Skin Privilege

TWENTY-THREE

Jeffrey had forgotten what it felt like to wake up feeling like a human being. While he was under no illusion that the Holiday Inn of Beaulah, Georgia, was a pantheon of hygienic bliss, all he cared about was that the place looked clean. The sheets were crisp white, the pillows fluffed and inviting. The carpet showed tracks from the rigorous vacuuming and didn't stick to the bottom of his feet when he walked across the floor. Room service came hot and fresh. The staff seemed happy to be there – at least none of the maids had cursed at him. Best of all, the bathroom was as close to heaven as he'd been in a while: the shower had been strong enough to take the hide off an ox and the toilet flushed without an ominous gurgle.

Sara must have felt the same way. She slept so soundly he had actually woken her up to make sure she was okay. And then, since she was awake, he'd persuaded her to stay that way a little longer. Then a little longer still. By the time the sun peeked in between the gap in the curtains, she lay spent, her leg thrown over his, her head resting on his chest. Jeffrey stroked her arm, his mind unable to stay distracted without Sara's help. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something had changed about her lately. Sex had turned much more intense, and at one point this morning he'd felt like she was holding on to him out of fear rather than passion.

The explosion at Hank's bar had scared her. Hell, it had scared him. Jeffrey kept thinking about what Jake Valentine had told him, that his wife refused to have a child until she was certain her husband would be around to help raise it. When he was Valentine's age, Jeffrey would have laughed if someone had told him he'd be adopting a kid one day. He had always assumed that he would end up with Sara, but never that they would have a family together. Somehow, it made him feel even closer to her, like there was something greater in their lives now than just going to work during the week and staying in bed all weekend. Was that how Hank Norton had felt when he'd taken in Lena and Sibyl? Had blood made him feel an even deeper connection?

Jeffrey's cell phone was on the bedside table. He checked it again to make sure all the bars showed the strongest signal and that the battery was fully charged. It had rained all night, a hard, heavy rain that had tapped on their window like a witch trying to get in. Through the heavy curtains, he could see the sun shining. He hoped that the new day would bring some clarity. He had a decision to make: whether to go forward trying to help Lena or to take his wife and go home.

Sara had told him the details of Lena 's call as they'd driven to the hotel last night. She had tried to downplay it, but the fact that Lena had cut her close to the bone was obvious. Jeffrey hadn't known about Lena 's abortion. That Lena would rub it in Sara's face was enough for him to turn his back on her forever. Oddly, it was Sara who told him to see past the other woman's words. She was used to dealing with children, and she thought that

Lena 's hurtful words were an obvious ploy to get them to leave town. One of the last things she'd said on the subject was that maybe it would be wise to listen to Lena for a change.

Neither one of them could get over the possibility that Hank Norton might be Lena 's real father. Growing up in central Alabama, Jeffrey knew several jokes that called for the phrase, 'uncle-daddy,' but there was nothing to laugh about now. What would Lena do if she found out? Or, did she already know? Is that why she had been mute when Valentine found her on the football field? Did the death of Charlotte Warren somehow tie into Lena 's questionable parentage?

Larry Gibson had provided some background information on his wife's connection to Lena. Charlotte had been friends with Sibyl, Lena 's sister, when all three girls were in high school. Like most school-time attachments, they had lost touch over the years, but they had obviously reestablished contact, otherwise there was no reason for Lena to be on that football field.

Jeffrey stared up at the shadows on the ceiling, listening to Sara breathe. His arm was going to sleep, so he slid out from under her and got out of bed. The clock read seven-sixteen, but Jeffrey felt as if he'd slept ten hours. They had asked for the highest floor in the hotel, both of them thinking but not saying it'd be nice to know that a body couldn't be thrown up to the tenth-story window. The only thing available was a small suite – a luxury, to be sure, but one that Jeffrey was willing to splurge on.

The suite wasn't the sort of lavish affair you saw on television. It was really just two hotel rooms with a connecting door. Instead of a bed in the adjacent room, there was a couch with two chairs and a television. Jeffrey turned on the TV and muted the sound. ESPN showed two talking heads who'd been on a football field for maybe ten minutes before running for the sports desk and packing on sixty pounds. He flipped the channel, watching the ticker scroll on CNN for a few minutes, then switching to MSNBC and watching the ticker there. They were both pretty much the same, so he flipped again, scrolling through all the stations until he stopped on the Discovery Channel, where a man had his arm stuck shoulder deep up a cow's ass.

Jeffrey didn't want to tie up his cell phone so he picked up the receiver by the couch and used his calling card to check their messages at home. No one had called, so he hung up and dialed the station. He entered the code and accessed his work voice mail. There were six calls, three from the mayor, who wanted to know why Jeffrey hadn't cracked down on the teenage hooligans who were kicking over trashcans up and down his street. The next two were from the county lawyer, asking details on various cases that were about to come to trial. The last call was from Frank Wallace, telling Jeffrey he'd already listened to all the messages and taken care of everything, including arresting a group of boys for kicking over trashcans up and down the mayor's street. Frank wanted his boss to know that the lead hooligan had been none other than the mayor's teenage son. Jeffrey smiled as he returned the phone to the cradle.

'Hey.' Sara stood in the doorway. She had thrown on his shirt but hadn't buttoned it, and he could see just about every favorite part of her where the material fell to the side.

He made a halfhearted effort to stop the appreciative sound in his throat from coming out.

She smiled and pulled the shirt closed as she walked toward him. 'You should be sleeping.'

'So should you.'

She sat beside him, tucking the shirt underneath her, wrinkling her nose at the television. 'What is this, some kind of animal pornography?'

He turned off the set. 'Wanna go back to bed?'

'I want to go back home.'

'I want you to go back home, too.'

Slowly, she turned to face him. She let her back rest against the arm of the couch. 'Let me be the one to do it,' she suggested. 'He'll talk to me before he talks to you.'

Ethan. She could read his mind so well sometimes it scared him. 'I'm not letting my wife go to a prison.'

' "Your wife,"' she echoed, eyebrow raised. 'Am I your property?'

She didn't want him to answer that. Yes, she was his property. Every part of her belonged to him.

Jeffrey put her feet in his lap and started to rub them. 'You don't know what prisons are like, Sara – the filth, the level of violence.'

'You think I'll set off a riot?' She laughed at the idea, but Jeffrey knew better.

He told her, 'You take your life into your own hands every time you go inside. The guards only run the place because the inmates let them. That can turn on a dime, especially when there's something they want. Anything can happen, especially with a thug like Ethan who has nothing to lose.'

'He's got plenty to lose,' she countered. 'He only has nine more years on his sentence. He's up for parole every two years. There's always the possibility he could con someone on the board and get out early. He's not going to ruin his chance in front of the parole board just to get to me.'

'It's not you he wants to get to,' Jeffrey reminded her.

They both knew he might as well have painted a target on his back that day he took Ethan to prison. She pressed her lips together, then said quietly, 'Please don't go.'

'I won't go if you promise me you'll go back to Grant County today.'

She raised her eyebrow again. 'And when I call tonight and you tell me that you lied to me and that you've been to the prison – what then?'

He traced his fingers down the arch of her foot.

She kept her tone calm, reasonable. 'I told you that I would support you, but this is crazy. You don't even know that Ethan is linked to anything that's happening to Lena. She gave a very plausible reason for her visit.'

'There are too many coincidences,' he told her, wondering why she wasn't yelling at him. He knew how to ignore Sara's temper, but he'd never been able to tune her out when she was being logical. 'I have to find out for myself.'

'I understand,' she said. 'But, do you really think Ethan Green is going to sit down and spill his heart out to you? If he knows why Lena is in trouble, do you think he's going to tell you anything?' Now, she sounded as if she was pleading with him. 'He hates your guts, Jeffrey. He'd just as soon kill you as look at you, and you told me not two minutes ago how violent prisons are. The guards don't control the inmates. What happens if one of them decides to look the other way while you're walking down a corridor? What happens if Ethan has a weapon on him and decides to do it himself?',

'Baby, I hate to say this as a defense, but if Ethan Green wanted me dead, I would already be in the ground.' Tears welled into her eyes. He continued, ' Lena isn't talking. I've got to get answers from somewhere.'

'And you think Ethan Green's just going to offer up answers on a silver platter? Now who's being naive?' Sara sat up and took his hand. 'Please don't go-'

Jeffrey looked at his hand in hers. Though Sara hadn't been in the operating room in years, she still had the hands of a surgeon. Her fingers were long and delicate, but there was something strong about them, too. If anyone came into their hotel room right then and asked Jeffrey to describe all the important things about Sara, he would've started with her hands.

He said, I won't take you with me to the prison.'

'So, you're just going to leave me here?'

'I'll drop you by the hospital,' he told her. 'I know you want to check on Hank. I can swing back by after I see Ethan and pick you up. Okay?'

Sara refused to look at him.

His cell phone started to vibrate, jumping across the coffee table. Jeffrey jumped, too, snatching up the phone, checking the number.

He answered, saying, 'Tolliver.'

'It's Jake,' Valentine said. ' Lena 's here. She just turned herself in.'

TWENTY-FOUR

Sara spent most of the drive back to Reece on the phone, trying to locate Hank Norton. As promised, first thing that morning, the Elawah County hospital had arranged for Hank's transfer to a larger facility. The only problem was, no one knew which facility. Sara had tried every hospital she could think of in the area. Finally, she'd managed to get an actual person on the line at St. Ignatius, a regional hospital about an hour's drive away, almost in the exact opposite direction of Coastal State Prison. An ICU nurse was giving Sara the lowdown on Hank's condition when Jeffrey pulled up in front of the jail.

'Thank you,' Sara told the nurse. She disconnected the line, holding the phone to her chest. 'He's stabilizing.'

Jeffrey parked the car. 'That's good, right?'

Sara nodded, though she wasn't so sure. As a doctor, she understood that a patient's recovery wasn't just down to good medicine. Family support could often energize a patient, even give them a reason to live. Hank Norton was at a crucial point right now. If he thought he was alone, if Lena didn't do her part to take care of her uncle, then he might very well give up the fight.

Jeffrey got out of the car and walked around to open Sara's door. She gave him a tight smile as she stood, but didn't let go of his hand as they walked toward the basement, where the jail was housed.

The entire trip down, she could tell that he wanted to talk to her, just as she could tell this desire came from guilt rather than a need for her to understand. For Sara's part, she didn't want to hear the excuses. Jeffrey had made up his mind that he was going to Coastal State Prison the minute he'd seen the telephone number charged to Lena 's motel room. Anything he said now was just a back-pedaling attempt to put a better face on the decision. Sara felt she had to support his choice, but she sure as hell wasn't going to act happy about it.

She told him, 'The hospital is an hour out of your way.'

Jeffrey opened the glass entrance door for her. 'I know.'

Don Cook was at the front desk, but unlike the first time Jeffrey had seen him, he wasn't playing the part of the relaxed old man. The deputy was sitting straight up in his chair, arms crossed, obviously furious.

Jeffrey gave him a cheery smile. 'We're here to see Lena Adams.'

'I know what you're here for,' Cook barked.

There were footsteps on the stairs. Jake Valentine rounded the landing, stopping when he saw Jeffrey and Sara. He was dressed in his uniform again, his gun belt tight around his waist, his hat planted squarely on his head. Sara had expected the sheriff to look pleased with himself to have his prisoner back in custody, but he looked pissed as hell.

'Ma'am.' He tipped his hat to Sara, then told Jeffrey, 'She's being processed out.'

Sara and Jeffrey both exclaimed, 'What?'

Valentine narrowed his eyes, as if he didn't quite buy their reaction. 'Her fancy lawyer got the judge to let her out. She's free to go until her court date on the escape charge.' He instructed his deputy, 'Don, you mind going to fetch her?'

Cook took his time standing, making sure everyone in the room knew he was not happy with the latest developments before he left by the steel door leading to the cells.

As soon as the man was gone, Jeffrey asked, 'What happened, Jake?'

'She wasn't locked down ten minutes before the judge gives me a call, asks me to go over the warrant with him. Again.' Valentine paused as if he needed to check his temper. 'He dismissed all the original charges and chewed my ass out in the process. I had to beg him to bench-warrant the escape. If I hadn't spent so much money looking for her, he would've probably let that one drop, too.' He rested his hand on the butt of his gun. 'You wanna tell me what's going on?'

Jeffrey answered, 'I'm as clueless as you are.'

Valentine walked over to the front door and looked out into the parking lot. A light mist had started to fall. He glanced back at Jeffrey and Sara, then returned his attention to the BMW. 'That fancy car must've set you back a pretty penny.'

Sara felt herself bristle. Jeffrey told the man, 'Doctors make a lot of money.'

'That they do,' Valentine agreed. He kept his back to them, and Sara was reminded of the sudden punch the sheriff had thrown at Jeffrey that first night outside the hospital. Jeffrey must have been thinking about this, too, because he stood in front of Sara.

'Why'd you let the judge release her?' he asked Valentine. 'You could've fought the judge. You could've gone over his head, called in the GBL'

'Believe me, all those things occurred to me.' Valentine turned around. 'Then, I got a message.'

'What message?'

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

Jeffrey took the note, unfolded it. Over his shoulder, Sara saw there was one sentence across the page in block print: drop it or you will die.

Valentine took back the note, folded it. 'No question about what I've gotta do. I'm not gonna end up like Al Pfeiffer, shitting in my Depends every time there's a knock on the door.'

Jeffrey sounded as shocked as Sara felt. 'You're just going to drop it? You're gonna let these guys get away with this? Two people are dead, Jake. Charlotte Gibson was a teacher at Myra 's school.'

'You're one to give me a lecture, considering your star detective is being represented by one of the biggest drug lawyers in the tri-county area.' He shook his head, disgusted. 'Looks like I called it right the first time we met, don't it?' He took a few steps forward, closing the gap between him and Jeffrey. 'In case you're wondering, I'm questioning your integrity, hoss. You wanna go ahead and beat me to the ground now or do you wanna wait until I turn my back?'

Jeffrey ignored the challenge. 'It's time to stop playing around, Jake. You need to call in the GBI.'

'I did,' he volunteered. 'We'll call it my last official duty as sheriff.'

'Wait a minute,' Jeffrey said. 'You resigned?'

Valentine nodded. 'Next-to-last official duty, I guess. Last one was letting your detective go, and I suggest you get her out of town as soon as possible and forget you ever knew this place.' He looked over Jeffrey's shoulder. 'Speak of the devil.'

Lena stood in the open doorway, Cook scowling behind her. Dark bruises patterned her face. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her fury was evident when she saw Jeffrey and Sara. 'What are they doing here?'

Jeffrey ignored her. He told Valentine, 'Let's step outside a minute and finish this conversation.'

'My pleasure.' The sheriff pushed open the door with a flourish.

Sara watched them through the glass door. The mist had turned into a spitting rain, but neither man seemed to care. Jeffrey stood on the curb while Valentine walked into the lot for yet another look at Sara's car. She felt shame mixing with anger that he was so focused on the damn thing. If the sheriff thought Jeffrey was on the take, he was more than welcome to look at their tax returns.

Behind her, the steel door slammed closed. Don Cook had made his exit. Lena and Sara were alone. Immediately, the walls felt as if they were closing in.

Lena 's tone was clipped, cutting. 'You need to get Jeffrey out of here right now.'

'That's not going to be a problem,' Sara returned, watching her stubborn husband standing out in the rain. 'Jeffrey's going to see Ethan.'

'You can't let him do that.'

Sara laughed, incredulous. 'I don't know if you remember your little tirade in the hospital a few days ago, Lena, but the best way to get Jeffrey to do something is to tell him not to do it. It helps if you make threats.'

Lena muttered something under her breath.

Sara heard plenty, but still, she demanded, 'What was that?'

'Nothing.'

'If you're going to try to mumble, you shouldn't do it so clearly.'

Lena walked toward her, stopping a few feet away. 'I said he's so pussy whipped he can't see straight,' she repeated. 'You need to get him the fuck out of here. Now.'

'How do you propose I do that?'

'Just tell him that he has to leave.'

Sara shook her head. 'God, you're so stupid about people.'

'You think insulting me is gonna fix this?'

'Fix what?' Sara demanded. 'Fix the woman who was burned alive? Fix the man who was stabbed in the back? Fix the fact that your uncle is at death's door?'

Lena pressed her lips together, stared all her hate into Sara.

'Save the theatrics. I get that same look at the clinic every time I give a toddler a shot.' Sara put her hands on her hips. 'Tell me, Lena, was Charlotte Gibson your friend?'

Lena kept glaring, but Sara could see the other woman's resolve was breaking.

'Was she?'

'Yes,' she finally answered.

'If she was your friend, then I fear for your enemies.'

Lena finally looked away, her tone softening. 'I'm trying to protect both of you. I need a day -just a day. Take me at my word and get out of town.'

'You've dragged us down here and gotten us mixed up in this… this… shit – for lack of a better word – and you think that a simple, "because I said so," is going to end it?' Sara looked back at the parking lot, saw that Valentine and Jeffrey were walking toward the door. 'Is Ethan mixed up in any of this?'

Lena stared at Sara as if trying to divine the best response to get her way.

'Quickly,' Sara snapped. Valentine was a few feet from the glass door, Jeffrey behind him. 'Is Ethan involved in this?'

'I don't know.' Lena shook her head and shrugged at the same time. 'Probably not. I don't know.'

'What will happen if Jeffrey goes to see him? What will change? Will it make anything better or worse?'

'I don't-'

Valentine opened the door. Jeffrey followed him inside.

Lena didn't waste her time. She told Jeffrey, 'Stay away from Ethan.'

He looked at Sara first, as if trying to decide which team she was on. Sara copied Lena 's earlier gesture, shaking her head and shrugging. Maybe Lena wasn't so stupid about people after all. Of course, Sara had basically drawn her a map: the best way to make Jeffrey do something was to tell him not to do it. If Lena wanted him out of town so badly, the trip to Coastal State Prison would eat up the entire day.

Lena told him, 'Ethan has nothing to do with any of this.'

He gave her that cocky smile that Sara despised. 'That so?'

'I'm taking care of things,' Lena told him. 'Just leave, Jeffrey. This is none of your business.'

He was still smiling, but his tone was a warning. 'Are you my boss now, Lena? Is that how it works when you've got a big-gun drug lawyer pulling your strings?'

Lena looked at the floor. Sara tried to change Jeffrey's focus, asking the sheriff, 'Is Lena's car still at the impound lot?'

Valentine nodded.

'Do you mind driving us there to pick it up?'

Valentine was obviously surprised by the request. 'I was… uh…'

Lena interrupted, 'I left Hank's car at his house this morning. We can take that. It's closer.'

Sara didn't wait for Valentine to come up with an excuse. She told Jeffrey, ' Lena and I will take Hank's car to the hospital. You can pick me up there when you're finished.'

Jeffrey's jaw worked. He nodded toward the door and Sara followed him outside. The mist was back, lending a solemn mood. Silently, he walked to the car. Her cell phone was in the glove box. He powered it on, staring at the screen as he told her, 'It'll take me a few hours to get there, probably another hour to fill out all the paperwork.' He handed her the phone. 'I'll call you when I'm on my way back, all right?'

Jeffrey wasn't one for public displays, but he kissed her cheek, then her mouth. She grabbed him by his collar, pressed her face in his neck.

He said, 'I don't know what's going on between you and Lena, but promise me that y'all are going straight to the hospital.' She nodded, but that wasn't enough. He tilted her face up to his. 'You're going to be the mother of my child, Sara. Promise me that you're going to keep yourself safe.'

'I promise,' she told him. 'We'll go straight to the hospital. I'll be there until you come to get me.'

He kissed her again before letting go. 'It's going to be fine, okay?' He walked around to the driver's side of the car. 'I'll see you in a few hours. We'll be home tonight.'

Sara watched him get into the car, remembering that morning six months ago when he'd left her standing in her parents' driveway. Lena had called minutes earlier and he was off to arrest Ethan Green on a gun violation. Now, standing outside the jail, Sara felt the same dread welling inside of her – the same uncontrollable fear that hovered like a dark shadow over her heart every time she found herself thinking about the misery of her life without Jeffrey.

As he reversed into the street, Sara prayed to God that this time would have the same ending. That tonight – just like that night – she would curl up in bed beside him and listen to the steady cadence of his breath as he fell asleep.

Sara and Lena rode in the back of Jake Valentine's squad car. He had offered the front seat, but Lena had said no and frankly, Sara did not want to sit by the man. What little respect she'd had for Valentine in the beginning was more than cancelled out by his relinquishing his badge over the threatening letter. The irony was not lost on Sara that, had she been in Myra Valentine's shoes, she would have begged her husband to quit. Sara wondered if there would ever come a day when she would not worry about the fact that Jeffrey was good at his job.

Probably the night of his retirement party.

The brakes squeaked as Valentine pulled to a stop in front of Hank's house. Sara frowned at the Mercedes in the driveway. The car looked older than Lena.

Valentine got out of the cruiser. He opened Lena 's door, then walked around to get Sara's. He seemed relieved to be leaving the job and getting on with his life. She wondered what Jeffrey had said to him out in the parking lot.

The rain had stopped, but the sky was still overcast. Lena stared at her uncle's house, asking, 'Why are all the lights on?'

'What's that?' Valentine asked.

'The lights are on,' Lena said, an edge to her voice. 'I didn't see them on this morning.'

Sara wondered why it mattered. She asked, 'Are you sure?'

'Yes,' she said, then, 'No. I don't remember.' She stared back at the house. 'Hank wouldn't want all the lights left on like that.'

'He's barely coherent,' Sara reminded her. 'I'm sure his electric bill is the last thing on his mind.'

Lena started up the front walk. 'I'm going to check.'

'Hold on, lady.' Valentine trotted up ahead of her, hand on his gun so it wouldn't slap his leg. 'Let me just run in there and check things out, okay?'

Lena didn't wait with Sara. Instead, she walked around Hank's Mercedes, looking inside the windows, checking underneath, an air of paranoia surrounding her every move.

Sara followed her, asking, 'What's going on?'

'We had a deal,' Lena said, almost to herself.

'What deal?'

Lena stood on the far side of the car, watching Jake Valentine pull at the tape around the front door, trying to pick it open.

'What were you looking for under the car?' Sara asked, all of her senses telling her something was wrong. 'Who did you make a deal with, Lena?'

'Hey,' Valentine called. 'Anything happens' – he gave a little chuckle – 'y'all know the number for nine-one-one, right?' He didn't give them a chance to respond as he shouldered open the door.

Lena inhaled sharply as if to brace herself.

Valentine waved back at them. 'It's okay,' he said, holding his hand to his side. 'I'm okay.'

Blood seeped into the material of his shirt where the metal flashing on the doorjamb had sliced open his side. Valentine kept putting his hand to the wound then looking at the blood on his palm. Sara could tell from the bleeding that the cut was deep, but he assured them, 'I'm fine. Y'all just stay here while I poke around inside.'

Lena waited until the sheriff disappeared, then opened the back door of Hank's car. She reached under the driver's seat with her hand, keeping her eyes on the house the entire time.

Sara asked, 'What are you doing?'

Lena closed the door quietly, locked the car. She had obviously been checking for something under the seat, but she told Sara, 'That cut looked pretty bad.'

The rain started up again. Sara raised her hand to shield her eyes. 'You wanna tell me what the hell is going on here?'

Lena grinned, as if Sara was being foolish. 'I think I just didn't notice that the lights were on this morning,' she said. 'There should be a first-aid kit in Jake's cruiser.' She went to Valentine's car and pulled the trunk release. The lid popped open, and Sara saw a rifle bolted to the floor. Beside it was the blue metal box Charlotte Gibson's husband had brought into the station.

Sara remembered the birth certificate applications hidden under the lining, where Angela Adams had listed her brother as the father of her children. It took all Sara's effort not to push Lena aside as the other woman reached into the trunk and picked up the box.

Still, Sara tried, 'That's evidence.'

Lena snapped open the lid before Sara could think of a way to stop her.

Sara suppressed a sigh of relief. The box was empty. Even the liner was gone. Rain splattered the metal bottom.

Lena asked, 'Where did he get this?'

'It was brought in by Charlotte Gibson's husband.'

Lena shook her head. 'That doesn't make sense.'

'All clear,' Valentine shouted from the house. He made his way down the porch, holding his side, obviously in pain. He saw the metal box, and asked Lena, 'Have you ever seen that before?'

Lena shook her head and gently closed the lid.

Valentine holstered his weapon as he asked, 'Any particular reason y'all are poking around in my trunk?'

The first-aid kit was strapped inside. Sara retrieved the kit, saying, 'We thought you might need this.'

He took his hand away from his side, showing her where the flashing had ripped the shirt, sliced apart the flesh. 'I think I need more than a Band-Aid, Doc. This thing is bleeding like a mofo.'

Reluctantly, Sara asked, 'When was your last tetanus shot?'

'I stepped on a nail when I was twelve.'

She looked at the house, dreading the thought of going inside. She didn't want to go back to the jail, either, but she couldn't very well make him stand out in the rain.

Sara headed toward the front steps, telling Valentine, 'You're going to need another tetanus shot. I'll get you patched up as best as I can and then you can drive yourself to the hospital.'

'Drive myself?' He seemed alarmed.

'It's two minutes away,' she said, knowing she should offer to drive him.

Valentine scowled. I hate hospitals.'

'Everyone does,' she said, leading him back to the kitchen. Sara was a plumber's daughter and had been exposed to her fair share of sewage, but she had never smelled anything as bad as this. 'I'll clean it up and get a good look at it.'

'Is it going to hurt?'

'Probably,' she admitted, pushing open the swinging door to the kitchen. Trash was strewn everywhere, but the sink was empty and the light was good. Sara put the first-aid kit on top of a stack of pamphlets on the counter and asked Lena, 'Can you find some clean rags?'

Lena frowned. 'How clean do they have to be?' She didn't wait for an answer. She put the metal box on the table and went back into the hall, the swinging door swishing closed behind her.

Sara lowered her voice, asking Valentine, 'Is there any reason I should be worried about not having gloves?'

'What?' he asked, then blushed and laughed at the same time. 'Oh, no, ma'am. I'm clean as a whistle.'

'Okay,' she said, hoping she could trust him. Sara turned on the faucet and used the soap in the tub of Orange Glo to wash her hands. 'Go ahead and take off your shirt. I can at least get the bleeding under control.'

He put his gunbelt on the table and started unbuttoning his shirt. 'Is this as bad as I think it is?'

'We'll have to see.' Sara opened up the first-aid kit, glad when she saw large gauze pads and surgical tape instead of the usual Band-Aids.

'I hate needles,' Valentine continued. Lena came in, a couple of rags in her hand. He warned them both, 'Y'all don't let it get around, now, but I've been known to faint when I see a needle.'

'Me, too,' Sara told him. She ripped open the gauze pad and he flinched like a child. She was always amazed by how nervous cops got around anything that questioned their invincibility. The man could barely unbutton his shirt.

She asked, 'Do you need help with that?'

'Aw, hell.' Valentine gave up on the buttons and slipped his shirt off over his head, wincing as he stretched, the wound gaping open.

'Careful,' Sara warned, a moment too late.

He looked at the blood dripping down the waist of his pants and joked, 'I'm not gonna need a transfusion or anything, right?'

'Oh, I don't think so,' Sara said, pressing the gauze pad to his wound. 'If you do, I'm sure we can find some donors at the jail.'

'I don't know about that,' Valentine said. 'I've got a rare blood type.'

The blood was already seeping through the gauze. Sara held out her hand for the rags, but Lena did not offer them. She was just standing there, frozen in place.

'AB-negative,' Lena said, her voice barely above a whisper. 'His blood type is AB-negative.'

TWENTY-FIVE

Jeffrey passed his gun to the guard behind the metal cage at Coastal State Prison. Ever since he'd been caught unarmed with Jake Valentine in the woods, Jeffrey had kept the weapon close. He'd even slept with it on the nightstand last night instead of tucking it under the mattress like he normally did. He suddenly realized that when the adoption went through, he'd have to get a gun safe, figure out a better place to store all of his guns. The thought made him smile.

'Anything else?' the guard asked, ejecting the clip in Jeffrey's Glock and checking the chamber.

'That's it.'

The man nodded, writing down the serial number from the gun and passing a claim check to Jeffrey.

Another guard opened the first of two gates, saying, 'Through here.'

Once they were both inside the holding pen and the first door was locked, the guard opened the second door and they walked through.

The guard, whose name tag read, 'Applebaum,' looked to be exactly the type of man you'd find working in a place like Coastal State Prison. Tall with broad shoulders, he walked with the kind of swagger that said he wasn't afraid of anything.

Jeffrey told him, 'I think you met one of my detectives a few days ago.'

'Nope,' the guard told him. 'Just got back from vacation.' He stopped at another set of doors. These were operated from a central control station. Applebaum murmured something into his walkie-talkie and the door clicked open.

Jeffrey said, 'There was nothing in Green's jacket about drugs.'

Applebaum shook his head. 'His boys don't touch 'em. If you're down with his crew and they catch you using or selling, you'd be better off running ass-naked through the yard than having them deal with you.' He shook his head. 'Had this one skinhead, must've been seventeen, eighteen, who aligned with Green's crew when he got in. He couldn't stay off the needle, though; got caught red-handed. He knew they were after him, so he made a shank out of his comb and kiestered it in the shower.'

Jeffrey knew kiestering was prison slang for stowing something up your ass. 'What happened?'

'They got a broom and shoved the comb up higher. The doc who did the postmortem says he found bits of plastic teeth practically in the guy's tonsils when he cut him open.'

'Green did this?'

'He ordered it,' Applebaum admitted as he stopped in front of another closed door. 'Somebody that high up, they keep their hands real clean.'

'Somebody could flip.'

The guard laughed as he took out a key and opened the door, revealing the interview room. 'And J-Lo could fly down to Georgia and blow me in her private plane.' He turned all business as he escorted Jeffrey into the interview room. 'Don't touch the prisoner. Don't get within five feet of him. See this line on the table? This is as far as he'll be able to reach with the chains, but don't trust that.'

'I don't want him chained.'

'Warden's orders.'

'I'm not afraid of Ethan Green.'

Applebaum turned around. 'Listen, man, I sure as shit am, and you should be, too.'

Jeffrey nodded, taking his point. 'Bring him in.'

Applebaum left, and Jeffrey sat at the table facing the metal ring bolted to the wall. He heard talking in the hallway and stood, not wanting to give Ethan a height advantage. Then, thinking he looked like he'd come with his hat in his hand, walked over to the wall opposite the door and leaned against it, hands in his pockets.

The door opened and Ethan shuffled in with Applebaum and three other guards. He kept his eyes trained on Jeffrey as Applebaum and the others guided him toward the chair. He sat, staring a hole through Jeffrey as he was bolted to the wall.

Applebaum said, 'We'll be standing right outside the door.'

The four guards left, taking all the oxygen in the room with them. The chains around Ethan's handcuffs scraped across the edge of the table as he clasped his hands in front of him.

Ethan asked, 'You scared to sit across from me?'

'Where the panic button is? Not particularly.'

Ethan's lips curled into a sneer, but he nodded as if Jeffrey had made a point. This was what Sara was so afraid of – some stupid pissing contest that could quickly turn deadly.

Jeffrey pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to the empty chair. He pulled it out about two feet from the table and sat, legs apart, hands resting on his thighs.

Ethan snorted, leaned back in his chair. 'You just gonna stare at me all day, Chief? You got a crush on me or something?'

'I want to know what you've been doing with Lena.'

He made a jerking-off motion. 'Fucking around.'

'I know you've been making phone calls to Hank,' Jeffrey said. He'd seen them logged on Ethan's file. 'Why?'

'To get Lena here.' He clicked his tongue. 'Worked, didn't it?'

'The only problem is, a trick like that only works once.'

'I got other plans.' He held out his hands, indicating the walls around them. 'I'm gonna get out of here one day, and when I do, I'm gonna find her.'

'She'll put a bullet in your head.'

'She'll die before she gets the chance,' Ethan returned. 'You ever fuck her, Chief?'

Jeffrey didn't answer.

'I know you wanted to. I saw the way you looked at her sometimes.'

Jeffrey did not respond.

'Let me tell you something,' Ethan said, leaning forward. 'She may look hard, but she's so sweet underneath all that. You know what I mean?' He smiled, satisfied. 'Good stuff.'

Jeffrey remained impassive. Ethan obviously thought he was pushing a button, but Jeffrey had never been attracted to Lena. He'd never had a sister, but he imagined the feelings he had for Lena were about the same.

'What you gotta do is slap her around a little bit,' Ethan continued. 'Bend her over and-' He thrust into the table, made a loud grunting sound.

'Bend her over, huh?' Jeffrey shook his head sadly. 'I think you've been hanging out with the wrong men in here, little buddy.'

He cupped his nuts, shook them. 'I've got your little buddy right here, cocksucker.'

'Fight or fuck,' Jeffrey said. 'That's what they call it in here, right? You either have to fight or fuck.' He glanced at Ethan, looked at his hands. 'You don't look to me like you've been fighting.'

Ethan laughed. 'You see these tats, bitch?' He meant the swastikas, the scenes of violence that he'd carved into his skin. 'Ain't nobody gonna touch me in here, man.'

'That's right,' Jeffrey said. 'I heard you and your little girlfriends started your own cheerleading squad in here. What's that mean, exactly? I mean, I know you wear the same uniforms, but I don't guess y'all can sit around braiding each other's hair. Do you do your nails together? Maybe give each other enemas and talk about how the white man's gonna rule the world?'

'You watch yourself, son.'

'Watch what? A bunch of punk kids whose daddies never loved them? Jesus Christ, you're a fucking Oprah episode. Give me a break.'

'Fuck that black bitch.'

'Fuck this, fuck that,' Jeffrey mocked, standing. ' Lena was right. This is such a waste of time.'

'What?' Ethan's eyes narrowed. 'What did Lena say?'

'She sent me here,' Jeffrey said. 'She wanted me to see what a pathetic little girl you've turned into.'

Ethan stared at him, obviously trying to make out the truth. Slowly, he sat back in his chair. 'Nah, man. She didn't send you.'

'Yeah,' Jeffrey said. He was standing by the door and he leaned his shoulder against it. 'She said you were hooked up with this Brotherhood.'

Ethan's lips curled in distaste. 'What?'

'Brotherhood of the True White Skin,' Jeffrey clarified. 'She said you hooked up with them in here to save your own ass.'

'Shit,' he said, practically spitting out the word. 'Those pussies? They run meth.'

Jeffrey shrugged. 'And?'

'Meth is the white man's devil.' Ethan leaned forward, vehement. 'You don't give that shit to your own people. Fucks with your mind, makes you a slave. It's part of Darkie's conspiracy to take over America.'

'You really think that?' Jeffrey asked, walking back to the table. He put his palms down on the metal surface, leaned close to the red line. 'See, I've met some of those Brotherhood assholes, and they don't strike me as all that different from you.'

Ethan laughed. 'You stupid waste of fucking air. You think I'm up with those motherfuckers? I told you, they sell meth to their own people. They smoke that shit like the niggers with their crack. Let them all fucking kill themselves. Wipe them off the face of the fucking planet so the true race can take over.'

Jeffrey kept eye contact with him, still leaning over the table. Ethan said he'd been calling Hank so Lena would come see him. If that was his plan, it had certainly worked. What connection did he have with Elawah, though? How did Ethan fit into the meth ring that the Fitzpatrick brothers were running through south Georgia and up the coast? Jeffrey knew Ethan's arrest jacket backward and forward. The other man had never been up on drug charges. All of his piss tests had come back clean from the time he was in juvenile detention to the time he'd been on parole in Grant County. Applebaum, the guard, had even said Ethan wasn't involved in drugs. Had Lena been telling the truth? Did Ethan just happen to be making the wrong phone calls at the right time?

Jeffrey pushed away from the table. 'We're done here.'

Ethan would not let him have the last word. 'You think you're a big man carrying a gun, Tolliver, but you know what you are? You're shit on my shoe. You know Lena planted that gun in my bag. You know she set me up for a fall. You think you're Mr. Law and Order but you broke the law, man. You're just as bad as those faggots over in Iraq, those Abu Ghraib motherfuckers thinking they can toss out the Geneva Conventions because they got a hard-on to paint some Arab motherfucker in his own shit. You're just as bad as them, man, maybe worse because you're not ten thousand miles from home, eating meals out of a tin can and burying your shit in the desert. You just jammed me up in the morning and tucked right back up in your bed that same night, probably titty-fucked your wife and slept the sleep of the righteous, but you know what, motherfucker? You're just as bad as all of them.'

Jeffrey did not respond because, for the most part, Ethan was right. Jeffrey had known that Lena planted that gun the minute he'd pulled it out of

Ethan's backpack. The Nazi knew his way around firearms. Even the most inexperienced jackass would not throw a loaded weapon into his backpack and jog to work.

Still, knowing that, Jeffrey had arrested him, and he'd certainly slept the sleep of the just that night because Jeffrey knew – he knew - that Ethan Green belonged behind bars. Ethan had systematically beaten and tortured. Lena wasn't strong enough to stop him, but Jeffrey sure as hell was. He became a cop exactly because there were people like Ethan Green and Lena Adams out there in the world. It was his job to protect the weak from the strong, and he had never been more certain of anything than the moment he slapped the cuffs on Ethan's wrists.

Jeffrey raised his hand to knock on the door. 'Thanks for the speech, Ethan. It's been real fun, but I need to get back home to my wife now.'

'I'm gonna get you,' Ethan said, his voice a low threat. 'You just wait.'

'When I least expect it, right?'

'I'm not going to ever leave her alone.'

'You don't have much of a choice.'

'I'm gonna get out of here. You wait for that, big man. I'm gonna get out of here and Lena 's gonna welcome me with open arms.'

'I think you're in for a big shock if you're expecting that.'

'She can't live without me,' Ethan said, standing as much as the chains would allow. 'A part of me is inside of her.'

Jeffrey smiled, then said one of the crudest things that had ever crossed his lips. 'Didn't she tell you? I thought that was why she came, Ethan. To tell you about that part of you that she had cut out.' Jeffrey had been expecting surprise, more hatred, but all he saw on the Nazi's face was sadness. Slowly, Ethan sat down in the chair. When he spoke, Jeffrey had to strain to hear him. 'We're gonna go away together,' he insisted. ' Lena and me – we're gonna find a beach somewhere. Lay out in the sun all day, fuck all night. We're gonna be together for the rest of our lives.'

'Yeah.' Jeffrey knocked on the door again. 'Send me a postcard, buddy.'

Ethan's head jerked up. 'Watch your mailbox.' Jeffrey cupped his nuts, duplicated Ethan's earlier gesture. 'Watch this, you stupid asshole.'

The con did not offer a parting shot. He sat at the table with his hands clasped in front of him, head down, probably dreaming of his fantasy life on a beach somewhere with Lena.

TWENTY-SIX

Lena had seen the tattoo on the underside of Jake Valentine's left arm when he'd lifted his shirt over his head. Just at the base of the bicep was an AB followed by a dash. AB-negative. She remembered the explanation written on the back of a photo in Ethan's arrest jacket: Symbolizes rank of general in white power movement. Her mouth moved; words came out that she couldn't control.

'AB-negative,' she said. 'His blood type is AB-negative.'

Sara asked, 'What?'

Lena 's brain had frozen, but she felt her adrenaline kick in. She lunged for Valentine's gunbelt on the table, but his reach was longer and he easily beat her to it.

Sara held up her hands as she backed toward the door.

'Stop right there,' Valentine ordered, pointing the gun at her. ' Lena, come around here so I can see both of you.'

Lena didn't move. How had this happened? She had never seen Jake Valentine at the warehouse. He wasn't in any of her logs or photos.

'I said get over here.' He grabbed Lena by the arm and shoved her toward Sara. He reached around for his belt and found his handcuffs, tossed them to Lena.

'Put one on your wrist, one on hers,' he ordered.

'Make ' em tight. I'm not as stupid as I look.'

'No,' she told him, her heart pounding in her throat. 'This isn't right. Call your boss.'

'Who's my boss?'

'Clint.'

He laughed at the name. 'That piece of shit? Clint couldn't boss a one-man army.'

'I talked to him this morning. He said we had a deal.'

'You're right,' Valentine agreed. 'Had a deal. You keep your mouth shut and everybody just walks away clean. But, that was before you opened your big fucking mouth and brought her into it.' He meant Sara. 'Now put on the handcuffs like I said while I figure out what we're gonna do here.'

Lena did as she was instructed, ratcheting the cuffs down on her left wrist and Sara's right. She left only a finger's width between the metal and their skin, knowing Valentine was watching.

He pulled out a chair and told Lena, 'Sit down.' When she did, he told Sara, 'Finish up with my side so I don't bleed to death.'

'No,' Sara told him. 'I'm not going to help you.'

'You saw what happened to Charlotte,' Valentine reminded her. 'You want the same thing to happen to your friend here? You can watch her burn while you wait your turn.'

'Go ahead,' Lena told Sara. 'Stop the bleeding.'

Reluctantly, Sara continued attending to the wound in his side. The cut was deep, but the bleeding had slowed to an ooze. Lena was no expert, but even she could tell what a sloppy job Sara was doing. If Lena had been able to figure out a way past the gun at her head, she would have dug her fingers into his side until she felt his organs.

'Ow,' Valentine said, flinching as Sara jabbed her finger into the gauze pads. 'You did that on purpose.'

Sara asked, 'What are you going to do to us, Jake? Are you going to hurt us? You need to think very carefully about who exactly you're trying to cross.'

The flash in his eyes revealed that Sara's words had hit a nerve. Lena imagined that over the course of the last few days, the sheriff had figured out that Jeffrey wasn't someone you fucked around with. If Valentine was smart enough to pick up on that, then he certainly knew what Jeffrey would do to anyone who threatened Sara.

'Jeffrey will kill you,' Sara told him. 'It doesn't matter what you do, where you try to hide. He will kill you.'

Valentine took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number with his thumb. 'I don't hurt people,' he explained, putting the phone to his ear. 'Clint, it's me. You know that stuff you were gonna set up for me over at the place?' He paused. 'Yeah, I'm at the other place now. We're gonna do it here instead.' Valentine nodded. 'No, something's changed. We'll figure out another way to make that happen. I'll tell you when you get here.' He looked down at Sara, almost with regret. 'And tell our little buddy that his presence is required to take the edge off.' He closed the phone against his leg and dropped it back into his front pocket.

'What are you going to do with us?' Sara demanded.

'Right now, I'm going to have you sit down,' Valentine told her, kicking over another chair. 'Go on.'

Sara hesitated, but she clearly knew there was no easy way out of this. She sat in the chair, her hand on the table so that Lena 's rested beside her. Her other hand was fisted in her lap, and Lena saw that she had underestimated the other woman. If Sara saw her chance, she was going to fight her way out of this or die trying.

'Does Clint work for you?' Lena asked, trying to distract him.

Valentine scooted up onto the counter, wincing as the cut in his side pulled. 'Lots of people work for me.'

Harley, Lena thought. Nobody worked for Harley. When she had confronted Clint at the warehouse this morning, the photos of Harley were the ones that sent him over the edge. All of the color had drained from his face, and his hand had shook as he picked up the phone, dialed the number. His voice had gone quiet as he'd explained to whoever was on the other end of the line that Lena was willing to trade the pictures and the logs for their lives. That was all she wanted – not money, not drugs, not anything but their lives. She would hold the originals for safekeeping and the swastika boys could go on their merry way.

Clint hadn't said much on the phone. Mostly, he'd nodded, his eyes locked on Lena 's, his fear palpable in the empty warehouse. He'd hung up the phone and told Lena to turn herself in, that the judge was on their payroll and would let her go with a slap on the wrists. Lena had assumed that Clint had called Harley. Had he talked to Jake Valentine instead? Had the sheriff actually been pulling the strings this entire time?

'Hell, I need some aspirin.' Valentine slid down from the counter and started opening the cabinets around him.

Lena knew there were all kinds of painkillers in the first-aid kit, but she wasn't about to clue him in. He had his back to them both, and out of the corner of her eye, Lena saw Sara put her hand on the metal box, move it closer.

Lena asked, 'What did you mean on the phone -something to take the edge off?'

He checked the last cabinet. 'You'll find out soon enough, darlin'.'

Sara seemed to have the box where she wanted it. She told Valentine, 'Your bandage is coming off.'

He looked at her handiwork, sighed. 'Fix it,' he demanded, walking over to her. She lifted her hands but he stopped her, pressing the gun to her head. Til hold this right here so you don't feel the need to grab that metal box and hit me upside the head.'

Sara taped the bandage back into place. 'Jeffrey will kill you.' She said the words matter-of-factly, as if it was a foregone conclusion rather than a threat.

Valentine waited until Sara was finished, then took the box, pushed open the swinging door with his foot, and tossed it into the hallway.

He leaned against the counter, asking Lena, 'How'd you guess it? How'd you know about the tattoo?' She finally realized with this one question that Ethan was not involved in anything that had happened – Hank was back on dope for his own dark reasons. Charlotte and Deacon were casualties from another war. What was happening in this house right now was all about Jake Valentine and the millions of dollars worth of methamphetamine rolling through his county.

For Sara's benefit, Lena explained, 'Hitler's Waffen SS had their blood types tattooed in the same spot. It means Jake is high up the ranks.'

'As high as you can get,' he bragged.

'It's rare to just see one,' Lena commented. 'Usually, they mark themselves up with swastikas and anything else they can think of.' She turned to the woman, willing her to go along. 'Have you ever seen a skinhead – I mean, really seen one, studied their tattoos?'

Sara's eyes locked onto hers. They both knew she had examined Ethan. 'No.'

Lena asked the sheriff, 'Why do you have just one tattoo?'

He chuckled. 'You kidding me? Myra would kill me if I came home painted up like some freak out of a carnival.' He tapped his chest. 'What matters is what's in here.'

'Your wife knows?' Sara asked, her voice going up in surprise.

Valentine leveled her with a gaze, but he didn't answer. Instead, he addressed his words to Lena. 'You were this close to getting away. You know that? And then you had to go and screw up everything. You got the wrong people mad at you, little darlin'. You should've just kept yourself to yourself.'

Lena fought the urge to spit in his face. 'Why did Charlotte have to die?'

'To let you know what happens to people who talk.'

'She didn't say anything.'

'In my experience, addicts tend to be unreliable.'

'She wasn't an addict.'

'Then what was she doing toking up in a meth den with your uncle last weekend?'

Lena lowered her head down so Valentine couldn't see her expression. Charlotte… poor Charlotte.

Sara asked, 'What does Hank have to do with any of this?'

'He looked out his window when he shouldn't have,' Valentine admitted. 'Some associates and I were transacting a little business at the motel. Him and that stupid bartender of his started asking questions, thought they could ride in on their white horses and clean up this town.' He shrugged. 'Guess it runs in the family, not being able to take a warning.'

'Al Pfeiffer,' Sara continued. 'Is that why he left town? Did you throw that firebomb through his window?'

Valentine just shrugged. 'Things happen.'

Lena asked, 'Is Cook in on this, too?'

'Don?' he snorted. 'Don doesn't know jack. He's just holding down that desk until his retirement kicks in.'

Sara asked, 'Is that why he ran for sheriff?'

Valentine smirked. 'Wouldn't do for me to run unopposed, would it?' He grinned. 'Poor old Cookie let it go to his head – actually thought he could win.' There was a knock at the back door. Valentine called, 'Who is it?'

'Me,' a voice called back.

Valentine pushed away from the counter and opened the door, all the while keeping his gun trained on Sara and Lena. Clint stood at the door holding a large cardboard box.

He saw Lena and shook his head. 'You're worse than your fucking uncle, you know that? Can't keep your goddamn nose out of anything.'

'We had a deal.'

'Yeah,' Clint agreed, reaching into the cardboard box. There was a FedEx pack on top. He tossed it toward Lena. She saw her own handwriting, Frank Wallace's address at the Grant County police station. She had sent the packet to Frank from Kinko's the night before, thinking that if things went bad, Frank would have enough evidence to take down the operation. The original photos and logs were tucked up under the front seat of Hank's Mercedes. Her insurance was gone.

Clint told her, 'We've been following you since you got into town. You think it's just coincidence we happened to have Charlotte with us the night we ran your car off the road?'

Lena felt her mouth open, but nothing would come out.

'You could've gone peacefully a couple of weeks from now. Needle in your arm, suicide note talking about how sad you were that your uncle was dead.' He glanced at Sara, shook his head, sad. 'You almost made it, too.'

Valentine snapped, 'Stop wasting time and get started.'

Clint put the box on the counter and walked over to the stove. He pushed Hank's pamphlets off the burners and tried the knobs. None of the burners would come on, probably because Hank hadn't used the stove in twenty years. Still, Clint didn't give up. He turned one of the knobs and leaned down, sniffing for gas. Satisfied, he took out a box of matches and struck one. The flame whooshed as the gas caught. He turned off the burner and tried each one in turn. Two lighted as easily as the first, but he had to take off the grate and use his thumbnail to clean the fourth before enough gas came out of the valve to catch flame.

Sara asked Valentine, 'What are you doing?'

He didn't answer as he took various items out of the box Clint had brought and lined them up on the counter. Acetone, rubbing alcohol, ammonia, lye.

'Shit,' Lena hissed. 'Meth. They're going to cook meth.'

'Don't worry,' Valentine told her, opening and closing cabinets until he found Hank's coffee mugs. They were old, handmade in Mexico – so fragile that Hank only used them on special occasions. He held up one of the cups, smiled. 'It won't cook for very long.'

No, it wouldn't. Once the ingredients got too hot, the ceramic would break. The liquid would explode the second it touched the open flame, burning chemicals sticking like hot wax to everything they landed on – walls, carpets, skin. Cooking meth was so dangerous that only meth-addled junkies attempted it, and the ensuing explosions could cause massive damage not just to people but to property. Most states considered meth labs weapons of mass destruction and had asked for funding to clean them up under the Homeland Security act.

'Is that the business you were doing at the motel?' Lena asked. 'Hank saw you cooking meth?'

'I told you we were meeting with some associates,' Valentine answered, taking small cans of Coleman fuel out of the cardboard box. 'Some very important associates.'

'What associates?' she pressed. 'Mexicans? Skinheads?'

Valentine stopped unloading the box, annoyed. 'You wanna know the story? You wanna know what happened?'

Now that she had the answer within her grasp, Lena wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to hear it.

Valentine started to turn back around, but she stopped him. 'Yes. I want to know what happened.'

He leaned against the counter, propping his gun hand up at the elbow. 'Hank tried to go around me, hook up with some boys at the state.'

'The GBI?' she asked. Why had Hank gone to the GBI instead of asking Lena for help? He hadn't wanted to get her involved, of course. He'd tried all his life to keep Lena out of the thick of things, just as she'd worked steadily to keep herself right in the middle.

Valentine said, 'Fortunately, he went to somebody who was a friend of ours – somebody ready to move up north and take a long vacation.' He smiled at the simplicity. 'It wasn't too hard getting Hank hooked again. You know meth's only got a twenty-two percent recovery rate? And most of them never stop wanting it. Mind over matter, I guess. Clint had a couple conversations with him, shot him up a few times. Pretty soon he was paying for it.'

'Did you know that I was a cop?' Lena asked. 'Did you know that I would come looking for Hank?'

'Of course we knew about you,' he told her. 'How do you think we controlled him in the beginning? He was terrified you'd come down and get hurt. Honestly' – he shrugged – 'I can't believe the dumb coot's still alive. The shit Clint was feeding him was pure enough to kill a horse – grade A Ya Ba. He should've been dead weeks ago. We figured by the time you made it down here, it'd be for his funeral.'

'How can you-' Sara began, but the back door opened. Fred Bart looked just as surprised to see Sara and Lena as they were to see him. It had taken a while, but Lena had finally placed who Charlotte 's killer was. Bart had been practicing in Reece since Lena was a kid. It was hard to forget a dentist who had freakishly small teeth.

'No way,' Bart said, backing up. 'I didn't sign up for this.'

'Get your ass in here,' Valentine ordered, using the gun to wave him in.

Bart said, 'I only brought enough for one. Clint didn't say-'

Clint swung around aggressively. 'What did I say, you stupid cocksucker?'

Valentine ignored them, asking Lena, 'You got any more questions?'

She opened her mouth to answer and he slammed his gun into the side of her head. Lena saw stars as she fell. The only thing that kept her from hitting the floor was the fact that she was handcuffed to Sara.

' Lena!' Sara struggled to pull her back into the chair.

Lena 's ears were ringing. She heard Valentine say, 'Do the doc. I owe it to her husband.'

'No!' Sara screamed, rearing back, taking Lena with her. Clint stepped in, bear-hugging Sara from behind. Lena was dragged across the floor as Sara struggled against the man, fighting for her life. Valentine's hand clamped down on Sara's handcuffed right wrist and Lena saw Fred Bart jam a needle into her arm.

Two or three seconds later, Sara stopped struggling. She crumpled to the floor beside Lena, her eyes glassy. Lena put her fingers to Sara's neck, tried to feel for a pulse.

Bart said, 'It's just a mild sedative, darlin' -something to take the edge off. She'll be fine.'

Valentine fished the keys to the handcuffs out of his pocket. 'Yeah, she'll be fine until she dies.' He gave Bart the gun, saying, 'Shoot her in the head if she moves.'

Bart took the weapon, showing the same easy familiarity as that night he'd sat by Charlotte in the back of the Escalade. 'What are you going to do, Jake? I didn't sign on for any of this. I don't hurt innocent people.'

'You do if you have to.' Valentine twisted the key in Sara's cuff and her hand fell to the ground. He told Clint, 'Take her into the hall so I don't have to look at her anymore.'

Clint's lips twisted up in a smile.

'Get right back in here,' Valentine ordered. 'Don't fiddle with her or I'll cut your goddamn cock off.'

Bart had taken his eyes off Lena. She edged toward the door and he snapped the gun at her head. 'Don't try it, sugar. We both know what I am capable of.'

Lena sat back in the chair. The cuff was still dangling from her hand and she worked her fingers along the chain, thinking she could use it as some kind of weapon. She grabbed the cold, curved metal in her hand, fashioning it into brass knuckles. If Bart or Valentine got close enough, she would hit them as hard as she could no matter who had a gun pointed at her face. Better to die from a bullet than burn to death like Charlotte.

Clint came back, the door swinging behind him. Lena caught a glimpse of Sara lying in the hallway before the door swung closed.

Bart asked, 'Jake, what are we doing here?'

Valentine reached into the cardboard box and threw out a handful of empty blister packs from a box of cold medicine. 'We're making meth.' He tossed more of the empty packets onto the counter, scattered some matchbooks on the kitchen table. The box had everything he needed: medical tubing, beakers, filters. He dumped the box on the table, too.

Bart asked, 'Why are these girls here, Jake? I told you after Charlotte that I was finished with this kind of shit.'

'You're not finished with anything until I say you are.'

Bart kept the gun on Lena, but he said, 'I don't want to be a part of this.'

Valentine chuckled as he opened the cabinet under the sink. Years of cleaning products were stuck to the bottom but he swept them aside with his hand, saying, 'Shit we could've just used this.'

Bart said, 'This is wrong, Jake. This is just wrong. Al never did things like this. Innocent people never got hurt.'

'Al was bringing in pocket change. We got us a real organization here, Fred. We can't let our people down.' Valentine reached under the sink and grabbed the drainpipe, putting his weight into his heels as he pulled on it. 'That ain't moving.'

Clint was just standing there. 'What do you want me to do now?'

Valentine indicated the cans of solvents on the counter. 'Mix ' em up. Get everything ready.'

Clint started opening bottles and pouring them into Hank's ceramic mugs.

Bart tried again, 'Jake-'

'Shut up your whining, Fred.' Valentine groaned as he stood up, cursing, 'Motherfucker, that hurts,' as he held his hand to his side. 'You're not even worried about me, Fred.' Valentine gripped the counter, his hand leaving a bloody print. 'Lookit my damn side. I ripped it open on that stupid door.'

Bart glanced at the bloody bandage. 'You'll live.'

'Thanks for your concern.' Valentine wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was sweating. He picked up the jug of bleach that had been under the counter and set it on the kitchen table with a thump.

Bart said, 'This is crazy, man. What are you going to do?'

'What we're gonna do is handcuff her to the sink, then blow this place to hell.'

Bart shook his head. 'They'll find the cuffs in the-'

'Yeah, I'll be sure to make note of that when I'm filling out my scene of crime report,' Valentine interrupted. 'One pair of police issue handcuffs.'

'What about the compound?' He glanced nervously at Lena. 'Did you clear this?'

'It's all clear,' Valentine told him. 'They took the leash off as soon as she showed up with those pictures.'

Clint said, 'We're ready here,' indicating the ceramic mugs on the counter. Thin plumes of smoke already drifted out of the mugs as the chemicals combined.

Valentine asked, 'How long will it take?'

Clint shrugged. 'The ceramic is pretty thin. I'd say it'll take ten, maybe twenty minutes tops for the heat to crack them. Once the liquid touches the flame, it'll go up like a fucking a-bomb. I'd get the hell out of here as soon as you put them on the heat, though. You never know with these things. The chemicals ain't exactly stable.'

Valentine patted him on the back for a job well done. 'I hear you, boy.'

Bart said, I am so sick of this shit. You think her husband's going to just let this go?' He waved the gun toward the hallway. 'At least shoot her so she doesn't have to suffer through it.' He glanced at Lena, though with less compassion. 'Shoot them both. What harm will it do to show a little kindness?'

Valentine splashed acetone around the room. 'Because that'll leave bullets in the body, Fred. I can pocket a pair of handcuffs but I can't hide a bullet in an X-ray. Even if you dig it out, you can tell when a bullet hits bone. Knives leave marks, too, so don't even think about it, Clint.' He shook his head, telling Bart, 'I thought you'd done enough autopsies by now to know how this shit works. We'll just cuff her to the drainpipe and get the hell out of here.'

Lena finally spoke. 'What are you going to tell Jeffrey?'

He smiled at Lena. 'That Deacon Simms was cooking meth in Hank's kitchen and you and Sara came along at the wrong time.'

She didn't even bother to act surprised that Deacon's body would be found in the ruins. It made perfect sense. 'Jeffrey knows you were here.'

'He'll know that I dropped y'all off,' Valentine countered, splashing ammonia on top of the lye.

'Then he'll know that I went home and had lunch with my wife before she had to go back to school.'

'He'll put it together that you handed in your badge on the same day that his wife died.'

Bart had been following the conversation closely. Lena could feel his body tense. He asked, 'You resigned?'

'Yes,' Lena said, gripping the handcuff in her hand, willing him to come closer. 'Don Cook told me that Jake resigned this morning. Jake got a threatening letter and said he was leaving town before he ended up like Al Pfeiffer.'

'She's lying,' Valentine said. 'I resigned, but I-'

'He said he was leaving town,' Lena repeated. 'Look at this stuff, Fred.' She indicated the beakers, the chemicals. 'They had all of this ready to go. Why do you think that is?'

'Don't listen to her,' Valentine told Bart, a warning in his tone.

Lena pressed on, putting together the pieces. Valentine must have been pretty fucking pleased with himself. Lena had handed him surveillance photos. The right ones shown to the right people would paint Fred Bart as the mastermind to the whole operation. 'They were going to set you up, Fred. They've been planning this all along, just waiting for the right time to bang you up.' He shook his head, and she insisted, 'Think about it, Fred. Look at what's going on here. Jeffrey would've needed an explanation, somebody to blame for his wife dying. Can't you see Jake is setting you up for the fall? You are the explanation.'

'Don't listen to that crap,' Valentine said, but even Lena could tell she'd struck close to home. The man was visibly nervous. He couldn't stop himself from looking at the gun. 'Come on, Fred. Things were just getting a little hot and I-'

Both Lena and Valentine ducked as Bart squeezed the trigger. Instinctively, Lena put her hands over her head and the loose cuff slapped her in the face. She looked up, expecting to see Jake Valentine lying dead, but it was Clint who had been shot. Bart was an excellent marksman. The bullet had gone straight between the man's eyes.

For his part, Clint seemed the last one to realize he'd been shot. He stood there, his eyes staring blankly, body swaying to the side, at least two full seconds ticked by before he collapsed back against the door. It swung open as he fell, the chain looping his wallet to his belt clanging against the wood.

'What the fuck did you do that for?' Valentine demanded. 'For the love of Christ, Fred. He was Jerry's man.' He stamped his foot on the floor. 'You're going to have to explain this, you stupid asshole.'

Bart had the gun trained squarely at Valentine's chest. 'You think I don't know what you're doing?'

'What?'

'She's right,' he said. 'You've never cooked meth in your life, and Clint was too far up the ladder to fool with this shit.'

'That's not-'

'What were you doing with all this stuff?' he asked, indicating the chemicals, the beakers. 'You were planning on leaving me holding the bag while you skipped town with that fat wife of yours.'

Valentine's fists clenched. 'Don't you dare bring Myra into this.'

Bart said, 'Al and I kept this town in line, kept the good people away from the bad, for thirty years. You didn't give a shit about right and wrong. You just offered it around like candy.'

'Money is money, man.'

'At what cost?'

'Them fistfuls of cash I was giving you every week didn't seem to bother you none.'

'Like I had a choice,' he snapped back. 'You were nothing but a little pissant before you married into that family. Then all of a sudden you're the big man in town, waving your dick around like you're somebody special. All you ever were was a fuck-up.'

'Like it was my bright idea to throw Boyd through the fucking hotel window!' he yelled. 'What about that, Fred? Another one of your grand gestures, just like the schoolteacher you torched on the football field. She's what started this shitstorm in the first place.' Valentine looked pleased with his point. 'You and your foolish ways, thinking you'll scare people off like in the old days, and all it ends up doing is throwing gasoline on the fire. And here I am, trying to clean up your mess. Who's the fuck-up now?'

'You know why they kept me around?' Bart demanded. 'You ever ask yourself why they didn't give me a one-way ticket to the swamp? It was because they didn't trust your skinny little ass as far as they could throw you.'

Valentine chuckled. 'If you know them so well, then you know how they feel about family.'

'I think they'll be glad to get rid of you, is what I think.'

I think that I'm the only one standing between you and death right now.'

'Get over by the sink,' Bart ordered. 'Both of you.'

Valentine started, 'Hold on now-'

Bart shot him in the leg.

'Shit!' Valentine screamed. 'Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?'

Bart reached down and picked up the shell from the bullet. 'I said both of you get over by the sink.' When Lena didn't move, he kicked her chair. 'There are worse ways to hurt you than with a bullet, darlin'.'

She got up, moved toward the sink.

Valentine held his bleeding leg, fuming, 'You think you can get away with this?'

'I think I'm gonna have an awful lot more bullets to dig out of your body down at the morgue if you don't get down in front of that sink and cuff your hand through that pipe.'

'You think you can go back to the good old ways? There's too much money now, Fred. They're gonna put you in the ground.'

'Shut up,' Bart ordered, kicking Valentine in the leg right where he'd just been shot.

'Fuck!' Valentine screamed, his knees buckling as he fell down.

'You, too,' Bart said, waving the gun at Lena. 'Get down on the floor.'

She knelt slowly. 'I never told anyone it was you in the car,' she said. 'I kept quiet the whole time.'

'I know, hon,' Bart said. 'That was really good of you.'

'Let me go,' Lena begged. 'Let me and Sara go and neither one of us will say anything.'

Bart flashed his nasty little teeth. 'The funny thing, Lena, is if it was just you, I'd believe it. I really would. But the doctor lady out there won't lie. She may give it a good try, but no way she can keep a secret.'

'She will.'

He shook his head. 'Jake, reach down there and pull that cuff through the pipe.'

'You son of a bitch,' Valentine muttered, grabbing Lena 's arm and passing the cuff through the bend in the drain.

'Tight now,' Bart instructed. 'Tighter.'

Valentine made the cuff so tight his wrist turned red. 'They will find you,' he warned Bart. 'They will find you and rip your intestines out through your asshole.'

Bart was over by the stove. He turned up the burners, as high as they would go and used the butt of the gun to knock the knobs off the stove. Satisfied they couldn't be turned down, he got the ceramic mugs and put each one over the open flame.

'You're gonna die for this,' Valentine warned. 'You think you can get away with killing me? I'm a fucking general in the Brotherhood of the True White Skin. Vengeance will rain down upon you like the wrath of the one white God.'

'Yeah, yeah,' Bart said. 'And you're gonna get ass fucked by the biggest, blackest cocksucker in hell.' He lifted his foot and kicked Valentine in the face. Bart's angle was off, but the bottom of the sink was right behind Valentine. His head slammed against the cast iron, an ominous crunch sounding from his skull. He slid down the sink, blood dripping from the back of his head.

Bart knelt down and checked Valentine's pockets, the gun aimed at Lena 's chest.

'Don't do this,' she begged. 'Please don't do this.'

He found Valentine's cell phone and broke it under the heel of his cheap shoe. He told Lena, 'I really am sorry, darlinY

'Yeah,' Lena said, thinking if her hands were free she would choke the life out of him. 'Look, no problem. I understand.'

Bart shook his head, a faraway look coming into his eyes. 'You're just like your mama was. You know that?'

Was. Lena felt her throat tighten, all the fight draining from her body. 'What happened to her?' she asked. 'Please. I've got to know.'

'She was one of the good ones that crossed over, honey.' Bart stood, checked the mugs on the stove. 'She's in a better place now.' He indicated the room, the situation. 'I hope knowing that brings you some peace.'

'Peace?' she echoed. 'Are you fucking kidding me? You think you're doing a favor killing me?'

Bart tossed the gun onto the kitchen table. 'I'm sorry, baby.' He opened the door and closed it softly behind him.

'Fuck!' Lena screamed, kicking Valentine in the leg. He moaned, rolling to the side. She saw the top of his head where his skull had been caved in. The bald spot was on display now. The bottom of what could only be a red swastika was tattooed on his scalp.

'Sara!' Lena yelled, knowing there wouldn't be an answer. 'Sara!' She leaned out as far as she could, looking past Clint's lifeless body. Sara was still propped up against the wall, her eyes staring vacantly back at Lena.

Lena dragged Valentine's arm through the pipe, groaning from the exertion. He was deadweight; she might as well be cuffed to a boulder. Pushing and pulling, she managed to get him inside the cabinet, his elbow looped around the bend in the pipe. He was saying something, begging her to stop, to help him, but Lena ignored his pleas, bracing her feet on the sides of the cabinet, gripping his hand in both of hers, pulling as hard as she could without dislocating her shoulders. When she'd dragged Valentine into the cabinet as far as he'd go, she reared back from the sink and kicked the pipe with all her strength.

'Help!' she yelled, kicking the pipe again and again, her foot slipping and pounding into Valentine's shoulder. 'Help!'

' Lena…' Valentine whispered, his hand reaching out to her. 'Please…'

Lena started coughing as a fine mist filled the room. She had bent the pipe but it held in place – it was the only fucking thing Hank had ever replaced in this falling-down piece of shit house. She screamed in fury, kicking at the pipe until her foot was so badly bruised she could hardly lift it.

'Help!' she tried again, knowing even as she yelled that no one was coming. Bart had shot the gun twice and no one had bothered to ride to their rescue. This was a working class neighborhood. No one was home in the middle of a Friday morning; at least no one who would care.

The gun. Lena saw it sitting on the table against the wall. She lunged for it, her arm nearly popping out of the socket. She couldn't reach the table. Lena rolled onto her back and kicked out her feet, trying to loop them around the leg of the table so that she could pull it over. She grazed the metal with the toe of her shoe, then stopped as she heard a bottle break. A plume of white smoke erupted over the table. The liquid dripped to the floor, sizzling like bacon as it ate through the linoleum. What was she thinking? She'd just released more chemicals into the air. And what would Lena do if she managed to get the gun? She couldn't shoot a weapon in here. Fumes were already filling the air. A spark from a gun could blow up the whole house.

'No-no-no,' she panted, sitting up, trying to make herself think. 'Oh, God, please.' She jerked the cuff one more time and screamed in pain. Her wrist was bruised and bleeding. It hurt so bad that maybe it was broken. 'No,' she whispered, coughing around the word. Her lungs shook in her chest. She felt as if she'd inhaled cotton. Lena coughed to clear them, but nothing would work. She reached up and turned on the faucet, cupping her hand underneath and bringing the water to her lips, her eyes.

So many years she had sat in this house praying to God that she wouldn't die here, that she could somehow get out of this awful town and make something of herself, yet here she was, trapped in Hank's house, living out her worst nightmare.

Lena choked back a sob. Jeffrey would figure this out. He wouldn't let a fucking dentist autopsy his wife. He'd get somebody from the state to look at the bodies. They'd see Valentine's broken skull. Maybe there would be enough of Lena left for them to see the bruises on the bottom of her foot, the bloody pulp of her wrist.

Her wrist.

Lena saw it then, saw the way out.

She reached for Clint, trying to grab the leg of his pants, his shoe, anything she could hold on to. Her fingers weren't even close. She lay flat on her stomach, her arm stretched over her head as far as it would go, and kicked out her legs, trying to use her feet to pull Clint's body toward her. He was a heavy man, but she managed to clamp one of his feet between her own, inching him over until she was able to loop her shoe through the chain that connected his wallet to his belt. She tightened her abs, screaming from exertion as his body came closer. Lena sat up, reaching for him, finally able to grab the leg of his pants and drag him close enough to get to the knife on his belt.

Lena looked at Valentine. He was staring at her, fear blazing in his eyes.

She didn't give herself time to think, taking the knife and hacking it into his wrist. Valentine's mouth opened, but he didn't scream. He gave this kind of high-pitched whine that seemed to last forever. Lena tried to close her ears to it, hacking at the skin again, trying to reach the sweet spot where bone gave way to tendon. Her stomach turned as blood squirted into her face, repulsion almost overcoming her. The handcuff around his wrist was so tight that she couldn't rear back with the knife high enough for fear of dulling the blade on the metal. She stopped, trying to catch her breath, trying not to vomit. On the stove, she could hear gurgling as the liquid started to boil.

'Please…' Valentine whispered. 'No, Lord, please…'

She pushed away the remains of Valentine's broken cell phone, pressed Valentine's wrist as flat to the floor as it would go and placed the knife blade against his wrist.

'No,' Valentine begged, his voice rising in register as he saw what she was going to do. 'Oh, God! Oh, God! No!'

Lena stood up and pressed the sole of her shoe against the knife, the double-sided blade slicing into the rubber. She leaned her forehead against the counter for balance as she put her full weight onto one leg, crunching the blade into his wrist.

'No!' Valentine screeched, his legs kicking out, animal sounds of pain echoing in the room.

She grinded the toe of her shoe into the blade, bouncing her weight until the knife cut all the way through to the floor.

The handcuff jerked up, Valentine's hand popping off his wrist like a loose tooth. The cuff was so tight that his hand wouldn't come out. Lena stood, his hand slapping against her leg. She gagged, the smoke thicker up high. Her eyes stung and she couldn't get her bearings.

The mugs on the stove were white-hot, liquid boiling up. She tried to turn off the knobs but just the stems remained and she couldn't get them to budge. Smoke filled the room with rolling black clouds. In the distance, Lena could see Sara had managed to sit up. As Lena watched, Sara's mouth moved, but she made no attempt to stand, no motion to leave the burning house.

Lena stumbled toward her, slamming against the table, knocking the matchbooks onto the floor. She looked down, saw that the red strike pads had all been peeled off, the matches unused. Her arm started throbbing and she realized she had put her hand in broken glass. There was a strange odor, then blinding pain. Acid. She had put her hand in the broken bottle of acid. Her mouth opened, but there was no breath in her lungs to scream as she jerked her hand away from the table.

' Lena…' Valentine called from behind her. 'Please…'

Lena moved forward, away from his voice. She felt as if her own skin was dripping off the bones of her hand, but she pushed herself on, made her legs move toward Sara, even though every ounce of sense left in her body was screaming for her to go the other way.

She coughed, gagging from the smoke, the heat of the enclosed room boiling her skin. He had set it all up so perfectly. The kitchen was a mad scientist's dream and every cop's nightmare.

Lithium batteries. Iodine. Paint thinner. Lye.

Some of the same ingredients used to make crystal meth were used in the bomb that brought down the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City.

She had to reach Sara before the house exploded, had to get them both out of here and into the open air.

'Sara!' Lena screamed, lurching down the hallway. She squatted in front of her, grabbing Sara under the arms and trying to pull them both to standing. 'Help!' she yelled, her legs cramping as she forced them both up the wall. The smoke was so thick now that Lena couldn't see. She felt tears running down her cheeks from the stinging chemicals. Something popped in the kitchen, like a champagne cork or a popgun. Lena swung Sara's arm over her shoulders, dragging her toward the front door. She could see the crack of sunlight coming through where the door hadn't quite shut.

'Please, Sara,' Lena begged. 'Please help me. I can't lift you.'

Sara's legs started to move in an awkward walk. Lena pulled her forward, yanked open the door. The sunlight was blinding. She could feel the handcuff and what was still in it banging against the door as she pushed Sara outside.

They both fell in a heap at the foot of the stairs, but Lena did not let herself stay down. She grabbed Sara underneath her arms and walked backward, dragging her across the yard and into the street. They had reached the neighbor's sidewalk when the air changed. There was something almost like a vacuum sucking all the oxygen toward the house, then a violent pushing out as a blast of hot air shot past them. Lena did not hear the explosion until she was diving to the ground, using her body to cover Sara's. Then came the heat, an intense, horrible ' heat that burned her skin.

Lena lay on top of Sara. Her body was out of adrenaline or whatever it was that had made Lena capable of getting them both out of the house. Somehow, she forced herself to roll to the side, falling onto her back.

In the distance, a siren announced that help was finally on its way. Lena closed her eyes, let herself feel relief, then joy that she had gotten away. She struggled, sitting up, coughing up a spray of blood. Her hand was hurting so badly that she could barely breathe. She tried not to look at it, tried not to see the melted skin where the acid had eaten into her flesh. That was when she noticed the empty handcuff dangling from her wrist. She looked around her, traced their footsteps across the street. Nothing.

Sara tried to sit up but fell back against the lawn. Up the street, Lena saw an Elawah County sheriff's cruiser take the turn on two wheels.

'What happened?' Sara mumbled, pressing her fingers into her eyes. ' Lena, what happened?'

'It's okay,' Lena told her. 'It's all over.'

'Are you okay?' Sara asked, still a doctor even though she was flat on her back.

The cruiser screeched to a halt in front of them. Lena struggled to stand as Don Cook got out of the car. Her legs wouldn't work, and her hand felt as if it was on fire.

'What the hell is going on here?' the deputy demanded.

Lena tasted blood in her mouth. Her stomach clenched and she could barely speak. 'Fred Bart,' she told Cook. 'You need to find Fred Bart.'

Sara had managed to sit up. She put her hand to Lena 's back, told her to take deep breaths. Lena tried to do this but the blood caught in her throat. She coughed, her body tensing from the effort.

The last thing she heard was Sara screaming, 'Call an ambulance!'

Then she passed out.