, private garden area.

She stopped briefly to water her plants before unlocking her front door. She heard the shower running, and her heart skipped a beat until she saw Devon’s keys and black bag on her entry table.

He could even sense when she needed him. She might just be falling in love with the man. Hot shower sex was just what she needed to get her mind off Nora and Maggie. Because she felt like shit for what she’d said to Nora. Maybe it was true, well, a lot of it was true-Nora had been micromanaging her life since she took over the role of mother when Quin was nine. But Nora wasn’t a liar, and all day Quin feared she’d believed her mother because she was desperate for something indefinable.

She took the stairs two at a time. The upstairs was moist and humid. How long did that man shower? She pulled off her T-shirt with the State Arson Investigator logo on the pocket.

“Devon, it’s me!”

Before she opened the shower door, she knew something was wrong. No one was in the shower. There was no steam, the air thick with cool water vapor. The pebbled glass door distorted her view, but she could swear Devon was sitting on the shower floor. Unable to stop herself, her hand already on the handle, she pulled it open.

Devon was slumped on the shower floor, his skin so pale it was translucent, long bloodless gashes down his chest, back, and arms. His eyes were open, and they were no longer bright, vibrant blue. They were glazed, faded, and lifeless.

She screamed, then covered her mouth with both hands. He was dead. No, no, no!

“You weren’t supposed to find him.”

Quin spun around and Maggie stood there in the doorway between her bedroom and bath. In that split second, Quin realized everything Nora had told her was true. Fear crept up her spine until she could barely think.

“All I did was go to the garage because I thought I heard something, and I wanted to be there when you drove up. But your car was already there.”

“I–I walk to work.” Quin looked around for a weapon, but the only one she saw was the knife in Maggie’s hand.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Maggie sounded like a child. “You like her more than me, don’t you?”

“Wh-who?”

From her pocket, Maggie pulled out a picture of Nora. It had been mutilated, but Quin knew exactly what it was. Nora at Quin’s college graduation.

Nora had always shown up at her soccer games. Or when Quin took first place in the state spelling bee. Every play she was in, whether she had a small role or a leading spot, Nora had been there. At her high school graduation, her college graduation, her promotion party.

Quin had taken Nora for granted. Resented her because she wasn’t her mother. She was her sister, and Quin alternately loved and despised her.

Quin had broken up with one of her boyfriends, one she’d thought she’d loved, when he’d suggested she talk to someone about her problems with Nora. “She’s been nothing but cool to you,” he’d said. “I don’t see why you are so hot and cold with her.”

No way in hell was she seeing a shrink, she’d said, and she’d booted him out of her house and out of her life. Quin wasn’t crazy, and she could deal with her own emotions just fine, thank you very much. After that, she rarely introduced her boyfriends to her sister, and if she did it was a brief event.

But it niggled at her like a sneeze that wouldn’t come, and now-for the first time she recognized that she’d been grossly unfair.

Quin was paralyzed. She wasn’t a cop, she was an arson investigator. A nerd. She was smart, not street-savvy.

The television shows always had the good guys trying to keep the bad guys talking until the cavalry showed. “What do you want, Maggie?”

“I wanted my father. I thought that’s what you wanted, too.”

When she first got to know Maggie, Quin’s little sister had been just nine, the same age Quin was when their mother was sent to prison. But it wasn’t until a few years later that they really had meaningful conversations. And one of them had been about their fathers.

It was then that Quin told Maggie that Nora had lied about her father. She’d believed what her mother said-she’d been so lucid, so detailed. And Quin had found him. Randall Teagan was a real person.

Nora hadn’t denied that, only that he wasn’t her father.

Quin had believed her mother because she’d wanted to. Needed to. And that was really the point when she’d bonded with Maggie. Because Nora had taken away her father, too.

You’ve been such an immature brat.

She prayed Nora would forgive her.

“Why did you kill him?” Quin couldn’t look at Devon again. Guilt fought with fear.

“I thought he was an intruder.”

“An intruder in my shower?” Her voice broke into a sob.

Maggie shrugged, then glared at her. “I needed you. But I can see you’re just like all the others. A selfish bitch. Now I won’t feel guilty.”

Quin watched as the picture of Nora floated to the floor. She should have kept her eyes on Maggie, she thought in the split second before two metal darts hit her stomach and she collapsed in terrible pain, her limbs jerking.

I’m sorry, Nora.

Maggie dropped the Taser and her knife in the deep pockets of her peasant skirt. Quin’s body danced with the electrical charge flowing through her nerves. Maggie grabbed her under the shoulders and pulled her from the bathroom.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

“Where are the police?” Nora asked, jumping from the car as soon as Duke parked it. “I called it in more than ten minutes ago.”

Duke said, “It was a well-being check.”

“I’m a federal agent, you’d think they’d hop on it.”

She walked briskly down the path toward Quin’s town house.

“Hold it, Nora.”

“We don’t have time-” But she slowed down. “I know. I just need to know she’s okay.”

“I understand. Do you have a key?”

She held out her key ring by Quin’s key.

“How many entrances?”

“Two. Garage, which is downstairs under the town house. It has stairs going up to the first floor. And the front door. There’s a sliding glass door, but it’s not keyed.”

“I’ll go around to the garage and get in that way.”

“You need a remote to open that door.”

He gave her a half smile. “Garage remotes are not a problem. Give me a count of sixty to get in place, then enter. I’ll come up the back stairs. Just in case. Stay alert.”

Nora nodded. “Hers is the third garage from the end.”

Duke waved and jogged back down the path and around to the garage. Nora began counting.

One. Two. Three.

She bounced on her feet as she mentally counted while standing outside the privacy fencing around Quin’s small courtyard. She heard nothing inside and peered through a crack in the fencing. The kitchen light was on in the back, and the upstairs master bedroom light was on. Energy-conscious, Quin never left her lights on. She had to be home.

Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine. Sixty.

She already had the key in the outer lock. She turned and pushed, took four long steps to the front door, inserted the key, and turned. Her hand was on the butt of her gun as she listened for any sound. The shower was running upstairs. Relief flooded through her.

The door from the stairs leading to the garage slowly opened. Nora stood out of the potential line of fire, saw that it was Duke, and motioned him inside.

“She’s upstairs,” Nora whispered. “The shower’s running.”

“Her car isn’t in the garage.” Duke locked the garage door behind him and did a security check on the first floor. Hall closet, half bath, kitchen pantry, cabinets. There were not many hiding places on the first floor.

Nora frowned. The air had a strange, cool, moist feeling. She drew her gun and cautiously walked up the stairs, Duke two steps behind her, instincts on full alert. Up here the air was almost wet, leaving an odd, chilling coat on her skin.

As soon as she stepped through the open master bedroom door, with the moisture so thick water dripped down the walls, she feared Quin was dead. Duke motioned toward the open bathroom door. Water had pooled on the floor.

Duke mouthed, Let me, and motioned toward the bathroom.

He obviously thought Quin was dead, too. He wanted to protect Nora from it, and this time she let him.

He peered around the corner, still anticipating an attack.

“Shit,” he said.

A tight moan escaped her lungs as she said, “Quin.”

“No.”

She looked inside. The shower door was wide open, and a naked man lay dead on the tile floor.

Duke said, “I’m checking the rest of the second floor. Wait.”

She looked around the bathroom. The man’s clothes had been loosely folded on the bathroom counter. She walked over and saw there was a nametag on the shirt pocket. Dr. Devon Blair. Quin’s boyfriend. On the floor, wet from the water splashing out of the shower, was the red T-shirt Quin had been wearing earlier that day.

Nora stared at it. What had happened here? Also on the floor was a photograph. Nora didn’t dare touch anything; preserving the evidence was crucial and they’d already walked the entire house and probably contaminated the crime scene. But she bent over to see what it was.

It was a picture of her, defaced with her throat scratched as if it had been slit and her eyes carved out. Quin had snapped it while Nora had been unaware, looking up at the stage after Quin’s college graduation ceremony. Quin had asked her what she’d been thinking that had her looking so pensive, and she’d replied that she was so proud of Quin that it had overwhelmed her for a minute. That wasn’t the complete truth. She had been proud, but more than that, she felt that she’d done what she’d promised Quin and herself-making sure Quin had a solid foundation on which to build her future. With that personal goal completed, Nora had been both elated and sad.

Duke returned. “No one’s here. But you need to see something.”

“She has Quin.” She gestured to the T-shirt.

“I know.” Duke glanced at the photo, at first not recognizing it was Nora, then frowning when he did.

He led her out of the bathroom. He pointed to the dresser. She registered the destruction. All the framed pictures, broken. The photos destroyed. Years of memories that Nora had painstakingly created for Quin because their mother had so few photos of them growing up.

“There is blood on the comforter. Not a lot,” Duke added quickly, “but it was stuffed in the closet. I only moved it to make sure no one was hiding under it.”

Or dead under it.

“Where would she take her?” Nora’s voice cracked. “Not her apartment, so where?”

“We’ll find her.”

Downstairs the bell rang, followed by loud knocking.

The police.

Nora paced the FBI conference room while on hold waiting for Warden Jeff Greene at Victorville to pick up. A dozen agents and analysts were working tonight digging through property records under a variety of names-anyone Maggie might know-phone records, and emails trying to get an idea of where Maggie had taken Quin. Every law enforcement officer in the western U.S. had a memo on Quin’s car with her photo and Maggie’s photo.

An hour ago, just before midnight, Scott Edwards’s truck had been found parked on the street three blocks from Quin’s office. It had been towed to the sheriff’s impound lot. Steve Donovan’s team was going through it now.

They’d already tried to trace Quin’s cell phone. It was in her purse, left behind at her town house. Her car, which she rarely drove, didn’t have GPS or any trackable security device.

Upon arrival at Quin’s town house, the coroner determined that the victim, Dr. Devon Blair, had been dead for several hours, but the exact time would be difficult to determine because the cold water had lowered his body temperature. After talking to hospital staff, they learned he’d left Sutter General at four in the afternoon.

At Maggie’s apartment Duke and Nora, along with three specialists, had meticulously searched for any clue-a receipt, note, journal-that might lead them to where Maggie had taken Quin. There was nothing. In fact, other than a familiar alias on the apartment rental agreement, nothing they had come across even suggested that Maggie O’Dell lived there. ERT went through printing the place and pulling trace evidence, and had felt confident that they could prove that she was there through physical evidence, but the lack of personal belongings suggested Maggie was far more shrewd than most young killers.

She had no credit cards or bank accounts, so tracing plastic or a checking account was out. They ran her father’s credit card and came up dry; it had only been used by him locally.

The pair of agents who had interviewed him yesterday went back and asked for his help, but he refused. He didn’t believe them when he was told that Maggie was under suspicion for murder and kidnapping. He owned no other property in the state, though ownership was certainly not a requirement for Maggie’s purposes. She would pick a place that was private and accessible to the highway. An abandoned cabin or empty vacation home would work for her purposes. Thinking of that, Nora had sent the pair of agents in Lake Tahoe to check on Jonah Payne’s place. That, too, was empty and the police seal undisturbed.

Hans Vigo at Quantico seemed positive that Maggie would contact Nora directly before harming Quin. But it already had been more than six hours.

Nora had done everything she could that night. Making sure every branch of law enforcement had recent photos of Quin, the high school picture of Maggie, and a copy of the more recent picture found in her closet. A description of Quin’s car, Scott Edwards’s truck, sending agents to re-interview students at Rose College, pushing Donovan on the evidence. It was one in the morning and she had nowhere to turn, nothing to do except think about the danger Quin faced.

She did have one more option. Her last option. God knew that she’d never attempt to speak with Lorraine unless she had no other choice. Lorraine might know something about where Maggie was living. Maybe she would help. Quin’s life was at stake; she had to help!

She dialed Warden Greene at the Victorville Federal Penitentiary and worked on controlling the desperation that rose in her chest. If Lorraine knew how scared Nora was, she might clam up just to hurt her. Nora had to prove to Lorraine that this was about Quin. That was the only way she’d help.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Agent English.”

“I’m sorry to drag you from bed, Warden, but it’s an emergency. I need to talk to a prisoner immediately.”

“I know. That’s one of the reasons I took so long. I had Lorraine Wright woken and asked her to take your call. She refused.”

“She can’t!”

“I can’t force her to talk to you.”

Nora rubbed her eyes. Lorraine would never change. Selfish, angry, distrustful. “Please ask her if she knows where Maggie is staying. If she has any idea where she might be living. Tell her that her daughter Quin is in danger.”

“I’ll ask. Hold the line. This may take a few minutes.”

“I’ll wait, thank you.”

Duke stood at her side and took her hand. She said, “Lorraine won’t talk to me.”

“Dr. Vigo said Maggie would call you.” Hooper had already put a trace on all her phones. If Maggie called, they’d quickly pinpoint her location.

“But he doesn’t know that she’ll call. And that puts her in the driver’s seat. We need to find out where she is first. Otherwise, she’ll jerk us around.”

“Everyone is working on it.”

“I know.” She sat on the edge of the table and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to panic, she had to think clearly. “Quin has to be okay.”

“She is. And she’s feisty.”

No one, not even Hans Vigo, could predict Maggie’s erratic behavior. Nora sensed that Quin was in jeopardy as soon as she spotted the pictures in Maggie’s closet, but she couldn’t even hazard a guess at how long it would take before Maggie called her, if ever. Dr. Vigo said within twenty-four hours, but Nora wasn’t so sure. It depended on Maggie’s end game.

“She’s trying to wear you down,” Duke told Nora. “She doesn’t know that we’re on to her.”

Nora wasn’t so sure, but had agreed to a stakeout at Maggie’s apartment. “She didn’t go back to her apartment.”

“Because she kidnapped Quin. Hard to get her into the building. You said she’d find someplace secluded.”

“If she didn’t know we were on to her before she took Quin, she knows now.”

“Why?”

“She left the water running in Quin’s town house, for one. That’s going to attract attention, probably from her next-door neighbor. We impounded Scott’s truck. We were all over her apartment. And-I don’t think Quin will keep quiet. I laid out the case against Maggie, trying to prove it to Quin. The only thing going for us now is that Maggie and Quin have a long-standing relationship. Maybe-” She paused. What was she hoping for? “Maybe Quin understands her. Maybe she can stay alive until we can find her.”

Hooper walked in with Rachel close on his heels. Hooper announced, “The judge didn’t approve our warrant for a wiretap on David O’Dell’s phone. Said we didn’t have enough evidence that he was involved in his daughter’s alleged activities, and that the charges against Maggie O’Dell were specious.”

“What?” Duke exclaimed. “This is why I’m glad I never became a cop. The evidence is pretty damn clear. You didn’t see her apartment, Dean.”

Hooper tensed and said, “I saw the photos, and I agree that she’s our killer. But knowing it and proving it are two different things. We still have evidence to process. We have fingerprints but can’t prove they belong to Maggie O’Dell.”

“Not necessarily,” Rachel said, holding up her BlackBerry. “Donovan just emailed a preliminary report that the prints in the apartment match prints in both Edwards’s truck and Teagan’s town house.”

“But we haven’t matched them against Maggie O’Dell,” Nora said. “Once we bring her into custody, we can tie up the entire case with a pretty bow, but until then, it’s as if she doesn’t exist.”

“Agent English?” Warden Greene said over her phone.

“Yes, Warden, I’m here.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Nora’s chest tightened. She was out of ideas. If Lorraine didn’t talk, they’d have to wait for Maggie to make the next move, and Nora didn’t want to cede control to a psychopathic killer.

“Why?”

“Ms. Wright said if you want that information, she’ll only tell you face-to-face.”

The duck stood on the table and stared at Quin. The last duck from Butcher-Payne, she thought. Securely tied to the chair, hands behind her back, each ankle tied to the base, she was dressed only in her jeans and a bra. Maggie wouldn’t give her a shirt to wear, didn’t even seem to notice that it was freezing up here-wherever “here” was. All Quin knew was they were in the mountains-the fresh pine, the redwoods, the moist, woodsy scent. But the Sierra Nevadas were a big place, they could be almost anywhere-though it had taken less than two hours to get here.

A cat jumped onto the table next to the duck, who waddled away and hopped onto the floor. Now the cat stared at Quin, before sitting and licking his paw.

It was pitch black outside, the only light in the cabin from a naked bulb in the middle of the room. The place was cluttered but neat. Books and papers stacked tightly on a solitary bookshelf; dishes washed and dried on the sideboard; knives hung neatly on a rack.

Maggie had left three hours ago, if Quin’s internal clock was working. She had no idea what Maggie had planned for her. She hadn’t spoken much after Tasering Quin in her bathroom.

Quin’s bottom lip quivered as she thought about Devon and what Maggie had done to him. What she wanted to do to Nora. It was clear that Maggie’s goal was to kill Nora, and Quin didn’t know how to save herself, let alone her sister.

Did Nora even know she was missing? Quin couldn’t believe some of the things she’d said to her sister. She wished she could take them back. What if that was the last conversation she ever had with Nora? She didn’t want to die with Nora thinking she hated her.

Quin didn’t hear anything but the faint sounds of night outside the cabin. Tree branches rubbing against the back wall, moved by a breeze that occasionally strengthened enough to rattle one of the two windows. The call of owls, a howl of a lone coyote. The door opened and Quin jumped. “Hi, Quin! I’m back!” Maggie announced.

She put a bag down on the counter and unpacked it.

“Where were you?” Quin asked.

“Out,” she said, then laughed. “Sending Super Special Federal Agent a message. We’ll see how long it takes her to find it.” She put a cell phone down on the counter.

“What kind of message?”

“A fun one.” She frowned. “Why all the questions?”

“I’m curious. I’m a captive audience, after all.”

She shrugged. “You’re not part of this anymore.”

“Then let me go.”

She laughed again. “Silly. I was joking. You’re the best part.”

Maggie unpacked the bag. Peanut butter. Bread. Bottled water. She proceeded to make a sandwich, then held it to Quin’s mouth. “Go on, bite,” she said.

Quin turned away. She didn’t care how hungry she was, she wanted nothing from Maggie.

“Fine,” Maggie snapped. She ate the sandwich herself and chased it down with water.

“Maggie, why did you kill all those people?”

She frowned. “Is that what she’s saying? That’s what she told you? That I killed someone?” Maggie sounded almost indignant, but there was a hint of pride in her voice.

“She told me everything.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“You were involved in the arson, you killed Dr. Payne. You poisoned your friends.”

Maggie pouted. “I’m not talking about that, and if you want to live, you’ll shut up.”

“Nora never hurt you.”

Maggie slammed her fist on the table. The cat jumped off and ran behind the small couch. “You made me scare him,” Maggie said, obviously upset. She slapped Quin. “Nora killed my father and she deserves to die for it. You don’t know how long I’ve been planning this. Years. I came up here to go to Rose College just to be close to you, and you didn’t want me around.”

“That was because Nora might have seen you!”

“Nora doesn’t even know what I look like. I walked right by her twice this week and she didn’t notice. You could have introduced me as your friend Maggie.”

“Nora knows what you look like now,” Quin said. “She knows everything about you.”

“She doesn’t know me and she never will. Because I’ll kill her the minute she walks into my trap. I could have been special. I could have been important! But she made me a nobody.”

She wasn’t making sense, and Quin had little experience talking to killers. What was she supposed to say to this girl? This wasn’t the Maggie she knew.

“You are special,” she said quietly. “You were always special. I saw that the minute we met.” And in some ways she had-she’d been enamored of having a little sister, and thrilled to have a secret she’d kept from Nora.

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not. I’ve always liked you, Maggie. We are so much alike.” That’s what Quin thought before finding out Maggie was a killer.

Maggie looked at her as if she didn’t know whether to believe her or not. “I don’t believe you, not after I killed your boyfriend. Why, Quin? Why did you pick him over me?”

For a moment, Quin thought Maggie was talking about a sexual relationship, but she quickly realized that it wasn’t about sex, it was about kinship. Maggie had wanted Quin for herself.

“I liked him, but it wasn’t you or Devon. We could have been friends forever.” Now Devon was dead and Quin felt responsible. She’d befriended Maggie, never thinking she was a killer.

“No!” Maggie shouted, and began to pace the length of the cabin. “You don’t understand! You’re just like everyone else. Don’t placate me. Don’t pretend we’re friends, because we’re not. The only reason I talked to you was because you gave me information I needed.”

“What? I never-”

“Little things. Like Nora is allergic to peanuts.” Maggie picked up the jar of peanut butter. “This might come in handy. Face it, Quin, you’ll be better off without her.”

Quin couldn’t remember ever telling Maggie about the peanuts, but maybe she had, in conversation. She’d had a lot of talks with Maggie, mostly about growing up … with Nora. Missing her mother. Not understanding why Nora never let her see Lorraine. Complaining, always criticizing Nora.

It was no wonder Maggie thought Nora was to blame for everything. Quin had blamed her, too.

“Please, Maggie. Stop this right now. You can leave and disappear and it’ll be over.”

“No!” She kicked Quin in the stomach so hard and suddenly that the chair fell backward. “I can’t stop this. I don’t want to stop this. It has to be finished.”

All air rushed from her lungs and Quin couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, the pain spreading from her gut so fast she thought she’d pass out. She focused on taking shallow breaths.

Maggie walked past Quin on the floor and went into the bathroom. She was talking to herself and Quin made out a few words here and there: Prison. Traitor. Hopeless.

When Nora said Maggie was crazy, Quin hadn’t believed her.

She shuddered. She sure as hell believed her now.

At the former Mather Air Force Base, where J. T. Caruso housed his small plane, Duke pulled Sean aside.

“Be careful, Sean. You just got your license in June, you don’t have a lot of solo hours logged.”

“You’re doing it again, Duke.”

He wasn’t going to apologize for caring about his family. “I’m worried. Not just about you, but about Nora.”

“You really care about her.” Sean raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to crash, Duke, I promise.”

Sean was the only one Duke had confided in about being nervous when flying; ever since their parents’ small-plane crash. Sending Sean and Nora in the air to fly to Victorville to talk to Lorraine Wright was hard, but it had to be done.

Duke was staying behind, because Nora had asked him to.

“Okay,” Duke said.

“You’re fueled and ready, Mr. Rogan,” the attendant said to Sean.

Mr. Rogan. Duke didn’t think he’d ever heard Sean addressed as such.

“I’ll get Nora,” he said.

She was talking on her phone, making arrangements with Warden Greene for landing privileges on prison property. “We just don’t have a lot of time, Warden. This is the fastest way in and out. Please.”

When her shoulders relaxed, Duke knew she’d gotten her way.

“Thank you.” She hung up and smiled wearily at Duke. “We’ll be there between four and five this morning, and he’ll let me question her immediately. I will find out where Quin is.”

“I know you will,” he said, though he had his doubts. Sending Nora down there was a risk. If Lorraine was playing a game and didn’t know where Maggie was, then Nora was going to waste precious time and suffer emotionally. She hadn’t seen her mother in twenty years-Duke had wanted to go with her. To support her.

“Thank you, Duke,” she said. “For staying. I need you here, helping find Quin. You can do more than the FBI can.”

He read between the lines. And while he did have some abilities that weren’t sanctioned by the government, he didn’t think they would help now. But he would pull out all his resources, human and otherwise, to find Nora’s sister and the killer who’d abducted her.

“Call me, okay? As soon as you leave the prison.”

She nodded. Dark circles sagged her eyes. He leaned over and kissed her, then pulled her into a hug. She squeezed him back, clinging to him. He whispered, “Remember, Nora, you’ve overcome your past. Don’t let her drag you back down there. Be strong, and know that I’m here waiting for you.”

Duke reluctantly let go of Nora and helped her step into the Cessna. He closed the door and stepped away from the plane. Why was it so hard to let go? But he did. While Nora needed his support, she needed him to find Quin more.

He watched the plane under Sean’s command roll toward the runway, where he stopped, waiting for the okay from air traffic control. Duke realized at that moment the two people he loved the most-his brother and Nora English-were leaving in a plane eerily similar to the plane his father had been flying when he crashed in the Cascades.

Duke couldn’t protect everyone he cared about 24/7. The plane quickly picked up speed as it traveled down the runway. Then it was airborne, and disappeared into the inky black night.

Duke wasn’t surprised that J. T Caruso was in the office when he turned the key at four that morning, but he had something else to do before greeting him.

He slipped into his office and closed the door. The desk light was on, and that was all he needed. He strode across the room and sat in his executive chair and opened the bottom drawer.

His Colt was still there, its bullets boxed and waiting.

For thirteen years he hadn’t needed a gun, and in that time he hadn’t lost a client or a case. And though Nora was a trained FBI agent with strong instincts, and she certainly hadn’t hired him, he still considered her his case. He was her consultant, and he’d promised to keep her safe.

He might need a weapon other than his brains and brawn. There was too much at stake to continue to appease his guilt.

Duke reached into the drawer, grabbed the Colt, and automatically checked the magazine and barrel. Both were empty.

He loaded a magazine with seven bullets, slammed it into the grip, chambered a round, then popped out the magazine to fit another round in and slammed it back in again, double-checking that the safety was on. It was an automatic process, something he’d done over and over until he could load and unload, clean and put together his gun in his sleep.

He cleaned this gun on the first of every month, so he knew it was in good working condition, but he hadn’t held it loaded in thirteen years.

He pulled his holster from another drawer, threaded it through his belt, and holstered his gun. He filled two more seven-round magazines and pocketed them.

He only needed one bullet, but he was a Marine. Marines were always prepared.

Duke heard voices from Mitch Bianchi office at the opposite end of the hall, but first went to talk to J.T. in his office next to Duke’s. He stood in his doorway and said, “Thanks for the plane.”

J.T. waved off his appreciation. “Sean knows what he’s doing. He’s a quick study. Someday he’ll be better than me.”

It wasn’t an arrogant comment. J.T. had been a Navy SEAL and had flown fighter jets, landing on moving aircraft carriers at sea.

“Any luck?”

“Some,” he said. “Jayne has sorted the property records and extracted those in the area Megan felt were most likely to be Maggie’s home base. If anyone knows psychos, it’s Megan.”

They were using Rogan-Caruso equipment because it was better and faster than what the FBI had locally. The Menlo Park cybercrimes unit could match them, but they had other cases and priorities and couldn’t drop everything to devote the majority of their server time to find one missing adult. Rogan-Caruso could.

“We have the best people mapping the area,” J.T said. “Then we’ll pull down satellite photos and overlay in the high-target areas.”

This was where it would get dicey. J.T. had high security clearance and worked extensively on top-secret projects, but he was using his clearance for nonsanctioned activities. When Duke had first asked him for help after Quin was kidnapped, J.T. said he wouldn’t ask permission, because he already knew the answer. “And,” he’d added, “I know you’ll be able to clean up any trail we leave.”

“I can’t tell you how much-”

J.T. put up his hand. “Don’t. You’d do the same.”

“I’ll see how I can help. Are they in Jayne’s office?”

J.T. shook his head. “Megan wanted to see the maps printed, so they took over Mitch’s office. Megan’s on the phone with Hans Vigo at Quantico as they narrow down the range. Since you know a lot more about the case, you’d be invaluable. I thought you were going to Victorville with Nora.”

“I need to be here to act on any information she gets from her mother. I feel like we don’t have a lot of time. When Maggie O’Dell decides to kill, she does it fast. I keep thinking about the three college students-her friends. Did she plan to kill them then, or was it a reaction to the investigation? Did one of them say something and that was it? Quin Teagan is spirited; she’s not going to sit meekly by and wait.”

“Psychopaths aren’t my area of expertise,” J.T. said. “The killers I deal with are completely sane with motivations that are never personal.”

Personal. That was what this was about. O’Dell’s personal vendetta against Nora. When she’d killed Russ Larkin for information, it had been quick. He wasn’t made to suffer. She’d had personal reasons for wanting the others to die. She’d prolonged their agony. For Nora, the most important thing in the world was family. There was only one thing Nora cared about more than her own life: her sister.

“I think Quin’s still alive,” Duke said. “She’s bait. And Nora will walk right into it. The million-dollar question is whether Lorraine Wright is part of setting the trap, or the key to springing it.”