Monica felt the warmth of the nurse’s body as she bent low again, whispering in her ear. “When this one wears off, I’ll be gone. Do not trust anyone. Believe me. There is someone else in this hospital that works for the people who hurt you. Yesterday they tried to kill one of the others that escaped from the bunker. The man.”

Beardsley. He’d helped them escape from the bunker. Bailey had told her so, when they’d been in the woods. Monica had heard the nurses talking during the day. He’d been rushed into ICU during the night, but was lucky. They’d saved him and he was sent back to a regular room. With a guard.

“As soon as you’re out of ICU, you’ll be vulnerable,” the nurse continued. “I’ve tried to keep you alive as long as I could. But my son is in danger. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you anymore. I think you can trust Susannah and Nurse Ella. Now I have to go.”

Raleigh, North Carolina, Saturday, February 3, 4:15 p.m.

Special Agent Harry Grimes looked around the Raleigh office of the North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation fondly. He’d been transferred to the Charlotte office the year before and missed the staff, especially his boss, who’d taught Harry so much.

His old boss was at a new desk, having been recently promoted to special agent in charge. Harry knocked and an instant grin lit Steven Thatcher’s face.

“Harry Grimes. How the hell are you? Come in, come in.”

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” Harry said as Steven came around the desk, hand outstretched in welcome.

“No, no.” Steven grimaced. “Just paperwork.”

“Comes with the new desk, huh?”

“Yeah, but I’m home more and Jenna likes that, especially with another baby on the way.” Steven pointed to a chair. “How’s Charlotte?”

Harry sat down. “Great. Not here, but still great.”

Steven studied his face. “You’re not here on a social call, are you?”

“I wish. I got a call this morning from a frantic mother. Her fourteen-year-old daughter went missing from her bed in the night.”

Steven grew serious. “Like, abducted, or left?”

“No sign of forced entry. The locals started out calling her a runaway.”

“But they’re not now?”

“No. And the confrontation wasn’t initially smooth, but they’re on board now.”

“So bring me up to speed and tell me how I can help.”

“This girl’s older sister went missing six months ago. She’s listed in the NCMEC database as an ‘endangered runaway.’ ” He handed Steven a photo from his briefcase.

“Beatrice Monica Cassidy,” Steven read.

“She goes by Monica. She had what her mother considered a normal relationship. They fought about clothes and curfews and school. Then one day six months ago Monica tells Mom she’s going to visit a friend and doesn’t come home. The friend eventually confessed Monica had asked her to lie, that she was meeting a boy. By then the trail was cold. Monica was gone. Her mother insists she wouldn’t have run away.”

“Parents normally do,” Steven said quietly.

“I know. Apparently Monica had been spending a lot of time on the computer.”

“Let me guess. Chat rooms and IM?”

“Of course. Mom couldn’t bring back any of Monica’s conversations, which is where I came in. The principal of Monica’s school asked me to do a presentation for the PTO on software that can track chat room and instant message conversations. If parents install it right, the kids never know it’s there. I had a rep from the local computer store there as I always do, so that parents can buy the software that night.”

“Smart, Harry. So many times parents plan to, and life gets in the way.”

“Exactly. Mrs. Cassidy was there that night and bought a package because she has a younger daughter, Eugenie Marie. Goes by Genie.”

“And as of this morning, Genie is missing.”

“Mrs. Cassidy called all her friends, then the police. They came, took a report. Then the mom got online and read Genie’s conversations. She’s been communicating with someone named Jason through her IM account. He claims to be a college boy.”

“You think a pedophile took her?”

“Yeah, I do. Monica’s friends said she’d met a college boy online-named Jason.”

Steven blinked. “That’s quite a coincidence.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Did Genie’s chat log show if she planned to meet this Jason, and where?”

“No, there were no communications yesterday or today, but there are going to be gaps in the log when kids use their cell phones to text. The software only tracks the chats and IMs on the computer itself. I felt so sorry for this woman, Steven, so I went to the bus station and asked around. They said a kid wearing a hoodie from Genie’s high school bought a bus ticket to Raleigh in the middle of the night, so here I am.”

“So how did you get this case, Harry?” Steven asked cautiously.

Harry’s smile was wry. “I’m not being a cowboy, Steven. I’m officially assigned to this case. Mrs. Cassidy lives in a rural area, about thirty miles from Charlotte. The local force is small and asked us to take it after Mrs. Cassidy showed them the Jason parallel. My boss put me on the case since I’d done some of the groundwork.”

“So why Raleigh?”

“Her dad lives here. Dad didn’t answer my phone calls, so I made the trip. Dad isn’t home, and his car is gone.”

“Maybe he’s just not home, Harry.”

“He’s a doctor. Didn’t show up for his shift today and the hospital staff say that’s never happened before. He’s reliable to the point of being obsessive.”

“You get a warrant for his house?”

“Being signed as we speak. You wanna come with?”

Steven nodded grimly. “Let me get my coat.”

Ridgefield House, Saturday, February 3, 4:55 p.m.

“Where’s Tanner?” Charles asked as Bobby took his coat.

On his way back from Savannah, Bobby thought, but Charles had no need to know that. “Assisting me.” Bobby sat behind the desk without additional explanation. “Well?”

Charles followed, settling himself in a chair. “You could have been caught.”

Bobby smiled. “I know. That’s what made it fun.”

“Where did you get that godawful dress?”

“My grandmother’s. You said I was acting like an old woman, so I dressed like one.”

“But you missed,” he said, and Bobby lifted a brow.

“Au contraire. I never miss. I was taught to shoot by a U.S. Army sniper, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Charles said irritably. “I was there for every excruciating lesson.”

“So you of all people know my skill. I hit what I aimed at.”

Charles looked perplexed. “You intended to hit Gretchen French?”

“That’s who that was?” Bobby laughed softly. “That makes it even better.”

“You didn’t know?” he asked, incredulous.

“Nope. I planned to hit whoever was standing closest to Susannah Vartanian the moment Rocky pulled the trigger. I’d kind of hoped to get Agent Papadopoulos, but Gretchen French is even better, under the circumstances.”

“So what happened to the shot Rocky fired?”

“A blank. I didn’t want her to hit anything. The girl was a lousy shot anyway. But I wanted her to believe she had. I wanted her to think she was killing Susannah Vartanian. And she pulled the trigger. She died knowing she’d obeyed me.”

“She died thinking she’d missed.”

“Better still. She obeyed me, yet still she failed. She deserved no less.”

“Very good,” he said, sounding reluctantly pleased. “So what will you do next? I mean about Susannah Vartanian.”

“I’ll deal with her a little at a time. When I’m finished with her, she’ll be more alone than I ever was. She’ll be afraid to stand next to a tree stump, afraid it’ll be blown to bits. When I finally decide to kill her, she’ll beg me to do it quickly.”

“So when will you strike again?”

Bobby thought about the call from the GBI mole that had come through minutes before Charles arrived. The mole’s report had been infuriating, but Bobby had decided to make lemonade from the lemon. And Charles could provide the sweetener.