The Burying Place

Chapter Sixteen

On Sunday morning, the third day after Callie Glenn disappeared, frustration began to seep into the police war room in downtown Grand Rapids. Stride had seen it before. The first forty-eight hours were an adrenaline rush of urgency and determination. The phones rang incessantly. Emails flew back and forth among agencies throughout the state. Leads overwhelmed the system the way a sudden downpour overflows the sewer drains. No one complained because every contact in those precious early hours was an opportunity to break the case open.

Find a baby girl. Bring her home.

By Sunday, however, the lack of progress began to suck oxygen out of the investigation. Everyone knew that time was an enemy, and the enemy was winning. Two hours after a kidnapping, you can draw a small circle on a map and estimate the maximum area in which a missing person is likely to be found. You can set up road blocks. Canvass the region. Ten hours later, the diameter of the circle grows by hundreds of miles, bulging past the resources of the police to enclose and investigate it. Two days later, the universe of hiding places is essentially limitless.

Stride hoped that Callie Glenn was still alive somewhere within northern Minnesota, but the reality was that she could be anywhere by now.

He pored over hundreds of contact reports, hunting for a needle in a haystack. The tiny office on the third floor of the county headquarters was knee-deep in paper and littered with empty coffee cups and food wrappers. He knew that the dimensions of the search forced them to rely on a simple philosophy: do the right things, and hope they got lucky. If they were going to find Callie, someone had to remember the girl's face. Someone had to see her and make the call, and the police — wherever they were — had to make the right follow-through. He could manage the process, but Stride and the small team inside the Sheriff's Department couldn't have eyes and ears everywhere.

After an hour, he pushed the papers aside and got up and wiped the whiteboard hung on the opposite wall. His instinct was to go back to what really happened on Thursday night. Figure out why and how Callie disappeared. With a black marker, he drew a line down the center of the board and then wrote OUTSIDE on one half of the board and INSIDE on the other half.

Those were the two possibilities. Someone from outside the house came and stole Callie, or someone inside the house took her away. Underneath the OUTSIDE header, he scribbled several bullet points:

Stranger or local?

Had to be Callie or could have been any baby?

Ransom or other motive?

Needed to get to house, get in, get away

Alive or dead?

Where is she now?

Underneath the INSIDE header, he wrote different comments:

Alive or dead?

Accident or murder?

Marcus or Micki? (Both?)

Where is she now?

Stride stared at what he had written. In the past two days, his team had reconstructed the movements of Marcus and Valerie Glenn — and their baby — over the five days leading up to the disappearance. Members of the Grand Rapids Police and the Itasca County Sheriff's Department had checked every building, house, store, and street in Grand Rapids and Duluth visited by the Glenns during that time, hoping to find a witness who remembered something or someone unusual. The follow-up was continuing, but so far they had no credible evidence of an intruder watching the Glenns or their home.

He wasn't surprised. Grand Rapids was a small town. Even Duluth was small compared to a large urban center like Minneapolis. He doubted that a stranger could identify a target and plan a kidnapping in such a tightly knit region without leaving some kind of trail for them to follow.

So maybe it wasn't a stranger. Maybe it was someone who already knew the Glenns, their baby, and their home. But if that were true, he didn't know how someone local could hope to hide a stolen baby for any length of time without being discovered. How long could you really do that? A week? A month? Sooner or later, someone would expose the secret.

Assuming that Callie was still alive. If not, it was easy to hide a body in the northern woods.

The other question was why. Why would an outsider go through such risk and trouble to abduct Callie Glenn? There had been no ransom demands, and Grand Rapids was an unlikely locale in which to scout designer babies or white slaves. Not that Stride could entirely rule it out. Evil had a way of reaching its fingers even into the remote corners of the world.

He turned his attention to the INSIDE half of the board, which in his mind offered a simpler and more plausible explanation of the crime. Either Marcus Glenn or Migdalia Vega had used the time between ten thirty and one o'clock to make Callie disappear. He had a much easier time ascribing possible motives to either of them, and he had evidence in hand that both had been lying, or at the very least hiding important aspects of their relationship.

Stride knew he needed to talk to them again, and he chose to start with Micki. She was the weak link.

He grabbed his leather jacket and took the stairs to the ground floor. His car was parked on the street outside. He headed southeast on Highway 2, where there was no traffic to slow him down. It was Sunday; everyone was in church. As he drove, he finally thought about the one subject he kept trying to push from his mind.

Serena.

Last night he had slept alone. Actually, he had tossed and turned in the empty bed. He had thought of Serena at home in their cottage in Duluth, and the distance between them made him feel as if she were another of the pieces of his life stranded on the far side of the canyon. He could imagine her face, hear her voice, and feel the softness of her skin, and yet for all that, she had become flat. Two-dimensional. Like everything else in his world. He told himself that he was in love with her, but he didn't feel it, because he didn't feel anything.

When his phone rang, he thought it might be Serena, and he wondered what he would say to her. Instead it was Maggie.

'Hey, boss,' she said brightly. 'I miss your face.'

Stride relaxed and smiled. 'Back at you, Mags. What's going on?'

'I have a quick update on the farmlands case. I offered kinky favors to one of the techs down at BCA to bump our blood sample to the top of the list.'

'Good.'

'He's gay, by the way, so I told him you'd pay up, not me. Hope that's OK.'

'Anything for the team,' he told her.

'I thought you'd feel that way. Anyway, I got the results back, and it's bad news. No hits. He's not in the system.'

'Damn.'

'Yeah, nothing ever comes easy.'

'How's Troy Grange doing?' Stride asked. 'You saw him yesterday, right?'

'He's hurting. His oldest girl is a wreck, and he had to leave the baby with his in-laws. I told him not to give up hope, but he knows the score. Trisha's not coming back.'

'Yeah.'

'Speaking of tough guys,' Maggie said, 'how are you?'

'Me? I'm fine.' The same old lie.

'A little bird told me you weren't so good.'

Stride tensed. 'You talked to Serena?'

'Uh huh.'

'It's no big deal,' he said.

'It sounded like a big deal to me. And to her.'

'I don't really want to talk about it, Mags.' 'Yeah, well, that's just too damn bad,' she snapped. 'You think you can blow me off like that? I'm your best friend.'

'I know that, but this isn't easy for me—'

'I don't care if it's easy or hard. What the hell is going on with you?'

Stride closed his eyes and opened them again. The empty highway spilled off the edge of the horizon. 'It's not Serena. It's me. I'm struggling.'

'Give me details.'

He didn't know what to say. 'I wish I could, Mags. I may as well be dead. I don't care about anything. Not a damn thing.'

'I don't like to hear you talking like that,' she said.

'Neither do I.'

Maggie was silent. Stride slowed and turned off the highway as he reached the intersection that led toward the rural town of Sago. A cloud of dirt rose behind his tires and trailed him down the deserted road.

'When are you coming back to Duluth?' she asked.

'I've got a couple meetings at City Hall the day after tomorrow.'

'I want to see you.'

'I appreciate the thought, but there's nothing you can do. This is my problem.'

'Don't be such a hero. Get an early start. I'll make you breakfast.'

'You?' Stride asked.

'Damn right. A couple sausage McMuffins and some of that twisty cinnamon roll kind of stuff.'

Stride laughed. 'OK.'

'I'll see you Tuesday morning.' She added, 'And hey, can I tell you something?'

'Sure.'

'I'm sorry I wasn't with you.'

'What are you talking about?'

He heard her voice catch with emotion, which was unusual for Maggie. 'On the bridge. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you fell. That was the hardest thing for me, not being there when you needed me.'

'There's nothing you could have done,' Stride said.

'Maybe, but I'm still sorry.'

Stride thumped his fist on the aluminum door of Micki Vega's trailer. Curtains were drawn across the windows, but he saw her pickup truck parked in the dirt nearby, and he smelled bacon frying. When no one answered, he pounded again.

'Micki, it's Lieutenant Stride. Open up!'

He heard the rattle of a chain as Micki unlatched the door and peered out. Her dark hair was loose and frizzy. She had bloodshot eyes. She wore flannel pajama bottoms and a pink halter top. Her feet were bare.

'You woke up my mama,' she told him, her voice cross.

'You didn't answer.'

'I thought it was that damn chica from the papers. Blair Rowe. She's been hassling me all weekend. Did you tell her about me?'

'No.'

'Well, she found out anyway. I'm fucked.'

'I need to talk to you, Micki,' Stride said.

'Talk about what?'

'Callie Glenn.'

'I already told you everything I know, which ain't much. Leave me alone, OK?'

'I have more questions. Can I come inside?'

'Hell, no. I don't want you bothering my mama.'

'Then put on some clothes and come out here.'

Micki scowled. 'Whatever.'

He waited for her in the middle of the dirt road. Through the slanted trunks of the birch trees, he could see the slope of the Sago Cemetery fifty yards away. Dots of snow flurries drifted in the air and landed on his skin in cold flecks. It was a quiet morning, with almost no wind. The trees seemed to be holding their breath.

Micki joined him two minutes later. She'd shoved her feet into boots, and she wore a blue down coat. Her black hair spilled messily over the collar. She took bites from a bagel and a crispy piece of bacon.

'So what do you want?' she demanded, her mouth full.

'I know about your baby,' he said.

Micki blanched. She stopped chewing, and a few crumbs clung to the side of her mouth, which she wiped with her sleeve. Her cheeks flushed with anger. 'Fuck you. That's private.' 'Callie Glenn is missing, and now I find out that you had a baby that no one knows about. Coincidences like that make me suspicious.'

'Who told you?' Micki asked.

'It doesn’t matter.'

'Yeah, nothing matters when you're trailer trash, right? Other people get to scream about their privacy. Not me.'

'Where's your baby?' Stride asked.

'I don't have to tell you a thing.'

'Is he inside the trailer?'

Micki jabbed a finger toward the cemetery. 'He's in the ground. Are you happy?'

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Tell me what happened.'

'What's to tell? I got knocked up. I couldn't afford the pill, and I was dating a guy who thought rubbers were for homos. I learned my lesson. My knees stay shut from now on.'

'Who was the father?' Stride asked.

'Nobody. Some farm kid.'

'I think it was Marcus Glenn,' he said.

'Dr Glenn? Are you crazy? No way. I told you I'm not sleeping with him.'

'So how did he get involved?'

Micki shoved her hands in her coat pockets. 'When I found out I was pregnant, I didn't know what to do. I don't have any insurance. I wanted to get rid of it, but Mama said that was a sin. So I asked Dr Glenn for help.'

'What did he do?'

'He knew I couldn't go to a hospital, so he arranged for a nurse to come here. She was supposed to deliver the baby, too, but I never made it that far.'

'How far along were you when you lost him?'

'Three months,' Micki said. 'It was just one of those things. I didn't do anything wrong.'

'When was this?'

'Last summer. August.'

'So Valerie Glenn was already pregnant when you miscarried?'

'How should I know? I mean, I guess she was, but I didn't know. Dr Glenn never talked about his wife having a baby.'

'What did you do with your child?' Stride asked.

Micki's eyes flashed. 'I buried him.'

'What about the nurse? What was her name?'

'Nurse Regan. She was a scary bitch to look at, but she was nice. Even after I lost the baby, she came back to help me. My head was all screwed up, and she told me it's normal to feel that way.'

'Did you know that she was having an affair with Dr Glenn?' Stride asked.

Micki looked genuinely shocked. 'Dr Glenn and Nurse Regan? No, I didn't know that.'

'Did you ever see them together?'

'Sure, a couple of times, he drove her here to see me. That doesn’t mean anything.'

'Has Regan Conrad been in touch with you recently?'

'Me? No. Why would she?'

Stride didn't hear a lie in her voice. 'I'm sorry, Micki, that must have been a terrible experience for you.'

She shrugged. 'I was upset, but God calls the shots, not me.'

'Where did you bury your son?' he asked.

'On the other side of the road,' she said after a long pause. 'It happens a lot around cemeteries, you know. My mama and I hear noises out here at night, and I'll find places where the dirt's been dug up.'

'People bury things in the woods?' Stride asked.

'Yeah. Sure. I keep a collection of things I find out there. Photos of pets. Silly stuff like rings and corks from wine bottles. I think it makes people feel better to bury something near the cemetery. Like they figure God is nearby. If you dig in the trees, I bet you'd find a lot of bones.'

Chapter Seventeen

Serena found Valerie Glenn at her sister's home on Sunday afternoon. Denise Sheridan and her husband lived in downtown Grand Rapids, on a forested lot near the river. It was a small home for a family with four children. Its wood siding was dirty and needed paint, and several of the red roof shingles were missing. A fishing boat sat on a rusted trailer by the side of the house, and the yard was strewn with old toys. Half a dozen mature pines dwarfed the house and blocked it from the street.

Denise answered the door. Her face was pinched and impatient. When she saw Serena, she jerked a thumb down the hallway behind her. 'Valerie and Tom are in the living room. I've got to check on my youngest.' She lowered her voice and added, 'Do you have anything new?'

Serena shook her head.

Denise frowned and went upstairs, where Serena could hear the squeal of children. She found her way to the living room, which was a boxy space, crowded with old furniture. An upright piano was pushed against one wall, with stacks of sheet music piled on the bench. A little boy, no more than five years old, sat on the floor, humming as he pushed a red crayon around an illustration of a cow in a coloring book. The house smelled of burnt toast.

Valerie Glenn sat on the leather sofa, looking luminously out of place. Her clothes, her make-up, her hair, were all perfect. By contrast, the leather where she rested her slim arm was worn, with cuts and punctures bruising the surface. She had a sad, far-away smile as she watched the boy playing on the floor at her feet.

A man sat next to Valerie and held her hand. He was about forty years old, with gray strands lining his brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wasn't heavy, but he had the stocky shoulders and slight beer gut of a typical Grand Rapids outdoorsman. His jeans had a frayed hole in the pocket, and the sleeves of his sweatshirt were rolled up past his elbows.

'Oh, hello, Serena,' Valerie murmured, looking up as she saw her in the doorway. 'Have you met Tom Sheridan?'

'I haven't.'

Tom got up from the sofa. He was a big man, but his handshake was gentle. 'I'm Denise's husband.'

'And who's this?' Serena asked, squatting down in front of the boy on the floor.

'This is Evan,' Tom said. 'Evan, can you say hello?'

The boy didn't look up from his work on the coloring book. 'Hello.'

Serena laughed and straightened up. 'You have a budding artist,' she said.

'I just wish he didn't practice on the bedroom walls,' Tom replied. He sat down again and put a comforting arm around Valerie's shoulder. With a glance at his sister-in-law, he said to Serena, 'I hate to be the bad guy here, but we're getting frustrated.'

'I understand. So are we.'

'How could Callie just vanish into thin air?' Tom asked.

'Believe me, we're doing everything we can to find her,' Serena said.

'I know the drill, Ms Dial. I'm married to the law. I know you can't snap your fingers and get answers for us. But I'd be lying if I didn't tell you how worried and impatient we all are. Every day makes Callie feel further away.'

Valerie glanced at the television in the corner of the room. The sound was low. 'Is there anything you can do about the media?' she asked. 'I know it's free speech and all, but I feel like they're trying to destroy our family. Did you see Blair Rowe last night? She was spreading all these lies about Marcus. Who's going to look for Callie if they think that my husband is a monster?'

'The best advice I can give you is not to watch,' Serena said. 'Even if it's garbage and gossip, it helps having Callie's photo on the news night after night. The more people who see it, the more likely we are to find her.'

'She's right, Valerie,' Denise said, strolling into the living room behind Serena. She moved a stack of children's books from the cushion of a recliner and dropped into the chair with a groan. She chewed a fingernail and contemplated her sister. 'I know Blair Rowe. She's a wet-behind-the-ears brat who thinks this is her big break. Forget about her.'

Tom Sheridan looked at his wife with concern. 'How's Maureen?'

Denise shrugged. 'Fine.'

'Our youngest has Down's syndrome,' Tom explained. 'She doesn’t hear well, and she becomes quite agitated if she wakes up from a nap and one of us isn't around.'

'You don't need to share our life story,' Denise snapped.

'It's nothing to be ashamed about,' Tom said.

Denise's eyes shot daggers at her husband. 'Did I say I was ashamed?' She bent over and closed her son's coloring book. 'Evan, can you take this to your room, please? Thank you.'

There was silence among the adults in the room while the boy gathered his crayons and headed upstairs. Denise watched him go, her arms folded over her chest. 'Honestly, Tom, what are you thinking? Talking like that in front of the kids.'

'I'm sorry.'

Denise didn't reply.

'Maureen's condition has been a struggle for us,' Tom continued, with an apologetic smile at Serena. 'As if four kids weren't enough of a challenge to begin with.'

'Oh, for God's sake,' Denise barked. She flew out of the recliner and stomped through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. The doors flapped madly before slowing down. Serena heard the clatter of pans and the exaggerated noise of cupboard doors opening and closing.

'I'm really sorry about this,' Tom told her. 'Bad day.'

'Don't worry about it.'

Valerie stood up. 'I suppose you'd like to talk to me.'

'Yes, I would.'

She nodded and bent down to hug her brother-in-law. 'Thanks for everything, Tom. Really.'

Tom held on to her hand. 'Call if you need anything at all, OK?'

'I will,' Valerie said. She said to Serena, 'Shall we take a walk?'

Outside Denise's house, Serena and Valerie wandered to the end of the block and on to the middle of the bridge that crossed over the river. Flurries landed in their hair, and the cold raised a flush on their faces. Valerie leaned on the railing and stared at the dark water. She knit her fingers together.

'I owe you an apology,' she said.

'Why is that?'

'The first time I saw you, I told you that you couldn't understand how I felt because you didn't have children. It was a stupid thing to say.'

'Don't worry about it.'

'Well, I felt like an idiot after you left. I'm sorry. I'm the last person who should make another woman feel bad about not having kids. I tried for three years before I got pregnant, and it was the worst kind of hell for me.'

'I'm sure it was.'

'I'd like to tell you that Marcus was a comfort in all of it, but I'm afraid that's not his specialty. It's funny, isn't it? Marcus is in a healing profession, and Tom sells insurance, and which one is a better listener?'

'Denise and Tom look like they're having problems,' Serena said.

Valerie nodded. 'They've been sweethearts since high school, but somewhere along the line, Denise forgot that they were supposed to be in love.'

'What about you and Marcus?' Serena asked.

A sad smile drifted across Valerie's face. 'We've never been the best of couples. I thought having a baby would bring us closer together. Or maybe I wanted a baby to give me the kind of love that my husband couldn't. Not that I blame him — that's just the man he is. But three years of trying and failing? The longer it went on, the more desperate I became.' She gave Serena a sideways glance. 'I don't come across as a desperate woman, do I? Honestly, if Callie hadn't come along, I don't know what I would have done. She saved me.'

'I have an unpleasant question for you,' Serena said.

Valerie turned around and leaned against the railing. She stared at the cold blue sky. 'Those seem to be the only kind of questions you have.'

'I know. I'm sorry.'

'That's all right, go ahead.'

'Do you know a nurse at St Mary's named Regan Conrad?'

Valerie looked down at the water. 'Is that her? Is she the one that Marcus…?'

'Yes.'

'I'm sorry, no, I don't know her. She must not be in orthopedics. I know all of the staff where Marcus works.'

'She works in maternity,' Serena said.

Valerie turned her head sharply. 'Maternity?'

'That's right.'

Valerie cupped her hands over her nose and mouth. She shook her head. 'I knew it. I knew she was there.'

'What do you mean?'

Valerie brought her hands down to her chin, so it looked as if she was praying. 'I went into the hospital on New Year's Eve,' she told Serena. 'There were only a few other women in the ward that night, and one of the babies was in distress, so most of the nursing staff weren't really focused on me. We were waiting for my doctor to get there from a party, and they had me on an epidural. I was drifting in and out a lot of the time. I remember, it must have been right after midnight. There was a lot of noise, people blowing those little horns, shouting about the New Year. I woke up, and I was alone, but I knew she'd been there. I smelled her perfume. It was the same perfume I'd smelled in my bed all those times. Ever since then, I thought it was my imagination, but she must have come to see me.' Valerie shivered.

'Was Marcus with you at the hospital that night?' Serena asked.

'Off and on,' she replied, with a hint of defensiveness. 'I told you, I slept a lot because of the drugs.'

'Of course.'

Valerie shook her head. 'She was there in my room. On that night of all nights. My God, tell me he didn't…'

'What?'

'Nothing. It's nothing. Why did you want to know about Regan? Do you think it's possible she could have taken Callie?'

'I honestly don't know. I'm trying to find out everything I can about her. It looks like she was in the hospital on Thursday night when

Callie was abducted, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she wasn't involved. She had a key to your house, too. She also knows — well, she also knows Migdalia.'

'She knows Micki? Oh, Jesus. I knew it. I never trusted her.'

'It doesn’t mean that Micki was involved in what happened to Callie,' Serena said. 'But we're looking at both of them.' She added, 'Did you know that Micki lost a baby last year?'

'Micki? I had no idea.'

'Your husband helped her. Regan was the nurse.'

Valerie spun away. She bent so far over the railing that Serena was afraid she would throw herself into the river. 'Marcus did that?'

'Yes.'

'Was it his baby?' she asked, her voice bitter.

'Micki says no.'

Valerie opened her mouth and closed it again. She hugged herself, shivering. 'I'm sorry, what does any of this mean?'

'We're not sure. It may be nothing at all. But I have to tell you, I'm concerned that Marcus has been keeping things from us. He never mentioned his relationship with Regan, and he concealed the fact that Micki was with him on the night Callie disappeared.'

'You think he was involved, don't you?' Valerie asked. 'You think he did something to our daughter.'

'I'm not saying that,' Serena told her. 'But we're going to ask him some hard questions, and we want him to take a polygraph.'

'I can't believe this.'

'Valerie, people hide things for all sorts of reasons. Don't leap to conclusions. If we can use a polygraph to prove that Marcus wasn't involved, we can shift our focus elsewhere. We can take a closer look at Regan and Micki, too.'

Valerie pushed past Serena on the bridge. 'I have to go.'

'Please, wait.'

'I'm sorry. I can't deal with this right now.'

Serena called after her, but Valerie kept walking, not looking back. She walked with her head down and her hands in her pockets. At the end of the bridge, she began to run, with her long blonde hair flowing messily behind her. She ran until she disappeared behind the pine trees lining the street, where Serena couldn't see her anymore.

Chapter Eighteen

At midnight on Sunday, Stride turned off the lights in the war room. Standing in the dark office, he glanced at the streets of Grand Rapids, which were empty under the glow of neon signs and stop lights. The flurries had lasted most of the day and left behind a dusting of snow on the grass. He shrugged on his leather jacket and locked the office door as he left. As he waited for the elevator, he ran both hands through his wavy hair, massaging his scalp. He had a fierce headache and wanted nothing more than a few hours of sleep.

The elevator doors opened, but before he could go inside, he collided with a short, skinny woman barreling through the doors.

'Oh!' Blair Rowe chirped. 'Lieutenant Stride! They told me you were still here.'

He shook his head. 'I'm not here, Blair. This is a recording. Leave a message, and check back with me in the morning.'

She giggled. 'That's funny. You're cute. No, I've got something for you. You have to see this.'

'How'd you get up here, Blair?' Stride asked. 'I left shoot-on-sight orders downstairs.'

'Funny again! But don't forget, I went to high school with half the cops in the building.' She held up a circular cookie tin. 'Plus, my mom made peanut butter blossoms. No man can say no to these babies. You want one?' 'No.'

'Oh, lighten up, Lieutenant!' Blair scolded him. 'I'm doing my part. I'm keeping you clued in. This is going to be on Headline News in the morning, but I thought you would want to see it first. See? I'm a team player.' She dug into the pocket of her navy blue trench coat and waved a DVD at him.

'What is it?'

'It's hot. You know how they say everything that happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas? Not this time. One of our reporters found a stripper who says she sleeps with Marcus Glenn on his trips to Sin City. She's got some juicy quotes.'

Stride didn't want to be surprised in the morning. 'Yeah, all right. Come with me. Let's put it on.'

They returned to the office halfway down the hall, where Stride turned on the lights and dropped his coat on the back of a chair. Blair tottered on her heels, and her eyes drifted to the stacks of paper littered around the room.

'No spying on anything in here,' he told her. 'Got it?'

'Yeah, OK. Did you see me on the air last night?'

'I did. You better be careful, Blair. You pretty much accused Marcus Glenn of murdering his daughter. You're going to get sued if you keep it up.'

Blair shrugged. 'Oh, I say "alleged" and all those other weasel words. All I do is point out the facts.' She peeled the lid off the cookie tin and pulled out a round peanut butter cookie with a chocolate kiss pressed in the center. She popped the whole thing in her mouth and chewed. 'You sure you don't want one?'

'I'm sure.'

She.licked her fingers and studied him through her thick glasses. 'How do I look, by the way? The network paid for my hair and makeup. Pretty smokin', huh?'

Stride realized that Blair did look more polished now. Her hair, which had been dirty and stringy when he first met her, was now cut, swirled, and sprayed into place. Her once-blotchy skin was smooth and pink. 'You're looking good, Blair.'

'Good? That's the best you can do?'

He pointed at the DVD in her hand and then at the television stand in the corner. 'What's on the disk?'

Blair popped the disk into the DVD player on the shelf below the television. 'This is an interview that a Las Vegas reporter did with a black bombshell down there this afternoon. She strips at a club north of downtown. Her name's Lavender-something.'

'Lavender?'

'Yeah.'

Stride chuckled. 'How did this reporter find her?'

'She came to him. She saw the story about Callie on the news.'

As the video rolled, Lavender filled the screen. She had straightened black hair and full, pale pink lips, with white teeth that looked capped. She tapped a long fingernail against her cheek impatiently as the camera man took his time to get focused, scrolling up her long legs and lingering on the surgically enhanced breasts filling her T-shirt.

'How did you meet Marcus Glenn?' the reporter asked.

'He's a regular at the strip club where I work. He's in Vegas three, four times a year.'

'What's he like?'

Lavender's broad lips curled into a smile. 'He's a doctor, baby. Doctors have the whole God thing going on. When they screw you, it's like they're delivering the seed of the Savior, know what I mean?'

Blair laughed. 'I love that part.'

'So this was a sexual relationship you had with Marcus Glenn?'

'Oh, yeah:

'Did you know he was married?'

'Sure. I like it that way. No strings. They don't come around on one knee with a ring. It's expensive dinners, a few sweaty rides, and then they go home.'

'Was this a… paid relationship?'

Lavender's eyes flashed with anger. 'Nobody buys me.'

'Yeah, except for the lobster dinners and the bling,' Blair commented.

'Did Marcus Glenn tell you much about his personal life?'

'Not a lot. Men in Vegas are looking to forget what they've got back home, you understand? But I saw a photo he had of his wife. She was a looker. One time I asked him if his wife wasn't enough for him, if that's why he was with me.'

'What did he say?'

'He said you only use the good china on special occasions.' Lavender's laugh was deep and throaty.

Stride winced, imagining this video on the news, knowing it would drive a knife through Valerie Glenn's heart. He didn't have any sympathy for Marcus Glenn. Stride just hated the collateral damage that always seemed to strike families when they became crime victims. It wasn't enough to lose a daughter. Now Valerie Glenn had to face the hollow reality of her marriage.

'This is the good part,' Blair told him. 'Listen.'

'You know about Marcus Glenn's daughter? That she's missing?'

'Missing. Yeah, that's what he says. I don't believe it.'

'What do you mean?'

'I saw Marcus in the spring. April, I think. He let slip over dinner that his wife had had a baby a few months earlier. So what am I going to say? I told him congratulations.'

'What did he say?'

'He said it was his wife's idea. He said he would have been a hell of a lot happier if the baby had never been born at all.'

'Never been born? He used those words?'

'Yeah, he did. Honestly, for me, that was the end. Next time he was in town, I ducked him. As far as cheating goes, boys will be boys, OK? But any man says that about his own kid, I don't want him in my bed.'

Blair hit the stop button on the machine and ejected the disk. 'That's it. Does that freeze your blood or what? I told you Glenn was a cold character.'

'Are you going to run that?' Stride asked.

'You bet. Tomorrow morning. I tried to get one or both of the Glenns on camera too, but they won't talk.'

'I'd like a copy of the disk,' Stride told her.

'Sure. How about a quote for my story? Or better yet, a live interview?'

'Not yet.'

Blair's face wrinkled in frustration. 'Seems like this source stuff is all one-way, Lieutenant. I'm giving you dirt, you're giving me squat.'

'When I have something, you're first in line,' Stride said.

'Yeah, promises, promises. So what do you think, anyway? Does this change your mind about Marcus Glenn?'

'Off the record?'

'If it has to be.'

Stride stuck a hand in the cookie tin and pulled out a peanut butter blossom, which he ate in two bites, saving the chocolate kiss for last. 'You're right, these are good cookies,' he said. Then he added, 'Off the record, Marcus Glenn has been lying since day one. I'd like to know why. I'd like to know what he's hiding.'

Chapter Nineteen

Stride removed his clothes silently in the bedroom of the cabin. He saw the moonlit glow of Serena's bare shoulder above the blanket, but he wasn't sure if she was asleep. When he was naked, he slid under the blanket and lay on his back with his hands laced behind his head. On the night-time drive along Highway 2, he'd struggled to keep his eyes open, but now he was wide awake. He stared at the rounded log beams lining the ceiling. Outside, snow hissed and pricked at the window, and he could hear the wind, which had been calm during the daylight hours, roar back to life.

Beside him, Serena turned over on to her back. The blanket drew down, exposing most of the cream-colored slopes of her breasts. Her black hair fell in loose strands across her face. He could see that her eyes were open. They lay next to each other for long minutes, not speaking. He wanted to talk, but it felt like a momentous effort to say anything at all. Talking about his panic attacks, his depression, his hopelessness, his fear, was impossible. So he said nothing.

Under the blanket, Serena's hand slid closer until their fingers touched. He didn't move his hand away, but he didn't reach over to lace their fingers together, as he usually would. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, but after a while, he gave up and opened them again. On Serena's cheek, he thought he saw a wet trail of silver. Tears. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, get inside her head, let her back inside his life. All he could do, though, was lie motionless on the bed. Paralyzed.

Serena turned on her side. She stared at him in the darkness, but they still didn't say a word. She lifted his arm and stretched it out behind her, and then she folded herself into the crook of his neck. Her bare skin bonded with his own body; she was soft and smooth against his muscles. He was conscious of the touch of her nipples, hardened by the cool air. Her left leg draped over his, and the warmth of her mound pressed against his hip. Her face was damp on his shoulder. She laid her arm across his chest and made circles on his breastbone with her thumb, but her warmth and pressure against him felt sterile. His nerve ends were dead. His mind and body drifted apart, as if they were separate and unconnected things.

She kissed his cheek, which was rough with stubble. Her lips traveled along his face in a soft line of kisses, until she reached his ear lobe, which she sucked between her teeth and bit tenderly. Her tongue flicked at his neck. She pressed her body firmly against him; he felt her need, and she was moist between her legs. Her fingernails scraped along his stomach. She flattened her hand there, undulating her fingers like waves. At his ear, her mouth whispered, 'I want you.'

Serena pushed her hand across his middle to the inside of his thigh and alternated between a penetrating massage and feathery caresses. From there, he felt her fingertips glide on to his shaft. Rubbing. Touching. Trying to arouse him. He wanted more than anything to feel his body react, but despite her attentions, he remained unresponsive. She didn't give up, but instead redoubled her energy, her hands alive and busy. She straddled him, her full breasts dangling over his chest. Her hips sank lower over his waist, and she caressed him with her body. She cupped his face, bent down, and kissed him full on, exploring his mouth with her tongue.

He stroked along the curve of her spine, and his touch felt clumsy. His mouth closed over each of her breasts in turn, and he felt her respond, but he knew it was artificial for both of them. The easy grace of their lovemaking had vanished and left them like strangers, unfamiliar with the other's body. He knew every inch of her skin and the touch she liked and how her t — s curled as she came to the edge and spilled over it. It wasn't that he had forgotten. He simply had nothing to give her.

'Serena,' he murmured.

She refused to give up, but her intensity felt forced. Her face grew flushed with frustration and humiliation, as if it were somehow her failure, not his. Eventually, she rolled off him. She faced the other way, toward the window. Her shoulders shook as she cried. He put a hand on her back, but when she didn't react, he pulled it away. He stared at the ceiling for a while longer, and then he turned to face the wall. When he put his head on his arm, he smelled her perfume on his fingers. He closed his eyes, but he didn't sleep.

Maggie arrived early at City Hall on Monday morning. It was dark, and the roads were slick with an inch of snow. The old stone building took forever to heat up after the weekend, and the Detective Bureau felt frosty. She took off her ankle-length burgundy leather coat and replaced it with a wool pullover that Stride had left behind. The baggy sweater reached to the middle of her thighs, and she had to roll up six inches on the sleeves.

Even after three months, it didn't feel like her office. It would always be Stride's. She'd left his photographs on the bureau as a reminder that he was coming back. Standing under the harsh fluorescent light, she picked up each of the frames, which gave her a tour of his life. She saw Stride and Cindy, ten years younger, before the cancer stole her away. Maggie had liked Cindy a lot. Those were the old days, when Maggie was a kid, a Chinese immigrant slowly shedding her starchy upbringing and awakening to a new personality. Cindy had known all about Maggie's crush on Stride, but she had never shown even a glimmer of jealousy. Maggie wondered how Cindy would have felt about her slipping into Stride's bed six months after she died, only to be rejected by a man who didn't want to hurt her.

Maggie picked up the next picture, which was of Stride and Serena in Las Vegas, then just as quickly put it down, rather than stare at the two of them. The last picture on the bureau was of herself. She was on the beach behind Stride's cottage, her sunglasses pushed to the end of her bottle-cap nose, her bowl haircut windblown by the lake, her grin lopsided and sarcastic. She thought it was a terrible picture, but Stride had refused to let her replace it. He had taken it himself.

She sat down and propped her heels on the desk. Guppo had prepared his typically thorough report of the crime scene forensics near the Lester River, and she reread it, looking for details she had previously missed. Some connection among the victims. Some strange motive in the man's actions that night. She read it twice without finding anything, and the words blurred on the page.

'Knock knock,' someone said, startling her.

Maggie looked up. The husky frame of Troy Grange filled her doorway.

'Oh, hi, Troy,' she said.

'Is this a bad time?'

'No, come on in.'

The rest of the Detective Bureau was dark behind him. Troy, like Maggie, was an early riser. He sat in the chair in front of her desk, and the overhead light bounced off his bald head like a sunbeam.

'What's going on?' she asked.

'Well, first, I wanted to thank you for coming to the house on Saturday. You and Kasey both. I really appreciate it.'

'I just wish I had better news for you. I'm sorry.'

'I know. I'm due back at work today, but I'm still in a fog.'

'Take more time,' Maggie suggested. 'The director of the port will understand. I can have the chief call him.'

'It will probably do me good to work again,' he said.

'How's Debbie?' Maggie asked. 'Poor kid, this must be hitting her hard.'

'It's hard now, but it'll be worse later. I hate the idea of her growing up without her mother. I'm a guy. What the hell do I know about raising girls?'

'You'll do fine, Troy,' Maggie told him, smiling. 'But I know it's not what you planned.'

'No, I never signed up to be a single parent, that's for sure.'

'Was there something else you needed?' Maggie asked.

'Yes, but this isn't about Trisha,' Troy said. 'It may be nothing.'

'What is it?'

'I got a call late last night from a secretary in my office. She was pretty upset.'

'What happened?' Maggie asked.

'Well, she's dating a guy named Nick Garaldo. I know him. He's a young kid, twenty-something, a wiry little squirt. He works on one of the tugboats in the harbor. Solid and reliable, from everything I've heard about him.' 'OK.'

'He's missing,' Troy said.

'Oh? For how long?'

'That's the thing. It's just a day. This gal who called me, she talked to him on Saturday morning. They were supposed to meet for coffee at Amazing Grace on Sunday. He never turned up. He doesn’t answer his cell phone, and he doesn’t answer his landline. She went to his apartment, but nobody answers the door. He also had a five a.m. shift in the harbor this morning, and he's a no-show.'

Maggie frowned. 'It's too early to declare him a missing person.'

'Yeah, I know. I told her I'd report it and see what you can do. She swears this is not like him at all, and his boss says the same thing. He's never missed a shift without calling.'

'Where does he live?'

'He's got an apartment in the Central Hillside area downtown.'

'People pick up and move sometimes,' Maggie said. 'Especially from that area.'

'Sure they do. There's probably nothing to worry about, and he'll turn up tomorrow with a hangover. Or he'll call from South Padre Island or something. But his girlfriend was pretty upset.'

'Of course. What's his address?'

Troy recited the location of Nick's apartment on Fourth Street and Lake. It was one of the tough areas of downtown, a haven for drug dealers.

'I'll have someone check it out,' Maggie told him.

'I appreciate it.'

'In the meantime, if you need anything, just call me.'

'I will.'

Troy squeezed out of the chair, and they shook hands. She listened to his heavy footsteps walking away, and she heard the outer door of the Detective Bureau open and close. She was alone again.

Alone with a dead woman near the Lester River and three other women missing and presumed dead.

Alone with the photographs on Stride's bureau.

Chapter Twenty

In the morning, they pretended as if nothing had happened between them.

They got up, showered, made coffee, shared their notes on the case, and acted as if the elephant in the room was invisible. On some level, Stride knew it was the worst thing they could possibly do, but that was who they were. They each retreated to their corners and nursed their wounds.

They drove slowly into Grand Rapids because of the snow. The driveway at the Glenn house was white and pristine, and behind the house, the lake was deep blue under the sunshine. Valerie Glenn answered the door. He didn't need to ask if she'd seen the morning news and the Vegas interview with Lavender. Her blue eyes were furious. She led them into the warm sunroom at the back of the house, and she sat in a wicker chair near the windows and stared at the snow-covered lawn leading down to the water.

'It might be better if you weren't here for this,' Serena told her. 'There may be things that Marcus won't tell us with you in the room.'

Valerie laughed humorlessly. 'Do you really think he'll spare my feelings? We're a little late for that.'

Stride had spent less time with Valerie than Serena had, but even no, he could see the change in her. She was a woman who didn't need make-up to be beautiful, but this morning she hadn't bothered to attend to her face. She wore a loose sweatshirt from the local country club, old jeans, and white athletic socks. He wondered if it was a silent message to her husband: I'm not your trophy today.

Stride saw Marcus Glenn in the doorway of the sunroom. There was no eye contact between him and Valerie as the surgeon sat down on the sofa on the other side of the room. His long legs jutted out like stilts over the end of the cushions.

'Good morning, detectives,' he said. 'I hope this won't take long. I've already had to cancel two surgeries today in order to be here.'

'We have some things we'd like to go over with you,' Stride said.

'Do I need a lawyer?'

'I don't know. Have you done anything that would make you need a lawyer?'

Glenn glanced at his wife. 'A divorce lawyer, perhaps.' He added, 'That's a joke, Valerie.'

Valerie didn't acknowledge him.

'Dr Glenn, there was an interview on television this morning with a woman in Las Vegas who claims to have had a relationship with you,' Stride said. 'Are you acquainted with this woman?'

'Yes.'

'Did you have a sexual relationship with her?' Serena asked.

'I don't see what that has to do with anything.'

'Answer the question!' Valerie snapped from the other side of the room.

For the first time, Glenn flinched. 'Yes, all right, I did. Intensely sexual. Is that what you want to hear, Valerie? As long as we're sharing family secrets, maybe you'd like the detectives to know that we haven't had sex since Callie was born. The gates to the magic forest have been kept tightly locked while you manage all of your issues. Well, forgive me for not being satisfied with a celibate lifestyle.'

'You bastard,' Valerie murmured.

'This woman says you told her you wished that your daughter had never been born,' Serena said. 'Is that true? Did you make that statement?'

He shook his head. 'No.'

'So she's lying?' Stride asked.

'She's misremembering. I probably made some comment that my life was easier before Callie was born. Most people feel that way when a child comes into their lives.'

'The reporter specifically asked if you used the words "never been born". She says you did.'

'And as I told you, she's wrong.'

'You never said it?' Stride asked.

'No.'

'Is that how you feel?' Serena interrupted.

'What do you mean?'

'Well, regardless of whether you said it, do you believe you would be happier if Callie had never been born?'

'No. That's ridiculous.'

'Your credibility has taken some hits, doctor,' Stride told him. 'You lied to us about Migdalia Vega. You told us you were alone in the house the night Callie disappeared. We know that's not true. Exactly why didn't you tell us about her?'

'I think you know why. I didn't want Micki to get in trouble. She's an illegal, and she was afraid she'd be deported. Or worse yet, she'd be branded a suspect. She didn't know what happened, so she couldn't add anything to your investigation.'

'Was she with you in your bedroom that night?' Stride asked.

'No, she was in the guest room over the garage on the other side of the hall.'

'You told us you were asleep by ten thirty,' Serena said.

'That's right.'

'So you don't know where Migdalia was or what she was doing during that time until you discovered Callie was missing.'

Marcus hesitated. 'I suppose not, but it's insane to think—'

'Do you think there could be any connection between Callie's disappearance and Migdalia losing her baby last year?' Stride asked, cutting him off.

'What? No, certainly not.'

'Were you the father of her child?'

Marcus leaned back and folded his arms over his chest.

Absolutely not.'

'Have you ever slept with her?'

'No.'

'What about Regan Conrad?' Serena asked.

Marcus turned his head sharply at the mention of Regan's name. 'Excuse me?'

'You heard me,' Serena said.

'Yes. All right. I had — past tense — a relationship with Regan Conrad.' He turned to Valerie. 'I broke it off. I told you that months ago.'

Valerie didn't reply.

'When did you sever your relationship with Ms Conrad?' Stride asked.

'This winter.'

'After Callie was born?'

'Yes.'

'Why did you choose to end it?'

'My wife knew about my affair,' he said, with another glance at Valerie. 'With Callie born, she wanted it over. I agreed.'

'I was told that you were concerned about Regan Conrad's behavior,' Serena said. 'You told people she was crazy. Crazy in what way?'

'Regan is extreme. She's manipulative. She tries to get you to do what she wants, and she's very good at it. I kept it going longer than I should have because of that.'

'How did she take it when you broke it off?' Stride asked.

'Not well,' Glenn said.

'How so?'

'She hit me in the face and tried to break my fingers. She wanted me to divorce Valerie and marry her. Obviously, those were delusions. Nothing like that was going to happen.'

'Has she ever been in your house?' Serena asked.

He exhaled and looked unhappy. 'Several times.'

'So she knows the layout of your house?'

'I suppose she does.'

'Did you ever give her a key?'

'I may have loaned her a spare key once.'

'Did you get it back?'

'I honestly don't remember,' he replied, hesitating. 'I don't think I did. But this is all academic, detectives. Regan was working the night Callie disappeared. Believe me, I checked.'

'You did?' Stride asked. 'Why?'

'I told you. She's erratic. Violent.'

'Why didn't you tell us about her if you thought she could be involved in kidnapping your daughter?'

'Do I have to explain it? Look at what's happened to my life in the past four days. I've been excoriated in the press and subjected to humiliating questions by you in front of my wife. I was trying to avoid all of this.'

'Did Regan Conrad ever make any threats regarding you, your wife, or your baby?' Serena asked.

'Not explicitly, no.'

'But there were implied threats?'

'She's vengeful and clever. Anything is possible with her. She's even been arrested a few times.'

'Arrested? For what?' Serena asked.

'I don't know. The charges were dropped. She referred to it once in passing.'

'How well did Regan know Micki Vega?' Stride asked.

'They were close,' Glenn said. 'Regan may be unstable, but she's a brilliant nurse. I've seen her with new mothers. She becomes their lifeline. The bond between mother and midwife is exceptionally strong during and after the birth of a child, particularly when there are problems.'

'Problems?'

'Difficult labor. Post-partum depression. Things like that. And obviously, in Micki's case, losing a baby.'

'Could Regan have manipulated Micki into helping her kidnap Callie?'

Glenn thought about it and shook his head. 'I really don't think so. Not Micki. She's too loyal to me. Besides, kidnapping a baby? That's a heinous thing to do. Micki would never be involved in anything like that.'

Stride looked at Serena, who nodded.

'Dr Glenn, let's be very clear about this. Did you in any way harm your baby?' 'No. Absolutely not.'

'Were you in any way involved in her disappearance? Either taking her from the house or helping someone else to do so?'

'No.'

'Do you know what happened to her?'

Marcus stood up. 'No. I can't be any clearer than that. I was not involved in Callie's disappearance in any way whatsoever. You're wasting your time listening to the nonsense spread by Blair Rowe and the rest of the media. I know it makes good television to paint me as some kind of devil, but the fact is, I'm innocent. The best thing you can do is stop harassing me and do your jobs. Find out what happened to her.'

He turned to walk from the sunroom, but Serena interrupted him. 'We can clear this up once and for all, Dr Glenn. We'd like you to take a polygraph test.'

Marcus looked at her with suspicion. 'A polygraph?'

'Yes.'

'Polygraph tests are notoriously inaccurate and inadmissible in court, isn't that right?'

'The test helps us cross people off the list,' Serena explained. 'When you pass, we'll know that we should be focusing our investigation elsewhere. Otherwise, a cloud of suspicion will linger over you, particularly given the omissions in your statements to us.'

Valerie leaned forward. 'I think you should do it, Marcus. We both should. Let them clear us, so they can figure out who really did this.'

'Oh, so you think I'm involved too?' he retorted. He shook his head firmly. 'Sorry. No. I won't do that. Certainly not without consulting an attorney.'

'Marcus,' Valerie gasped.

'I said no. It doesn’t mean I had anything to do with this, but innocent people wind up in legal jeopardy all too often. I'm sorry.'

Marcus Glenn shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked from the room.

Chapter Twenty-one

Valerie had known Marcus Glenn long before they ever met.

She remembered the big celebration in the high school gymnasium when she was ten years old. Her sister Denise and Denise's boyfriend, Tom, had taken Valerie with them to the city-wide party in honor of Grand Rapids bringing home the high school hockey championship for the second year in a row. Marcus Glenn was the star. The most valuable player. The tall teenager with the black hair and the reluctant smile. Valerie had watched him in his hockey jersey with the kind of crush she had previously reserved for singers on MTV. It didn't matter that Denise made snarky comments to Tom under her breath about Marcus thinking he was king of the world. Right then and there, Valerie remembered staring at him and thinking: I'm going to marry him.

It was only a juvenile fantasy. She never took it seriously, not until a dozen years later, when she was the hostess at the Sugar Lake Lodge restaurant. Marcus Glenn walked in with three other men, and Valerie may as well have been ten years old again when she saw him. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit and a hint of cologne; he was taller than anyone else around him; and he was talking in casual tones about the PGA star who had just won the Phoenix Open, a year after Marcus had done knee surgery on the man.

Marcus Glenn was back home in Grand Rapids. Young, wealthy, unmarried, a surgeon with gifted hands.

She remembered how their eyes had met. How his stare lingered on her face. She knew she was beautiful — plenty of men had gone after her over the years — but it still gave her a thrill to realize that he was interested in her. Of all the women in Grand Rapids who would have thrown themselves at him and his Lexus, she was the one he wanted.

He asked her out that night. She knew about the rumors: Marcus went from one girl to the next, sleeping with them and moving on. He wasn't ready to settle down. So she was surprised when he didn't invite her to a romantic dinner for two, but instead invited her to accompany him to a cocktail party thrown by members of the hospital board. He bought her a stunning dress. Kept her on his arm the whole night. Kissed her cheek when he dropped her off at her apartment.

They didn't make love until six weeks later, and it was a short, awkward coupling, strangely devoid of passion. That didn't matter to her. What mattered was that he asked her to marry him the next day. It didn't even take her two heartbeats to say yes.

Looking back, she knew how naive she'd been. It never occurred to her that he had simply added her to his collection like a butterfly, that she was exactly the kind of wife that a successful surgeon needed to show to the world. It was three years before she discovered that he had continued having sex with other women throughout their marriage. By then, they were in their new lake home, and she had a beautiful wardrobe and a new car, and she was on the board of nonprofit organizations in the northland where Marcus made lavish gifts. She had sold her soul, and it was too late to buy it back.

Valerie descended into a loneliness that was so black she couldn't see her way out. She went through her days like a robot. She remembered spilling her soul to Denise and Tom, but Denise — who was pregnant with her third child at the time — had little time or sympathy for a sister who had been blessed with all the breaks in life: money, looks, the successful husband, the big house. That was the beginning, the real intersection where they began to drift apart as siblings. Valerie had never dreamed how empty she could feel with no partner in her life to talk to, with no one outside the sterile mansion who would listen to her.

On one January night five years into their marriage, Marcus arrived home late from the hospital in Duluth. He had grown careless — or maybe he didn't really care at all — about hiding the evidence of his affairs. When he crawled into their bed, he stank of sex. After he fell asleep, Valerie lay awake for nearly three hours, crying soundlessly into her pillow, before she got up and emptied the remnants of a half-full bottle of aspirin into her sweaty palm and swallowed them down.

She had awakened in the hospital. Marcus was there. She realized that, in his way, he loved her and had been frightened of the idea of losing her. She also knew that, if she was going to stay with him, she needed something else in her life that would take the place of an emotionally distant husband. He had been adamant when they got engaged that he had no interest in having a child, but she essentially blackmailed him by telling him the truth. Without a baby, she would try to kill herself again, and she would keep trying until she got it right. So he said yes. She threw away the condoms. And they had their usual sex, bareback now, every Sunday morning.

Valerie never dreamed that three interminable years would pass from that breaking point. She had been tested; he had been tested. The first year had been exciting; the second year had been frustrating; and the third year had tipped her into a depression even deeper than she had known in the early years of her marriage. She knew perfectly well that she was the one who really wanted a baby. Marcus had his same perfunctory sex with her, but he didn't bother to pretend that he was disappointed when her period came back month after month. The loneliness came back along with it. And the emptiness. She craved a closeness with her husband to beat back her desperation, but that was something he could never give her. It wasn't who he was or would ever be.

More and more, she had thought of suicide again. She even swore to herself that the next time she got her period would be the last. She would quit trying. She would just quit. And like a miracle, her next period never came. Instead, nine months later, Callie came. Her beautiful child. Her savior.

Valerie sat on the floor of Callie's room, hugging her knees. She stared at the empty crib and didn't notice the tears on her face. Behind her, through an open window, cold air and wet flakes of snow blew on her neck.

'Valerie.'

She looked up as a shadow stretched across the carpet. It was Marcus.

'Get out,' she told him.

He hesitated, but he didn't leave.

'Are you even disappointed, Marcus?' she asked him, her voice raspy with grief. 'Are you even sad that she's gone?'

'Of course I am.'

He sounded like a man who said what the world expected him to say. She had always known that he didn't love Callie the way she did, but she had never dreamed that he would be just as barren as a father as he was as a husband.

'Tell me you didn't do this,' she whispered.

'Oh, for God's sake, Valerie.'

'Tell me.'

'I can't believe I have to convince you. I didn't do this. It's absurd.' 'Is it?'

He took a step closer. 'I may be a bad husband, but that doesn’t make me a bad man, Valerie. You know me, warts and all. Some things I do well, and some things I do badly. But harm Callie? I would never dream of taking her away from you. I know she's your whole life.'

'You could have been my whole life, Marcus. But I guess I don't screw you like your whore in Vegas.'

Marcus sighed loudly. 'We've been down this road before.'

'Yes, we have.'

'You know it's only sex to me. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.'

'Oh, get out, Marcus,' Valerie snapped. 'Get away from me.'

'I've told you who I am,' he insisted, grabbing hard to the door frame. 'I want things I would never ask you to do. If I could resist them, I would, but I can't. You know that. I can't be a great surgeon and switch off my other needs. It doesn’t work that way. But this girl in Vegas was nothing.'

'What about the nurse? Regan Conrad?'

Marcus shook his head. 'I don't know what it was about Regan. That's the truth. But it was still all about sex. And when you told me to break it off, I did.'

'She was there,' Valerie said.

'What?'

'The night Callie was born. She was there, wasn't she? She was at the hospital.'

'I guess she was,' Marcus said, looking uncomfortable.

'You guess? Tell me the truth. You slept with her that night, didn't you? Tell me! I was in a hospital bed giving birth to your daughter, and you were fucking your little nurse. Right? Don't you dare lie to me about it.'

Marcus rubbed his tired eyes with one hand. With his other hand, he clung to the frame of Callie's crib. 'OK. You're right.'

Valerie pushed herself off the floor. She marched toward the doorway, and Marcus grabbed her arm in a hard grip to stop her. She shoved him furiously away, nearly losing her balance. She stumbled down the hallway toward the stairs and heard her husband shouting behind her.

'Valerie.'

She ran, not wanting to hear anything else. She flew down the steps to the foyer and wrenched open the front door.

'Valerie,' Marcus called again.

She stopped and looked back over her shoulder at him. His face was screwed up with rage and bitterness.

'Don't pretend you're some wounded angel,' he bellowed from the railing above her, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 'You're not exactly innocent, are you?'

Valerie stepped into the snow and slammed the door behind her. She saw police cars and media vans on the street at the end of her driveway, and she froze as heads turned in her direction. She reversed course and stomped to the rear of the house, making heavy footfalls in the slush as she headed for the lake. She went all the way to the shore, where a translucent glaze of ice crept a few feet on to the blue water.

She crumpled to her knees and buried her face in her hands. Her jeans grew wet, and the cold worked its way inside her clothes. She hoped no one was behind her, that no one had tried to follow her. She stared at the lake and thought about wading in and allowing her body to grow numb as the frigid water shocked her skin.

You're not exactly innocent, are you?

No. That was true. She wondered if he was guessing or if, somehow, he knew what she had done. But she had given up trying to decide what it really meant to be innocent or guilty. Did God punish every sin, or did He forgive you for the things you did when you were desperate and had nowhere to go?

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

Valerie yanked the phone out of her pocket and prepared to throw it into the lake. But it wasn't Marcus on the other end, calling to shred her last ounces of self-respect. Whoever was calling had a blocked number.

'Hello,' she said wearily.

'Is this Valerie Glenn?'

She didn't recognize the voice. It was a woman.

'Yes.'

'I know what happened to your daughter,' the woman told her.

Chapter Twenty-two

Maggie sat in the chair and stared at herself in the mirror. With the black smock tied around her neck and draped over her body, she looked like a pawn in a giant chess game. Behind her, Sara Wolfe reached round and played with Maggie's bangs with her fingers.

'Are you sure?' Sara asked.

'Yeah, I'm sure. Do it.'

'I just don't want you waking up tomorrow and blaming me.'

'I know what I'm doing,' Maggie said.

'Whatever you say, girl.' Sara worked at the dye with a mortar and pestle. 'Where's Stride, anyway? I haven't seen him in a few weeks. Either he's found someone new, or he's getting shaggy.'

'He's been in a cabin in Grand Rapids for the last month. I'm seeing him tomorrow morning.'

'Oh, now I understand,' Sara replied, winking at Maggie in the mirror.

'What?'

'Nothing, it just makes sense now.'

'This has nothing to do with him,' Maggie told her.

'Right. Sure. Well, tell him to stop by. I'll get out the machete and cut through that tangled forest he calls hair.' She put down the white bowl and primped the highlights in her own sandy blonde hair. 'You know, when my husband's on stage doing a guitar solo, I still get as breathless as a groupie sometimes.'

Maggie eyed her suspiciously. 'Yeah, so?'

'So it's nice when you've known someone a long time and they can still make you go weak in the knees.' 'That's not what this is about.'

Sara nodded. 'I hear you, girl. Message received loud and clear.'

'You're such a bitch.'

'Never say that to someone who stands behind you with a pair of scissors.' Sara wagged her finger at Maggie and picked up the mortar and pestle again.

'You're right. I'm sorry.'

Sara's face grew serious. 'Are you close to nailing the guy who's doing these farmland murders? I have to tell you, all my girlfriends are pretty scared. So am I.'

'We've got patrols blanketing the roads northeast of the city all night long.'

'If I lived on one of those farms, I wouldn't be sleeping,' Sara said. 'I'd be sitting up with the lights on and a big gun in my lap and a couple German shepherds on either side of me.'

'That's not a bad plan,' Maggie told her.

Sara tilted the bowl and showed her the color of the dye. 'How's that? Is that what you want?'

'Redder.'

'If it gets any redder, you'll look like Ronald McDonald.'

'I want it to stop traffic,' Maggie said.

'You're the boss.'

At nine o'clock on Monday evening, Kasey spotted the one headlight trailing behind her patrol car like a watchful eye.

It appeared near the airport and matched her on the remote roads turn for turn. She didn't think anything was wrong until she turned for the fourth time, heading north toward Island Lake, and the same single headlight followed in her wake. When she slowed to draw the vehicle closer, whoever was behind her mimicked her speed. She was being followed.

Kasey drifted to a dead stop, her engine idling, her eyes locked on the rear-view mirror. Giant stretches of black water loomed on both sides of the highway. Her patrol car shuddered as wind hurtled across the open lake, bringing streams of snow. Half a mile behind her, the car with the lone headlight stopped too. They played cat and mouse on opposite ends of the bridge.

She didn't want to give in to paranoia. It might be nothing. It wasn't uncommon for teenage thrill-seekers to shadow police cars. She turned on her light bar, and almost immediately, the headlight winked off. She saw red tail lights as the person behind her did a U-turn and retreated at high speed. In the darkness, she couldn't make out details of the car that had tracked her.

She waited another minute, and when the odd headlight didn't return, she continued to the far side of the lake and followed the highway where it hugged the north shore. On her radio, she listened to chatter among the other cops as they patrolled the farmlands, sweeping back and forth across the zigzagging roads. It was a cold, lonely evening. For the most part, they had the countryside to themselves.

Her cell phone rang. She dug it out of her shirt pocket and saw that her husband was calling.

'Is everything OK?' Bruce asked her.

'Yeah. I'm fine.'

He picked up on the nervousness in her voice. 'Are you sure? You sound freaked.'

'It's nothing,' Kasey told him, glancing in her mirror again. 'I thought somebody was following me. I thought maybe it was him, you know?'

'Jesus. I don't like the idea of you out there alone.'

'I'll be all right. How are things at home? Are you taking precautions?'

'I checked the basement and all the windows,' Bruce said. 'I put a baby monitor down there too, so I could hear if anyone tries to get in.'

'Good. I should be home sometime after midnight.'

'I'll be up,' Bruce told her. He added, 'We can't live like this forever, you know.'

'I know. We're going to get out of here, just like we planned.'

'So let's do it. Now. Pack up and head for Nevada. We can leave tonight.'

Kasey let the silence drag out. 'Not yet.'

'What are we waiting for?'

'If we leave and this guy is still out there, I'll never sleep again,' Kasey said. 'I'll always wonder. It doesn’t matter where we go.'

'Do you think he'd follow us?'

'I don't know!' Kasey shouted. She took a deep breath and lowered her voice, reining in her panic. 'I have no idea what he'll do next. He's obsessed with me now, don't you get that?'

'All the more reason to get away,' Bruce pressed her.

'Let's talk when I get home. OK? I can't talk about this now.'

'I know. Watch your back.'

Kasey hung up. Her hands were trembling. She chewed her upper lip and peered through the windows. Farmhouses and vacation homes were notched into the forest every quarter-mile or so as she wound through the roads bordering Island Lake. She spent an hour doing a reconnaissance of the gravel roads near the water. Twice she had to break for deer frozen in the lane, staring at her. The animals were the only things out here that were alive and awake.

She knew that Maggie wanted a mammoth police presence to spook the killer. Let him see cops on every road. Let him know that the risk of another assault was too big to take. If it was a waiting game, though, he was bound to win. There were too many long miles of rural land to watch them all.

Kasey radioed in her position. The dispatcher routed her on a reverse course south and east toward Highway 44. More travels through no-man's-land.

She retraced her path and headed across the open stretch of lake again, where the wind was worst. As she cleared the bridge, she spied a black van parked on the shoulder, its lights and engine off. She didn't think the van had been there as she headed north, but she'd been distracted. As she passed, she studied the driver's window but didn't see anyone inside. There was no steam gathered on the glass.

She pulled on to the side of the road twenty yards ahead of the van. Watching for movement behind her, she opened her door and climbed out next to the patrol car. She unhooked a flashlight from her belt and aimed it at the van's license plate, but the surface of the plate was caked with mud. She couldn't read the numbers. When she shot the beam at the windshield, she realized that the van's windows were smoked. She couldn't see through them.

She didn't like it.

At that moment, inside her patrol car, the radio crackled to life.

'All units in vicinity respond to a nine one one emergency call, felony assault in progress.' The dispatcher gave the address, which was on Highway 12 in the heart of the north farmlands. Kasey was fifteen minutes away at high speed. It had to be him.

She hesitated, studying the black van. Had it been there the whole time? Was it abandoned? She didn't have time to worry about it. She got back in her patrol car, slammed the door, and shot southward along the highway between the dark columns of pines.

Less than a mile later, her eyes flicked to her mirror, drawn to a sudden beam of light like a moth.

'Shit,' she said aloud.

The single headlight was back. Following her.

Kasey had a split second in which to decide whether to join the units responding to the assault call or find out who was in the van behind her. She chose the van. At the next intersection, she spun the patrol car into a hard U-turn. She pushed the accelerator to the floor, and the car leaped forward with a growl. Ahead of her, she heard the squeal of brakes, and the van lurched into an awkward turn in the middle of the highway. Its engine was no match for Kasey's patrol car.

'I've got you,' she whispered, taking one hand off the wheel to unsnap the thumb break on her holster.

She closed the gap quickly, but when she was a quarter-mile behind the van, its lights vanished. She switched on her high beams, but the black stretch of asphalt was empty. The vehicle had disappeared. Too late, she spotted a dirt road winding eastward off the highway toward the lake. She braked hard, but as she turned the wheel over, the rear of her car skidded on the snow piled on the shoulder, and her tires spun. She jammed the accelerator, but the wet slush gave her no traction. Frustrated, she feathered the pedal, and the car inched forward in fits and starts until it cleared the shoulder, where the tires grabbed the road and shrieked as she bolted forward.

The dirt road was barely a crease in the forest on her left. Nearly a dozen mailboxes leaned out toward the highway. When she turned, she realized she was on a private road that dead-ended at the water. There was no way out. The van was trapped somewhere ahead of her, between her car and the lake.

She slowed to a crawl, studying the maze of driveways that split from the main trail toward the lake homes, which were dark squares nestled among the trees. Snow-covered spruce branches dangled over the road, hanging low enough to brush the roof of the car. Gravel scraped under her tires. She drove for a mile until the road ended at a concrete boat launch that sloped downward, disappearing into the dark water.

The van was in the lake.

It floated away from the ramp into the open water like an off-balance toy. Its driver's door was open. As she watched, the vehicle sank lower, water spilling inside. The frame wobbled and dove awkwardly on to its side with a splash. Its tires broke through the surface. The van made a slow circle, spinning lazily from the shore before the heavy engine drove it downward front first. With hissing and ripples, the entire vehicle settled to the muddy bottom.

Kasey withdrew her gun from its holster. She squinted through the windows and did a careful scan of the area around her car before she opened her door and slid out, staying behind it. Her eyes moved from tree to tree, watching for movement. She listened. Dried leaves clapped as the wind blew. Snow sprinkled from the evergreens and made a cold landing on her face. A chorus of crows erupted nearby, and she jumped.

Where was he?

Behind her, something hard and loud rustled in the brush. Kasey spun, lifting her gun. She saw a driveway, overgrown with shooting vines. The silhouette of a large house hugged the beach. She followed the noise and took slow, soundless steps down the driveway. Every few seconds, she glanced nervously behind her. She was scared and blind. The driveway lasted for forty yards, and then she broke into the open grass around the house. Snow covered the steps leading to the door, and there were no footsteps in the blanket of white.

From the other side of the road, back where she had parked her patrol car, Kasey heard another noise. An engine fired. Through the web of trees, she saw headlights and heard tires grinding on the dirt. She ran back along the driveway, but she spilled head first over a tree root breaching like a whale out of the earth. Her gun dropped from her hand and skidded into the brush, and she wasted almost a minute feeling for it with her bare hands. When she finally found it, she ran again, following the driveway to the trail where her car was parked. She stopped and listened, but the sound of the engine was distant. She heard the squeal of its tires as it swung on to the main highway and headed north. Escaping.

Kasey swore. She went to her patrol car to call for back-up. As she leaned inside, she saw a rectangle of glossy white paper on the seat. She picked it up and turned it over. 'Oh, my God,' Kasey murmured.

She stared at her own face. It was a photograph that Bruce had taken of her and Jack a year ago. She felt the breath leave her chest as if it had been sucked away.

There it was again. The same message he had written on her mirror. Two words scrawled in red marker across the front of the photograph in block letters. BAD GIRL.

Chapter Twenty-three

Valerie Glenn turned off Highway 2 into the empty church parking lot at midnight. She parked her white Mercedes and got out and shoved her hands into the pockets of her suede jacket. Ahead of her, the one-story church was surrounded by tall pines whose branches spread outward like a priest's outstretched arms. She crossed the lawn, her boots stamping down the thin layer of snow. At the front of the church, she sat on the concrete steps, and the cold stone felt icy through her jeans.

I know what happened to your daughter.

The woman on the phone had told her to come alone and keep the call a secret from the police and her husband. Despite everything Serena had told her, Valerie had done exactly as the woman wanted. She was here, miles outside the city, on her own. Waiting.

Deer tracks criss-crossed the snow. Overhead, the moon was a faint glow through the shroud of dark clouds. Twenty minutes passed as she sat on the steps, and she felt the bitter cold numbing her face. No one arrived. She began to think the call had been a hoax and that no one would show up to tell her about Callie. She told herself that she would wait ten more minutes and then go home, but the truth was, she wasn't going to leave. She would stay all night if there was even the slightest chance that it would bring her daughter home.

On the highway, from the southeast, she saw the twin beams of headlights. A black Hummer came around the curve. The heavy vehicle slowed sharply and turned into the church parking lot across from Valerie's Mercedes. She felt her heart rate accelerating and, out of nowhere, anger bubbled up and made her fists clench. She didn't know who was in the Hummer, but whoever it was, she wanted to kill them. If they had taken her daughter, she wanted them to pay.

The door opened. A woman climbed down. She wore a winter coat with a fur hood pulled up over her head, cloaking most of her face. She was thin, with legs like drainpipes. Valerie watched her come closer. She stopped in the snow ten feet away and slipped her hood back from her face. Her skin was white, and she had dark, almost purple make-up.

Valerie erupted. 'Where's my baby?'

She launched herself off the steps and threw her body across the short distance between them. Her sudden assault took the woman by surprise, and she didn't have time to move before Valerie collided hard with her chest, tumbling both of them to the ground. The woman landed on her back in the snow, and Valerie climbed on top of her, pummeling her torso with her fists and shouting in her face.

'Tell me! Tell me where she is!'

The woman shoved hard with one hand against Valerie's shoulder and dislodged her, but Valerie climbed back and struck her repeatedly until her tears and the cold got the better of her, and she ran out of strength. The woman grabbed Valerie's fists and held them and then pushed her away again as she rolled out from under her. Both women breathed heavily. Valerie lay on her back like a snow angel, watching the sway of the pine branches above her.

'Who the hell are you?' Valerie asked. 'What have you done with Callie?'

The woman staggered to her feet and braced herself against the railing beside the church steps. 'I don't have her.'

'Who are you?' Valerie repeated.

'I'm Regan Conrad.'

It took Valerie a moment to remember the name. She scrambled to her feet and drew back to throw herself on the woman again, but Regan held up her hands to stop her.

'Wait! Hear me out.'

'What is this about? What are you trying to do to me?'

'I didn't think you'd come if I told you it was me.'

'You're right.'

Regan shrugged. 'I know you hate my guts. That's OK. I spent a lot of time fucking your husband. I could tell you I'm sorry, but I wouldn't mean it, and you wouldn't believe me. So I won't waste your time.'

'What do you want?' Valerie asked.

'To talk.'

'About what?'

'Your husband,' Regan said.

'I have nothing to say to you.'

'Then listen to me.' Regan sat down on the steps. She touched her chest gingerly and twisted her neck. 'You pack a punch for a rich bitch. I figured you for the girly type who wouldn't get her hands dirty.'

'You figured wrong.'

'You didn't call the cops like I said. That was smart.'

'I can call them right now if you'd like.'

Regan didn't look concerned. 'Go for it. I'll just tell them what I was going to tell you. I told you not to call the police because I figured you'd want to hear this for yourself. Then you can decide what to do. You're the only one who knows whether you can live with it.'

'What are you talking about?' Valerie asked. 'You told me you knew what happened to Callie.'

'We both know, don't we?'

'No, I don't. Tell me.'

Regan shook her head. 'You're closing your eyes because you don't want to see it. But everyone else knows. That reporter, Blair Rowe, she knows, but she has to dance around it to keep the lawyers happy. The cops know it, but they can't prove it. And you know it, too. You feel it in your gut. Right?'

'No. You're wrong.'

'Maybe you can't say it out loud. I get it. I'll say it for you. I'm a nurse, and I work with mothers, so believe me, I know how awful this is for you. But Callie is gone. Marcus made her go away. Maybe it was an accident and he had to cover it up, but I don't think so, and you don't think so. We both know what kind of man he is. He's cold to the bone.'

Valerie turned her back on Regan. 'I'm leaving.'

Regan let her get halfway back to her Mercedes before she called after her. 'Run away if you want, but don't you want to know why?'

Valerie stopped. She knew she should get in her car and go. She knew she was being manipulated, but she couldn't resist. She had to know what else Regan was going to say. The evil bitch had put her sharp red fingernail squarely on all of Valerie's doubts and fears. She had echoed the voice in Valerie's head that had been whispering like a drumbeat ever since Callie disappeared. The same whisper, over and over.

Marcus.

She turned around. 'Why?'

Regan got off the steps and marched closer. Valerie stared at her, this woman who was barely younger than she was. A woman with no curves and ragged hair and a face marred by purple make-up and ugly piercings. Valerie tried to imagine what it was her husband could have seen in a woman like this, what could have possessed him to bring her into their bed.

It was as if Regan could read her mind.

'It doesn’t matter whether you're beautiful,' Regan said. 'That's not what it's about, and you know it.'

'What I know is that you were in my hospital room while I was in labor. What I know is that you slept with my husband while my baby was being born.'

'Doesn't that tell you something?' Regan asked.

'It tells me who you are.'

'It should tell you who Marcus is, too. He never cared about Callie. He never wanted her.'

'You're wrong.'

'You think that whore in Vegas is the only girl he confessed to? He told me the same thing. How he wished you would lose the baby. I low he wished she'd never been born. That's the man you're married to, Valerie.'

Valerie yanked her glove off her hand and slapped Regan across the face. The blow raised a spidery welt on the nurse's pale face the color of a strawberry. Regan stumbled backward, but otherwise, she didn't react.

'Don't kill the messenger,' Regan said calmly.

'If you think you're messing with my head, you're wrong.'

But she wasn't wrong. They both knew it. Valerie's face betrayed her. She felt as if a flood were washing away the foundations of her world, and Regan could see her grasping for a lifeline.

'I don't have to tell you why, do I?' Regan asked.

'You're crazy.'

'Come on, Valerie. Isn't it obvious? Don't you know?'

'I don't know a thing,' Valerie snapped. 'I'm not listening to any more of this. Marcus loves Callie.'

Regan laughed. Her teeth were as white as her skin. 'My God, you really don't know. That's hilarious.'

'Go to hell!'

Valerie stormed away, but Regan took two hurried steps and stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. 'Wait.'

Regan unzipped her parka and extracted a sealed envelope from an inside pocket. Valerie recognized the logo for St Mary's Hospital on the paper. Regan extended the envelope in her outstretched hand, and when Valerie didn't take it, Regan moved closer and nudged the top of the envelope into the waist of Valerie's jeans.

'I can't believe you didn't know,' she whispered in her ear.

She sidled past Valerie, who stood frozen, listening to the sound of the woman's footsteps. Behind her, Valerie heard the door of the Hummer open and close. She still didn't move. She stood there like an ice sculpture while Regan drove away, leaving her alone in front of the church.

Chapter Twenty-four

In the gray light of dawn, Maggie watched Guppo and his team pore over the black van they had dragged from the shallow water of Island Lake. She rubbed her eyes; it had been a long, sleepless night. Behind her, Kasey Kennedy lay across the snug rear seat of the Avalanche. With her eyes closed, the young cop's face was angelic, but once again, she had demonstrated equal parts foolishness and balls.

There was no way around it. Maggie liked Kasey. The young cop's pig-headed intensity reminded her of her own early years on the force. She had the kind of determination that meant you would never quit until you got where you wanted to go. It could also get you killed.

Near the lake, Guppo gestured to her. Maggie slid out of the truck without disturbing Kasey and joined the overweight detective near the boat ramp. The small clearing was crowded with police vehicles and crime scene investigators. Everywhere Maggie went this morning, a dozen heads followed her.

Guppo's stare was focused two inches north of her eyes.

'Quit it,' Maggie told him.

'I can't help it,' he said. 'It's just so… so…'

'Red.'

'Exactly. Red.'

'I told you I was thinking about it.'

'Yeah, but I never thought you'd actually do it,' Guppo replied, laughing. 'And especially so… so…'

'Red.'

'Yeah. It's red.'

'Are you done?' Maggie asked.

'For now.'

'What's the report?'

'It's his van,' Guppo told her, but she noticed that he was talking to her hair, not her face. 'Despite the water damage, there's blood all over the interior. It's not a pretty sight.'

'Shit,' Maggie said. 'Match it to the missing women, and make sure we don't have any other samples in there. We don't know how long he's been doing this.'

Guppo nodded. 'The Minnesota plates don't match the van. They come from a Volvo sedan. We called the owner. He's a personal injury attorney in St Paul, and he says the car is parked in the garage of his summer home south of Duluth. He only drives the Volvo when he's up here, and he hasn't been in the city since early September. He had no clue the plates were gone.'

'Let's run his house for prints.'

'We're getting the warrant now.'

'What about the van itself?'

'According to the VIN, it was stolen in Colorado Springs six months ago,' Guppo told her.

Maggie arched an eyebrow. 'Colorado? That's interesting.'

'We'll contact the authorities down there today and see what we can find out.'

'See if they have any unsolved murders in the area that match our MO,' Maggie told him. 'And get them our DNA report to run through the state database there.'

'I'm on it.'

'What about the car he stole last night to get away?'

'It's a Cadillac. The owner left it unlocked. People are too damned trusting around here.'

'Any hits?' Maggie asked.

'No, nobody's seen it yet.'

Maggie nodded. 'We're getting closer to this asshole.'

'It feels that way.'

'Any prints inside the van?'

'We're still checking,' Guppo said. 'It doesn’t help that the thing went for a swim.'

'You heard that the nine one one call was a fake, right?' Maggie asked. 'He deliberately lured us away.'

'Yeah. You know what that means?'

'It means he was going after the kid. This guy's got a hard-on for Kasey.'

'That could help us,' Guppo said. 'Do you have people watching her house?'

Maggie nodded. 'Yeah, she doesn’t like it, but I've got a black-and- white on the other side of the highway.'

'Well, maybe we don't want to scare him away,' Guppo suggested. 'Maybe we ought to be using her as bait.'

Maggie shook her head fiercely. 'No way.'

'I'm just saying—'

'I told you, no. We're not risking that girl's life. She's a cop, a wife, and a mother. I want to scare this guy a hundred miles away from her.'

'Whatever you say,' Guppo told her, but his round face frowned.

'I'm going back to City Hall,' Maggie added. 'I'll take Kasey with me. I want to get a photo of the van out to the media. That may jog some memories.'

'We've still got a few hours left out here,' Guppo said.

'OK, check in when you're back. I have to see Stride this morning out on the Point. I also want to see if we can find anything more on this Nick Garaldo.'

'Is that the young guy who went missing over the weekend?'

'That's him. He still hasn't turned up. It's been two days. I'm going to stop by his apartment and see what I can find.'

Guppo gestured at her bangs. 'You're seeing Stride, huh? You tell him about the hair?'

Maggie shrugged. 'You really think he'll notice?'

Stride drove into Duluth on the northern route that took him through Hermantown and across Miller Hill. As he headed down the sharp slope into the streets of downtown, he could see the harbor and the giant swath of Lake Superior filling the valley. White waves surged against the beach. A gray layer of clouds made the brick city buildings look old, as if time had frozen here in some extreme winter decades ago.

He took the overpass over Interstate 35 and continued through Canal Park to the lift bridge that led to the ribbon of land known as the Point. He followed the road toward his cottage and found that he was having trouble breathing. His chest felt heavy. As he reached his driveway at 33rd Street, he slowed to a stop and inhaled deeply with his mouth open, until his lungs relaxed. He lowered the window and could hear the thunder of lake waves on the beach on the other side of the sand dune. He was home.

He pulled into his driveway, but rather than go inside, he hiked over the dune to the lake, where it was wild and blustery. A seagull hung motionless over the beach, lofted by the gusty currents. The sand was littered with driftwood rubbed smooth by the water. The wispy rye grass quaked, and the pines swayed with casual elegance. He continued down the slope to the long stretch of sandy beach. The surging waves rose out of the lake in long, silent shadows and then fell back in a fury of thunder, surf, and mud. In the calm between waves, he heard the hiss of bubbles breaking and saw thousands of exposed silver flecks skittering down the beach like frightened stars, as if they were running for cover.

Stride couldn't put it off any longer. He climbed back across the dune and up the rear steps of the cottage and let himself inside. Everything was as he had left it, except for the dust on the surfaces and the musty smell of air that had been shut up for weeks. The house had a funereal quiet. The only noise was his footsteps on the uneven floorboards. He went like a visitor from room to room, reacquainting himself with his possessions. When he went into the master bathroom, he detected a trace of the floral soap that Serena used and a lingering hint of her perfume. She had been here, but she was gone now. Just like himself. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, but no one stared back at him.

It happened again. The constriction in his chest. The sensation that his lungs were struggling for air. He held on to the sink as lightheadedness washed over him and made him dizzy. A vise tightened around his skull. When he looked in the mirror again, his skin was pasty and damp with sweat. His eyelids were dark hoods over his eyes. He ran water in the sink and splashed it on his face.

He needed something to drink. Slowly, he made his way through the cottage's great space into the kitchen and found a can of Coke in the refrigerator. He opened it and set it on the counter and then reached up to the top shelf of a cabinet for a large glass. He wasn't thinking about what he was doing. His hands were wet. He took the glass between his fingers, but it slipped from his grasp.

It fell.

He fell with it.

Goddamn.

He was high above the water again. His body shot like a bullet from the bridge, knifing toward the harbor. The night air became a searing whistle in his ears. Three seconds, that was all it took. Three seconds to realize he was about to die, three seconds to hammer into the bay. His nerve ends erupted with agony. The hard, cold water became his tomb. His mind drove him into the deep jaws of the bay, over and over, and each time his body rocketed through the air, he wished that the impact would kill him once and for all. He could almost hear the words forming in his chest.

Kill me.

Stride was on the kitchen floor when he awakened. Broken glass surrounded him, some shards as pretty as diamonds, some large and deadly like arrowheads. Crimson trails oozed from the cuts on his arms. His shirt was dyed with stains from the blood that dripped down his cheek and neck, where the eruption of glass had sprayed his face. He spread his hands wide and watched the smears as if the blood were coming from a stranger's body. The cuts didn't sting. His leg, the leg he had broken in the fall, didn't throb. He was numb.

On the floor, he saw a pointed shard with edges as sharp as a razor. So sharp they could slice through tissue like a surgeon's knife. He picked it up and rubbed it between his fingers. The glass glinted in the light. He squeezed his fist and saw the veins in his wrist bulge like twin lengths of rope. If only the fragments had cut him there, opening him up like a fountain. If only he hadn't awakened at all. He didn't want to live like this.

Chapter Twenty-five

'Where did you go last night, Valerie?' Serena asked.

They sat in front of the fireplace in the lobby of the Sawmill Inn in Grand Rapids. Valerie wore a conservative gray suit, with her blonde hair pinned up. She stared at the fire with an uncomfortable expression and refused to meet Serena's eyes.

'Go? What do you mean?'

'Don't play dumb. Do you think we're not watching your house? You left last night at eleven thirty, and you got back shortly before one in the morning.'

Valerie rubbed her fingers along the smooth oak on the arm of the sofa. 'Oh, that. I couldn't sleep. I went for a drive.'

'Where?'

'Around town. I do that sometimes. I'll sit in a park by the river at night. I like to be by myself when I'm sad.'

Serena put a hand on Valerie's shoulder. 'It doesn’t help when you lie to me.'

'I'm not lying.'

Valerie glanced at the hotel door. Serena had stopped her as she emerged from a breakfast meeting in the hotel's restaurant. Valerie's friends lingered, watching them. 'I've been part of this prayer group for almost five years,' she added, changing the subject. 'Are you a religious person, Serena?'

'No.'

'I try to be.'

Serena said nothing.

'One of the older women asked me if I had sinned,' Valerie continued. 'She thinks I'm being punished.'

'That's a load of crap,' Serena said.

'Who knows? Maybe she's right. Then again, when you're a sixty-six-year-old virgin, it's easy to be pious. It's a little harder for the rest of us.'

Serena sipped coffee from a styrofoam cup. 'Were you meeting someone?'

'I'm sorry?'

'Last night.'

'I told you, I went for a drive.'

Serena shook her head. 'I understand that you don't want to tell me, but when the mother of a missing child starts lying to me, I wonder why.'

'Why are you so sure I'm lying?' Valerie asked.

'Because your lower lip is trembling, your smile is fake, you keep changing the subject, and you won't look at me. Is that enough?'

Valerie didn't say anything.

'Was it about Callie?' Serena asked. 'Did they tell you not to talk to the police? I realize you're scared, but if a kidnapper made contact with you, you have to tell me. I need to know.'

'It wasn't that.'

'Then what was it?'

'It was just someone playing head games with me.'

'Who?'

'Regan Conrad.'

Serena leaned closer, her voice low. 'What did she want?'

'She said she knew what happened to Callie, but that was a lie.'

'Did she tell you not to talk to the police?'

Valerie nodded.

'What exactly did she say?'

'It doesn’t matter. She didn't know anything.'

'Tell me what she said, Valerie. Why did she want to see you? What did she say about Callie?'

'I don't want to play her game,' Valerie replied. 'If I tell you, I'm giving her what she wants.'

'I'm going to talk to her anyway. You know that. I don't care if you think she was lying. If she told you she knows what happened to Callie, she's a suspect.'

'She was just trying to get under my skin. She wanted me to believe Marcus was involved in Callie's disappearance. This is about her getting revenge on the two of us. That's all.'

'Did she have new information?' Serena asked.

'No.'

'Then why did she think Marcus was involved?'

A flush rose on Valerie's face. 'She said — she said he told her things. About him not wanting me to have a baby. Like he told that stripper in Vegas. I don't believe her. I think she made it up to torture me.'

'What else?'

'That was all.'

Serena could see Valerie covering up the rest of the story the way a mother covers a baby. She was protecting a secret. 'You're holding out on me, Valerie,' she said.

Valerie stood up and smoothed her skirt. 'There wasn't anything else. She didn't know what happened to Callie.'

'I can't find your daughter if you keep things from me. Even the things you don't want to face.'

'I'm sorry. I don't have anything more to tell you.'

Valerie walked away. Serena watched her leave the hotel with the elegant march of a woman who was at ease in high heels. Two of the women from the prayer group waited by the door, but Valerie didn't acknowledge them. When Serena went outside herself, she saw Valerie climbing into her Mercedes in the parking lot. Their eyes met. In that instant, Serena saw through Valerie's shell and felt the other woman reaching out to her for help, as if she were apologizing for having a secret that was too awful to share. Then the moment passed, and Valerie drove off on to Pokegama Road.

Serena wondered what sin Valerie thought she was being punished for. How could any sin be worth the life of a child?

Valerie didn't go home. She didn't want to see Marcus or run the gauntlet of police and media. Instead, she drove to her sister's house by the river and parked outside. Denise was gone; she always left early. Tom's car was in the driveway. The kids were already in school, except for the youngest, and Valerie knew that Tom dropped Maureen at day care on his way to work.

She sat in the car with the engine running and reached over and opened the glove compartment. The envelope that Regan Conrad had given her was inside. She took it out and turned it over gently in her hands, feeling the slight bulge of the paper sealed under the flap. All she had to do was rip the envelope open.

I don't have to tell you why, do I?

Valerie shook her head. She wouldn't let her mind be poisoned by Regan Conrad, and she wouldn't let Serena be poisoned either. Whatever it was, she didn't want to know. She slid the envelope back into the glove compartment and closed it.

'Valerie.'

She looked up at a knock on the window and the muffled sound of a voice. Tom Sheridan stood outside the car with Maureen in his arms. He wore a heavy coat over a brown business suit.

'Hi,' she said, unlocking the door.

Tom climbed inside. He warmed a hand at the hot air vent and didn't say anything. Maureen was bundled up in a fleece blanket, with a pink cap on her head. Valerie reached out and ran a finger along the girl's soft cheek and was rewarded with a giggle.

'Hello, sweetheart,' she said.

Valerie couldn't help it. Seeing Maureen made the pain of losing Callie even worse. Despite Maureen's disability, there was a resemblance between the faces of the two girls. Denise's daughter had Callie's eyes and an echo of her smile.

'How are you, Val?' Tom asked.

'I'm OK,' she murmured, not taking her eyes off Maureen.

'Do you want to come inside?'

'I can't. I just needed to get away from the circus for a couple of minutes.'

Tom nodded and stared at his lap. Valerie held out her hand and let Maureen grab her fingers. Their breath made steam on the car windows.

'Is there anything I can do to help?' he asked.

'No. I wish there was.'

'I can't think about anything else,' he said.

'I know. I appreciate it.'

'Are you sure you don't want to come inside with me?'

'No. I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry.'

'Don't be.' He added, 'I was going to call you this morning, but this is easier in person.'

Valerie tensed. 'What?'

'That reporter Blair Rowe came by my office last night.'

'What did she want?'

Tom hesitated. 'It's a problem.'

'What is it?'

'Someone gave her some information. I begged her not to go ahead with it, but she's going to put it on the news tonight.'

'Oh, my God.' Valerie closed her eyes. 'What is it this time? Is it something new about Marcus?'

Tom shook his head. 'No. I'm really sorry, Val. This one's not about Marcus.'

Chapter Twenty-six

Maggie grabbed two bags of fast food breakfast and a foam drink caddy that held coffee and orange juice. With her hands full, she navigated the steps of Stride's cottage in her heels. Her sunglasses — which were mostly for show, because the sun wasn't shining — slipped to the end of her nose. Red hair swished in front of her eyes. She reached Stride's front door and kicked with the toe of her boot.

'Hey, it's me,' she shouted.

No one came to the door. Maggie put down the tray of drinks and dug in her pocket for her keys. Stride's key had a purple tab on her chain. She maneuvered her body between the screen door and the oak front door and undid both locks. With her shoulder, she shoved the door open and spilled inside.

'You around? I've got McMuffins and a couple breakfast burritos.' Maggie listened for the noise of the shower, but the cottage was quiet. 'Hello?'

Maggie deposited the food on the dining-room table. She unwrapped a straw and stuck it into the lid of one of the cups of orange juice. Her cheeks dimpled as she sucked on the drink. She strolled around the island separating the dining room from the kitchen, in order to retrieve plates for the table.

That was when she saw him.

'Oh my God.'

Maggie dropped her drink. The lid popped, and orange juice splashed on the floor. She sank to her knees. Stride sat with his back against the cabinets. Sharp glass fragments surrounded him like popcorn.

There was blood on his face and on his hands. His eyes were open, but he stared through her as if she were invisible.

'Are you OK?'

He didn't reply.

Maggie crawled to him, dodging the crumbles of glass. She took his hands and wiped away some of the blood on her shirt. She held his face and lifted his chin, and his eyes slowly focused on her. They were no more than six inches apart.

'Stay there,' she said, holding his shoulders as he tried to move.

She pulled a towel from the oven handle, soaked it in water under the sink, and washed the blood from his face. She did the same with his arms. When she was finished, she saw that he had no serious injuries, just surface cuts that had bled profusely. The cool water began to bring him back to life.

'Damn, I'm sorry,' he murmured. 'I'll be fine.'

Maggie stroked his hair. One of the cuts on his cheek began to bleed, and she used the damp towel on his face again.

'Can you stand up?' she asked.

He nodded.

'Take it slow,' she said.

With an arm around him, she helped him to his feet. He swayed as he stood upright and grabbed the counter for balance. She led him through the great space to the bathroom, where he held on to the sink with both hands. He bowed his head, and his hair fell across his face. She yanked the shower curtain back and turned on the water. She grabbed another towel, put it under the water, and carefully dabbed at the remaining blood on his skin. When she switched on the faucet, pink liquid swirled in the wash basin.

She helped him off with his bloody shirt. His bare chest was damp with sweat. 'Take a shower, OK?' she said. 'That'll help.'

He ran his hand through his hair. A few pieces of glass sprinkled to the floor.

'I'll clean up,' she said.

Maggie left him in the bathroom. She returned to the kitchen and grabbed a broom from the utility closet and swept up the glass. With a fistful of paper towels, she swabbed the blood and orange juice from the floor. Everything went in the trash. She went into Stride's bedroom and found a pair of boxer shorts in his bureau. She opened the bathroom door and saw his shadow behind the shower curtain. His hands were propped on the shower wall. She grabbed his dirty clothes under her arm and left the boxers on the towel rack, then picked up the remaining pieces of glass with her fingers.

When she was done, she sat on the floor in the great space, with her back against Stride's red leather chair and her arms wrapped around her knees. Her heart raced. She swallowed hard and stared at her feet and held back her own breakdown.

'I'm really sorry.'

Maggie looked up. Stride was in the doorway leading to the bathroom. He wore the boxers and nothing else. Drops of water clung to his body, and his dark hair was wet. She rubbed her eyes and looked down at her feet again without saying anything. He padded across the carpet and slid down beside her. Their shoulders touched, and his skin was warm. He put his big arm around her and pulled her into him.

'Thank you,' he said.

She lost it. She cried into his shoulder, hating herself for letting him see her as weak and vulnerable. That wasn't who she was. She wiped her face and pulled away from him. 'You scared the shit out of me.'

'I know.'

'What happened to you? Talk to me.'

'I dropped a glass,' he said.

'Did you have a stroke? A heart attack? Should I get an ambulance over here?'

'No, it's nothing like that.'

'Then what is it?'

He hesitated. 'I don't think I can talk about it.'

She twisted her body to stare at him. Their faces were inches apart again. Her voice caught in her throat as she scolded him. 'I don't care. Talk to me.'

'Mags,' he murmured.

'I'm serious. You are not going to lock me out.'

He steepled his hands and laid his chin against his fingers. He closed his eyes. 'It's been happening for the last couple months,' he whispered.

'What?'

'Panic attacks. Flashbacks.'

'Flashbacks of what?' Maggie asked. Then she understood. 'The fall.'

He nodded. 'I drop something, anything, and it's like I'm back there. It isn't just a memory. I'm there. And it's not getting better, it's getting worse. It's driving me crazy.'

Maggie exhaled with a loud sigh. 'Have you talked to anyone?'

He shook his head. 'No.'

'You need help,' she snapped. 'Since when do you have to be Superman? Oh wait, who am I talking to? You can't lean on anyone. You always have to be strong.' She stopped and mentally cursed herself. She leaned into him and rested her forehead on his cheek. 'I'm sorry.'

'You're right,' he said.

'Is it just the flashbacks?' she asked. 'Or is there more?'

'There's more,' he admitted. 'I'm dead inside. I don't care about anything or anyone. When I was sitting in the kitchen, I wished I was dead. I mean, I really thought about—'

He stopped talking.

'Now you're scaring me,' she said.

'I wasn't going to do anything, but I thought about it.'

Maggie took his hand in hers. Their eyes met, and for the first time in their relationship, she felt as if the differences between them had melted away. There was no span of years separating them. No division of boss and partner. No history of one-sided emotions she had tried to suppress. They were on a level playing field, one man, one woman.

'You're not nuts, you know. It's normal.'

'Normal? Please.'

'If it was anyone else, you'd see it immediately. You just can't look in the mirror.'

'What are you talking about?'

'PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder. For God's sake, wake up, will you? Three months ago, you nearly died. You think your body can heal and that's the end of it? You've been digging a hole for yourself because you won't face it.'

He stared at the ceiling. 'It doesn’t make sense, Mags. I've been through worse shit in my life than this. Even when I lost Cindy, I still hung on to myself.'

'I was there,' she reminded him. 'You've blocked out how bad it was.'

She didn't add that she had tried to come inside with him then and share his grief and help him through it, and he had shut her out.

'I think it's worse to feel nothing,' he said. 'I'm somewhere else. Gone.'

Maggie caressed his neck with the back of her fingers. 'You're not alone.'

'I know. Thanks.'

'It's not a sin to need help.'

'Maybe, but I'm used to dealing with things on my own,' he said.

'No, you don't deal with them at all, you stubborn ass.'

His face softened. He laughed. 'I've missed you.'

'Me, too. Don't go running away again, OK?'

'Deal.'

It felt normal to continue to caress him, and she did. She saw what looked like an invitation in his eyes, and she brought her fingertips along the line of his chin and then across his lips.

'You haven't said a word, you know,' she said.

'About what?'

'About me.'

He blinked, not understanding. He stared at her until he finally saw her. Really saw her. She watched herself get inside his head. She had been standing on the outside for so long that it felt disorienting to have him look at her that way.

'Oh, my God,' he said with a smile. 'Look at your hair.'

He reached over and pushed away the bangs that fell over her eyes, and the intimacy of the gesture took her breath away.

She smiled back. Just with her lips. Teasing. 'Like it?'

He didn't have to answer. His expression said everything. She didn't know if it was gratitude or desire, but she didn't care. His hands slid around the back of her neck and pulled her toward him. Her chin lilted upward. Their breath was warm on each other's faces. Their lips moved closer, as if drawn by gravity, and came softly together. He kissed her; she kissed him back. When he pulled away, she thought in the recess of her brain, so that's that. It was over, a moment where they had danced at the edge of a dangerous line and then come to their senses, exactly as they needed to do.

But it wasn't over. The first kiss ended, and with the fragile ice breaking underneath them, they began again. Their need was ferocious and immediate. Before she knew it, the dangerous line was so far behind them that she couldn't see it any more. A voice sang in her head — mistake, mistake, mistake — but she shut the door firmly, and the voice grew faint and unimportant. They didn't think about what they were doing; they just did it. She helped him undress her, and she peeled away the silk boxers around his waist, and when they were both naked, he pressed her downward into the carpet. He loomed over her, and his arms scooped under her shoulder blades. She rose upward to meet him, clutching his face. In the next instant, as her legs spread and tightened around his back, he filled her with a single, wanton thrust.

Mistake, the voice said again.

She didn't listen. She didn't care any more. She drowned out the voice by telling him how much she wanted him. She told him to make love to her. She held on to him so tightly that her fingernails drove into his skin. She couldn't be too close, couldn't have a square inch of her body not touching him. He responded with the same intensity, making love to her with the same urgent abandon.

Somewhere, drifting outside herself, she wondered if there was a voice in his head, too, whispering that this was wrong. If so, he didn't listen either. They simply clung to each other and leaped from the bridge together, and for a time she was convinced they could fly. Even if they couldn't, it made no difference, because the water was so far below that she couldn't see it coming closer.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Serena found Regan Conrad sitting alone in the hospital cafeteria. The nurse picked at a green salad and drank from a plastic bottle of Aquafina. She wore lilac scrubs. When Serena sat down opposite her, Regan glanced at the other tables to see who was within earshot.

'I guess you talked to Valerie,' Regan said with a small smile.

Serena leaned across the table. 'This isn't a joke. You're lucky I'm not arresting you.'

'It wouldn't be the first time,' Regan said, chewing on her salad. 'But I suppose you know that by now, don't you?'

Serena did. She had done her homework.

'When you were nineteen, you were picked up for breaking and entering in Two Harbors,' she said.

Regan shrugged. 'I was sitting in my boyfriend's car. I didn't know what he was doing.'

'I read the police reports,' Serena told her. 'He said it was your idea. He said you egged him on. The house belonged to a man you'd been sleeping with.'

She stabbed a grape tomato with her fork and pulled it between her teeth. 'Men will say anything. You know that.'

'When you were twenty-four, you left threatening messages for a girl you blamed for stealing your boyfriend,' Serena continued.

'She did steal him. Little bitch.'

'The girl found her cat beheaded in her backyard,' Serena said.

'It wasn't me,' Regan replied, 'although I'm not much of a cat person.' 'Someone put a pipe bomb under her car, too. The police were convinced you were involved.'

'I had an alibi. They never charged me.'

'They thought you got someone else to do your dirty work.'

'I must be really persuasive,' Regan said.

'You had an alibi when Callie Glenn disappeared, too,' Serena told her.

'Oh, I get it. There's no way I could have done it myself, so that must mean I had someone else do it for me. Are there any other crimes I couldn't have committed that you'd like to talk to me about?'

'You told Valerie Glenn you know what happened to Callie.'

'Sure I do. So do you. It was Marcus.'

'Do you have any evidence that he was involved?'

'Marcus is smart. I don't think he's likely to leave any evidence behind.'

'Why did you contact Valerie?' Serena asked.

'I thought she deserved to know the truth.'

'The truth? What exactly did you tell her?'

Regan shrugged. 'Just that Marcus said the same things to me that he said to that girl in Vegas. He wished Callie had never been born.'

'That's all?'

'If there was anything else, I'm sure Valerie would have told you.'

'Don't be cute,' Serena said. 'Why didn't you want her calling the police?'

'I didn't think she wanted you to know the kind of person Marcus is. Wives have to make difficult choices about what they can live with.'

Serena jabbed a finger in Regan's face. Her patience with the nurse was gone. 'Don't pretend you're doing anything noble. You have no proof about Marcus. You simply want to sabotage their marriage.'

'I'm being honest,' Regan replied. 'You're the one who's filling Valerie's head with false hope. Desperate mothers will believe anything you tell them. If their child is at stake, they'll believe a lie even when the truth is staring them in the face. You tell Valerie that Callie will be coming home, but in your heart of hearts, you don't believe that. You think exactly what I do. So does your partner. So does Blair

Rowe. The only difference is, I've got the guts to say it to Valerie's face.'

'Stay away from her,' Serena snapped. 'You're hindering a police investigation.'

'Investigation? It looks to me like you're at a dead end.'

'I think you're hiding something,' Serena told her. 'When I first talked to you, you were pushing me to look at Micki Vega. Do you know something about her and Marcus? Do you think she was involved in Callie's disappearance?'

Regan shook her head. 'I have no idea, but I imagine Micki would do anything that Marcus told her to do. She was obviously in love with him.'

'Why did Micki lose her baby?'

'Women miscarry. Bad things happen. There was nothing unusual about it.'

'How did she react?' Serena asked.

'How would you expect her to react? She was hysterical.'

'It must have been hard for her to lose a baby and then turn around and take care of Callie.'

'I'm sure it was,' Regan said. 'What are you suggesting? That Micki stole Callie Glenn to replace the baby she lost?'

'Is that possible?' Serena asked.

'Anything's possible. I already told you, mothers can be desperate creatures.'

'Desperate people can be manipulated.'

'By me? You think I persuaded Micki to steal Callie?'

'Did you?'

'Of course not.'

'You have a history of twisting people around your finger and getting them to do what you want,' Serena persisted.

'I haven't talked to Micki in months. If anyone manipulated her, it's Marcus. Who knows what ideas he put into Micki's lovesick head?'

'Why would Marcus want Micki to harm his child? Or take her away?'

'If you can figure out why,' Regan said, her voice dropping into a whisper, 'then I guess you'll know everything.'

'I'm asking you.'

Regan stood up. 'Sorry. I don't want to hinder your investigation:

Serena stood up too and got in Regan's face. 'Were you involved in Callie's disappearance?'

'You know I wasn't. I was here at the hospital that night.'

'Do you know what happened to her?'

'We both know, but you don't want to face reality. You want to take something simple and make it complex. Marcus was obviously involved. Maybe Micki, too.'

'Who was in your house the night I talked to you?' Serena asked.

'Excuse me?'

'There was an old Escort in your driveway when I arrived. When I left, it wasn't there any more. Someone sneaked out while I was with you. Who was it?'

'I'm a medical professional. It's none of your business who I talk to.'

'So it was a patient?'

'I think we're done,' Regan said. 'If you want to talk about my nursing, you can get a judge to give you a warrant. And good luck with that.'

'This isn't over. You'll see me again.'

'I'm sure I will,' Regan told her. 'You're obviously obsessed with me, Ms Dial. But I wish you'd give it up and do something useful. Like catching the killer in my neighborhood.'

'The Duluth Police will get him.'

'Really? Is that supposed to be a comfort?'

'The police are doing everything they can.'

'Tell that to the four women who are dead,' Regan said. 'Me, I'll keep sleeping with my shotgun.'

Chapter Twenty-eight

Stride parked on the steep west-side slope of Lake Avenue in the area of downtown Duluth known as the Central Hillside. It was the seamy section of town, prone to vagrants and hookers during the warmer months. Winter sent most of the itinerant population south like migrating birds, but a few hearty souls always hung around to keep the cops and the social service agencies busy. As he parked, he saw a cluster of youths in heavy coats eyeing his car suspiciously from the corner of 4th Street.

Maggie sat next to him with her chin on her fist as she stared out the window. They hadn't spoken much since it happened.

'Is this Nick Garaldo's place?' Stride asked, nodding his head at the four-story brick apartment building with the broken windows.

Maggie nodded. 'Yeah, this is it.'

He knew he should be the one to go first. It was his fault. For more than ten years, he had tiptoed around Maggie, aware of her feelings for him and careful not to lead her on. Now he had put both of them in an impossible situation.

He stared at her on the other side of the car. The fire-engine red hair — that was so Maggie. Wild and hip. Doing whatever she wanted. Same with the diamond in her nose. He had always been closed-off and serious, and she was funny and on the fringe, but they had clicked. Yin and yang. He couldn't imagine the idea of her not being in his life. That was one of the reasons he had always kept a safe distance between them, even in those moments when she had made it clear he could cross the line. Now the safe space was gone.

Mistake. He had to say it. Mistake. She was waiting for him to break the silence and give them both a chance to pretend it had never happened.

Except he didn't feel that way. Something was different. He felt alive again. He realized that the coffer dam of dead logs and debris inside his head had finally broken free, but the flood that came with it was out of control. Emotions ricocheted around his soul, threatening to do serious damage. As if he hadn't done enough damage to his life already.

Serena.

He felt a stabbing wave of guilt. Serena. She had been the center of his life for the past three years, and he had turned his back on her and cheated on her. Serena was no fool. She had always known how Maggie felt about him. If there was one thing she had feared in their relationship, it was that he would sleep with Maggie one day.

And now he had.

'Mags,' he said.

She swiveled her head to stare at him. He watched her face, which was patient and expectant. She assumed he was about to run like hell. She was waiting for him to say it. Mistake.

When he didn't say anything, Maggie rode to his rescue again.

'Look, do we have to make a big deal out of this?' she asked. 'You feel guilty as hell, but you shouldn't. I don't. We needed each other, and something happened. Serena never needs to know. You can go back to the way things were.'

'What about us?' he said.

She turned away without replying. He knew why. Even if he entertained the fiction that he and Serena could go on as they had before, he was certain that his relationship with Maggie had changed forever. They couldn't pretend otherwise.

'Let's go check out the apartment, OK?' she said, ducking his question. 'That's probably the manager over there.'

They climbed out of his truck and approached a short black man who paced in front of the apartment building. He greeted them with a firm handshake and introduced himself as Rufus Durand. Durand had steel-gray hair and was in his late fifties. He used his key to let them inside the street door.

'Mr Garaldo's apartment is on the top floor,' he said, handing them a master key with an old wooden spoon tied to the chain with a rubber band. 'It's number four hundred and five. I guess you guys want to do this by yourself, huh?'

Durand's tone made it clear he didn't want to go upstairs with them. If there was a body inside, he didn't want to see it. It probably wouldn't be the first time one of his tenants had gone out feet first.

'We'll bring the key back,' Maggie said.

'Yeah, take your time, I'll sit down here and do the crossword.' He withdrew a newspaper from under his arm and sat down in a card table chair on the wall opposite the elevator.

Stride and Maggie took the elevator upward. It was old and slow. Maggie shoved her hands in her jeans and danced impatiently on the balls of her feet.

'When was this guy last seen?' Stride asked.

'Saturday.'

'And nothing since then?'

'Nope. No calls on his cell, and he didn't show up at work. I called his parents in Des Moines. They haven't heard from him.'

They found Nick Garaldo's apartment and knocked. No one answered. Maggie twirled the key on the spoon and pushed it into the lock and let them inside. Garaldo's apartment had a single bedroom, an open space that doubled as living room and dining room, and a kitchenette. The furniture was sparse and had an estate sale smell. Stride headed for the bedroom, and he heard Maggie opening drawers in the kitchen. He found a twin bed, unmade. Garaldo had a nightstand next to the bed with a lamp and alarm clock and a dog-eared paperback book. It was a Minnesota private eye novel by David Housewright.

Stride snapped on gloves and opened the nightstand drawer. Garaldo hadn't accumulated much junk. The drawer included a half-empty box of condoms, Old Spice cologne, several other paperback mysteries, and debris ranging from paper clips to potato chip crumbs. He closed the drawer and got down on his knees to look under the bed, where he found several dusty pairs of athletic shoes. Next to one of the shoes he saw a black disk no bigger than a postage stamp, which he removed and held between his fingers. It was an XD picture card for a digital camera. He bagged it.

He checked the attached bathroom and found nothing unusual. No illegal drugs in the medicine cabinet. A prescription for allergy medication. Soap-crusted bottles of shampoo. He returned to the living room.

'Anything?' he asked Maggie.

She shook her head. 'He likes red pistachios. Big honking jar in the kitchen. Otherwise, nothing.'

He handed her the photo card. 'He's been taking pictures.'

'Did you find his camera?'

Stride shook his head. 'No.'

'That's interesting,' Maggie said.

A phone sat on an end table near the television, and they noticed the red light flashing to indicate that Garaldo had messages. She pushed the button to play them. There were seven messages in all, three from his girlfriend, two from his boss in the harbor, and two from his parents, who mentioned that the police were asking about him. They sounded concerned.

'I don't see a calendar or PDA,' Stride said. 'How about his mail?'

'Bills. He does a lot of shopping at REI. Must be a backpacker or camper.'

'So maybe he went hiking and had an accident,' he suggested.

'Maybe. I'll put out an alert with the park service.'

Stride surveyed the room again. Garaldo owned a television set propped on laminate shelves on one wall. There was a pair of iPod speakers on the shelf above the TV, but the iPod dock itself was empty. Beyond the shelves, he saw an oak desk with a Dell computer monitor.

'Did you find hiking boots in the closet or under the bed?' Maggie asked.

Stride shook his head.

'No way this guy doesn’t own boots,' Maggie said.

'What about his car?'

'He's got a Chevy Malibu registered in his name. I've got an ATL out on it. Nothing yet.'

'Let's check out his computer,' Stride said.

The green power light glowed on the monitor on the oak desk. Stride pulled out the keyboard drawer and moved the mouse around.

Nothing happened. He swung open the panel on the desk. Inside, he found a surge protector and a slot for a CPU tower.

The computer CPU was gone. Cables from the keyboard, monitor, and Ethernet connection hung uselessly inside. Beside him, Maggie whistled.

'Somebody took it,' she concluded. 'I'm starting to get a bad feeling, boss.'

He noticed the way she dropped into her old habit, calling him 'boss' the way she usually did.

'It could be a simple break-in,' he said, 'or maybe we're not talking about a hiking accident after all.'

'I'll get a forensics team out here.'

He heard Maggie's cell phone ringing. When she dug it out of her pocket, she shot him an uncomfortable look. 'It's Serena,' she said.

Stride's gut turned over.

'Hey,' Maggie said, answering the call with a casualness that sounded false to Stride. She listened and then said, 'Yeah, sure, fine. Yeah, he's with me, I'll tell him. We'll see you in a few hours.'

She hung up. Stride raised his eyebrows.

'Serena's in Duluth,' Maggie told him. 'She wants to grab a pizza at Sammy's later.'

Stride closed his eyes. 'Shit.'

'I'll bring Kasey along,' Maggie suggested. 'That might make things a little less awkward.'

Stride nodded.

'I'm not going to say anything,' she added. When he was silent, she tried to read his face. 'I'm giving you an out, you know that, right? A free pass. Just say it was a mistake.'

That was the easy thing to do. For both of them. Add it to the list of secret regrets you keep in your life.

'I can't say that,' he told her. 'I don't know if it was a mistake.'

Chapter Twenty-nine

Serena staked out a booth at Sammy's Pizza on Tuesday evening. She had her head down, reviewing emails about Callie, when Stride and Maggie arrived. She looked up as Maggie slid into the booth across from her, and when she saw Maggie's hair, she dropped her BlackBerry into the basket of garlic toast.

'Holy shit.'

Maggie winked. 'What, is something different?'

'Wow.'

'Good wow or bad wow?'

'Sexy wow,' Serena said.

Serena knew that Maggie was one of those women who bad-mouthed her own looks with sarcastic put-downs. But not tonight. Her streaky crimson hair made her look like a New York model. On any other day, Serena would have been happy for her, but she found herself resenting Maggie's transformation. She wasn't feeling particularly attractive herself, and the change in Maggie made her feel worse.

Stride sat next to Serena and kissed her cheek. She saw Maggie's eyes flick between the two of them, watching the obvious tension. 'Hi.'

A young police officer with hair as shock red as Maggie's stood awkwardly beside the table.

'Serena, this is Kasey,' Maggie said.

'Yeah, I heard about you,' Serena told her. 'You showed some real guts out there.'

Kasey's face cracked into an uneasy smile. She sat stiffly next to Maggie, as if she was at attention.

'You doing OK?' Maggie asked her.

'I'm freaked out,' Kasey admitted.

'Do you want me to get someone to stay with you tonight? You guys might feel better if you weren't alone.'

Kasey shook her head. 'We'll be fine. Bruce has got the house locked up like a prison.'

The waitress laid a steaming, sixteen-inch pizza on an aluminum tray between them. Sausage meatballs and red discs of pepperoni dotted the pie in neat rows. Silently, they nudged apart several squares and pulled them on to each of their plates.

'Is there anything new on Callie?' Maggie asked, pursing her lips and blowing on a piece of pizza to cool it.

'I think that Regan Conrad knows more than she's telling me,' Serena said.

'I'm sorry, who?' Kasey asked.

'Regan's a nurse who was having an affair with Marcus Glenn,' Serena explained. 'She had a key to their house, and she knows the layout. She also has a prior relationship with Migdalia Vega, who was in the house when Callie disappeared. That's a lot of connections.'

'So what do you want to do?' Stride asked.

'Get a search warrant.'

'I'm not sure we've got probable cause,' he said.

'She told Valerie Glenn she knew what happened to Callie,' Serena insisted. 'Plus, I heard a baby when I was at her house on Saturday.'

'You really think Callie is there with Regan?' Maggie asked dubiously.

'If I said yes, I think a judge might give me a warrant.'

Stride frowned. 'Maybe.'

Serena popped a piece of pizza in her mouth. She tried to decipher the odd dynamic among the three of them. She and Stride were already acting like strangers, but even Stride and Maggie seemed to be avoiding each other. She told herself that it was a virus, starting in Stride's head, spreading to herself, and now infecting Maggie, too. Kasey looked uncomfortable being with them. The young cop pushed around the pizza on her plate and barely ate a thing. She had nervous, darting eyes, like a sparrow hopping on the lawn, aware that a cat might be ready to pounce.

Beside her, Stride checked his watch. 'The news is on.'

He slid out of the booth. A television was suspended on a stand in the corner of the restaurant twenty feet away. He turned it on and flipped through the channels until he found a summary of current news. They didn't have to wait long for the hot story of the week. When the network cut away to a live feed of Blair Rowe in front of the county office building in Grand Rapids, Stride turned up the volume. Serena could hear it from the table.

'… a new twist in the disappearance of Callie Glenn,' Blair reported with high-pitched excitement, adjusting her black glasses on her nose. 'As you know, we've learned disturbing facts about Callie's father, Marcus Glenn, in the days since this little girl vanished. However, tonight the buzz in Grand Rapids is not about Marcus Glenn, but about Callie's mother, Valerie. She's been the beautiful, tragic figure in this story, pleading for the return of her daughter and insisting that her husband is innocent. The police have pointedly raised no suspicions in this case about Valerie herself, perhaps in part because her sister is a senior member of the Sheriff's Department. When we come back, however, I'll take a closer look at Valerie Glenn and her history of mental illness. I'll also share startling new information that may well prove to be the missing motive that police have needed in their investigation of Marcus Glenn.'

The station went to commercial.

'Valerie's history of mental illness?' Serena exclaimed. 'What is this bitch trying to do to her?'

Stride returned to the table. 'Did Valerie give you any hints about this so-called secret?'

Serena shook her head. 'She didn't say a thing.' But she thought about Regan: If you know why, you'll know everything.

Stride's phone rang. He took it out and checked the caller ID. 'Good news travels fast,' he said. 'It's Denise. I better take this.'

He headed for the door, leaving the three women alone.

Serena kept an eye on the television. With Stride gone, Maggie fidgeted. It was as if the virus had spread between the two of them, too. Their friendship felt strained.

'I should go,' Kasey announced during the lull in the conversation. 'I don't want Bruce to worry.'

'You sure you don't want a cop in the house tonight?' Maggie asked. 'I can have somebody there in an hour.'

'No, thanks.'

'OK, I'll see you tomorrow.'

Kasey hesitated and looked down. 'I, uh, I don't know about tomorrow.'

'If you need a day, take a day,' Maggie said.

'Yeah, well, here's the thing. I'm going to quit.'

'You mean quit the force?'

Kasey nodded. 'After what happened last night, Bruce and I think that would be best. You know, get away, start over. Go someplace where this guy won't find me.'

'I don't want to lose you, Kasey,' Maggie replied, 'but I wouldn't blame you if you decided to go.'

'It would be different if it was just me, but I have to think about my family.'

'Of course.'

'Anyway, I'll call you tomorrow.'

'Sure.'

Kasey stood up. Serena watched her red curls bounce as she left the restaurant using quick, determined steps. The young cop pushed through the door, turned right on First Street, and disappeared.

'What would you do in her shoes?' Serena asked.

'I'd probably run like hell, too.'

Maggie still didn't look at Serena.

'What's going on with you?' Serena asked. 'Is something wrong?'

'Nah, just the usual,' Maggie replied.

'Did Jonny tell you anything today?'

'Like what?'

'Like what's bothering him.'

'No, he clammed up,' she said.

Serena studied Maggie's face and realized to her dismay that she didn't believe her. 'He said nothing?' she asked.

'No, sorry.'

Serena leaned across the table. 'I could really use your help. I need to know what the hell is going on with him.'

'I shouldn't get in the middle of this,' Maggie told her.

'I think you already are.'

'What do you want from me, Serena?'

'The truth.'

'You can't handle the truth,' she said in a Jack Nicholson voice.

'Don't joke,' Serena said.

'I'm sure he'll tell you when he's ready.'

'Tell me what?'

'Whatever's bothering him.'

'You sound like you already know what that is,' Serena said.

'Oh, fuck, can't you leave me out of this?' Maggie snapped, startling her. 'He's your lover. I'm just the third wheel since you two shacked up. Talk to him, not me, will you?'

Serena stood up. She found herself blinking back tears. 'Fine.'

'I'm sorry,' Maggie said.

Serena said nothing.

'Panic attacks, OK?' Maggie said.

Serena looked down at her. 'What?'

'Ever since the fall, Stride's been having panic attacks. Flashbacks.'

'He told you that?' she asked.

Maggie nodded. 'I think it's PTSD. He needs help.'

Serena wondered why she hadn't recognized it herself. It made sense to her now, hearing Maggie describe it.

'I didn't say anything to you about this,' Maggie said. 'All right?'

She nodded. 'Yeah.'

Serena thought about Jonny watching his life come apart at the seams, and she felt guilty that she'd been unable to help him through it. Because he hadn't said a word to her about his pain. Instead, he had bared his soul to Maggie.

She'd thought that knowing the truth would make her feel better, but it didn't. Maggie and Jack Nicholson were both right. She couldn't handle it.

'Denise,' Stride said into the phone outside the restaurant.

'Are you watching the news?' she asked.

'Yeah.'

'Blair fucking Rowe,' Denise said.

'It looks like she has her sights set on Valerie now.'

'Yeah, my angel of a sister.'

'Do you know what this big secret is?' Stride asked.

Denise's voice was flat. Her emotions had drained out of her like oil from her car. 'Yeah. I know.'

'So what is it? Does it affect the case?'

'I have no idea. As far as I'm concerned, I don't care what happens to my sister anymore.'

'What's going on, Denise? What did Blair find out about Valerie?'

'Keep watching, and you'll see. Enjoy the show like everybody else. Blair's going to tell the whole world that Valerie was having an affair.'

Stride had a bad feeling. 'An affair? With whom?'

'With Tom,' Denise replied. 'Apparently it's not enough for Valerie to have the looks and the money in the family. She had to have my husband, too.'

Chapter Thirty

Regan Conrad climbed down from her Hummer in the driveway outside her house and thumped the door shut. Behind her; the porch light threw her shadow down across the dormant fields like a giant. She walked a few steps into the open land where the fields began. There, she cocked her head and listened. In the trees, the wind sounded like the roar of a river. Miles away, a train rattled and rumbled south from the Iron Range. She heard a truck's air horn bellowing on the highway. That was all. Nothing else moved or stared back at her. Instead, the wind blew stronger, and the fat, drooping arms of the spruces shook with laughter.

Under her scrub top, however, bumps of gooseflesh rose on her arms. It wasn't just the cold night. She also had a sensation of eyes in the darkness.

You're paranoid, she told herself.

Regan let herself inside her house and turned on the lights. She lingered in the foyer, noticing the closed doors on both levels. Most nights, she didn't give it a thought. It was odd how you could let your mind carry you away, and when you did, every door and dark space felt like a threat. You didn't have to be a child to worry about monsters in the closet.

She wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a shot glass of Scotch. Before she sat down, she saw the flashing light on her answering machine. Two messages. She punched the play button and downed the shot as she listened.

The first message was from Marcus Glenn. Poor Marcus. He was upset.

'Regan, damn it, what are you trying to do to me? What did you tell Valerie? My nurse told me she found you in my office over the weekend. I want to know what you were doing there. We need to talk right now, you crazy bitch. I need to see you. I want to know what in the hell you did.'

He hung up.

Her lips curled into a smile. She wondered if he suspected what she had stolen from his files. What a fool he was, cuckolded by that blonde bitch. How could he tolerate that woman in his bed? A woman who barely moved as he made love to her and then had the nerve to give her body to someone else.

He could have had her, Regan. They could have been together. It was his mistake to choose so badly.

'How does it feel?' she growled at the machine. 'How do you like having the whole world turn against you? Even your pretty little wife.'

The second message was time-stamped an hour ago, but the message was blank. Empty. It went on for a full minute with nothing but silence on the machine. Her face twisted with concern as she listened. The longer the dead air stretched out, the more threatening it became.

She got up and checked the log of callers on the phone. The last call was labeled PRIVATE.

Regan replayed the message and leaned close to the machine. This time, she realized that she could hear someone breathing in the background. Whoever it was let the call drag out without saying anything, but he or she breathed near the phone, loud enough for Regan to hear it.

She deleted both messages. Maybe it was Marcus again, playing with her head. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being afraid.

Regan poured another shot and finished it in one swallow and then went upstairs. She thought about leaving the downstairs lights on, but she told herself that she was overreacting. The house was empty. The doors and windows were locked and secure. In her bedroom, she removed her scrubs and dropped them down the laundry chute to the basement. She brushed her teeth and took a shower and then slid into bed with her body warm and damp.

She reached out with her right hand. Next to the bed, propped against the wall, was a shotgun. Two cartridges loaded. Pick it up, point, and shoot. She stroked the glossy wooden shaft with her fingers, and she felt better. She reached for the lamp on her nightstand and turned it off, throwing the room into complete darkness. Only the green glow of the clock gave any light.

She closed her eyes. Moments later, she was dreaming.

Regan had no idea how much time had passed when she started awake.

Her eyes flew open. She glanced at the clock, but the face was dark, and the absolute silence of the house told her that the power was out. With the furnace shut down, the bedroom had already grown cold. Her bare arms and shoulders lay above the blanket, chilled. Her dream faded as her mind wrapped itself around the real world again. She stared blindly at the ceiling.

Regan shivered. Something was wrong.

The sensation of eyes in the darkness was back, but it was inside now, with her, in the room. She lay frozen, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She thought about closing her eyes again and pretending that everything was fine. Go back to sleep. Dream. It was nothing but her imagination.

Maybe she was dreaming right now. But she knew she wasn't.

He's here, she thought.

Her right hand came alive. Inch by inch, her fingers crept along the edge of the blanket, moving invisibly in the black bedroom. No one could see. Her hand nudged over the side of the bed, and she reached out, hunting for the barrel of the shotgun, ready to yank the gun into her arms. She knew exactly where it was, had measured the distance in the darkness countless times in the last month, had practiced and rehearsed in case this moment ever came.

The gun was gone. It wasn't there.

Her heart jumped with panic. She bolted up in bed, not pretending any more. The blanket slipped down. She took open-mouthed breaths, and her chest heaved in fear. She leaned down and felt desperately along the ground with her hands, thinking the gun had slipped to the floor.

But no. She heard a noise. Someone was in the room, across from her, settled into the armchair, watching her. She eased against the headboard and tried to see. Her eyes grasped for a beam of light, but everything was dark.

A voice came from across the room. Bitter and intense.

'Why couldn't you keep your mouth shut?'

She understood. Everything made sense now.

'You're making a mistake,' Regan said in her calmest voice. 'You don't have to do this.'

They were sweet, persuasive words, but they didn't work this time. The voice split the silence again.

'You lied to me.'

Regan wondered if she had any hope of escape. She had gone to sleep with the bedroom door open, but now, staring at the dark wall, she knew the door was closed. In less than five seconds, she could be out of bed and in the hallway, and from there, she had a chance. She searched for the right moment to run.

There was no time.

Regan heard the noise of someone shifting in the chair. Getting up. The wood and metal of the gun moved.

She threw back the cover and sprinted for the door, but she wasn't fast enough. On the third step, in the middle of the plush carpet, the shotgun spat lead and flame and lit up the darkness. She howled as the shell ravaged the flesh and bone of her hip and spun her around. Her legs stopped working; she sank to the ground. She dragged herself toward the door, but the six feet between her and the hallway was infinite.

Warm liquid ran on her skin. She grimaced as pain radiated outward from its hot core at her middle. There was blood in her mouth where she had bitten her tongue. She smelled burnt powder hanging like a cloud in the room.

She heard someone coming closer. Standing over her. As she writhed, the cold metal of the barrel sank into the skin of her forehead. The dead weight sat there, pressed against her skull, as the person holding the gun hesitated.

Regan found herself laughing. Blood bubbled out between her lips. All she could think about was that damn song by Duffy, as if she could hear its beat thumping along with her heart, spilling blood on the floor. It occurred to her to beg for mercy, but that was pointless. It was too late for that. She didn't expect it, and she didn't get it.

A flash of flame erupted again.

At the speed of light, the brightness reached her eyes a millisecond before the shell detonated inside her brain. No mercy.