"Really? Like my favorite lacy black bra? A highly necessary hot pink thong?"

His eyes heated dangerously "Sweetheart, I'd be happy to rifle your underwear drawer. But bear in mind, it might be a uniformed officer who ends up taking the call."

"Oh." I shrugged. "Guess I can pack my own panties, then."

"Take what you need, Annabelle. We can fill the whole car if you'd like."

"Won't be necessary I happen to be an expert on traveling light."

My attempt at bravado didn't fool him for a moment. He crossed over, grabbed me before I could protest, kissed me hard.

"Two hours," he repeated. "Tops."

Then he was gone.

Bella cried like a baby at the door. I simply wondered how a grown woman could feel so vulnerable inside her own home.

BOBBY STARTED WORKING his cell phone the minute he hit his car. He had names, now he wanted information. He started with D.D. but got her voice mail. Ditto with Sinkus.

After a brief internal war, Bobby made his decision. Boston PD was maxed out and he needed information fast. Well, hell, he worked for the state, didn't he? He called in a favor with one of his old buddies and got the ball rolling.

He needed to know everything there was to know about A, Tommy Grayson; B, Roger Grayson; C, Lucille Grayson; and D, E, and F, almost as afterthoughts, Gregory Badington, Paul Schuepp, and Walter Petracelli. That'd keep the wheels churning for a bit.

If Schuepp's story was correct, the person stalking Annabelle was most likely her uncle, Tommy Grayson. And it made the most sense that the person who was stalking Annabelle was the same person who had murdered Dori Petracelli and buried her remains in Mattapan.

Which meant that Tommy Grayson had made it from Pennsylvania to Massachusetts.

Then what?

Tommy knew Annabelle's family had fled. If he'd followed them from Philly to Arlington, it made sense that he'd follow them again. Unlike Christopher Eola, Tommy wasn't independently wealthy. Which meant if he'd continued stalking Annabelle's family, then he'd faced basic logistical concerns. How to earn money for rent and transportation. How to find a new job in a new city every few years. Probably meant he'd done some form of menial employment.

Schuepp had mentioned Tommy working as a bouncer in Philly. That was the type of work easy to pick up on the fly. They needed to distribute Tommy's picture to the law enforcement agencies in each city, with recommendations to distribute it to local bars. Perhaps they could pinpoint Tommy's movements, establish a time line for his travels.

Except how did Tommy find Annabelle's family each time? According to Schuepp, Annabelle's father was smart: He'd learned quickly from his mistakes. Yet, as a general rule, the family moved every eighteen months to two years.

Proactive measures on the part of Annabelle's father? Minute word of a missing kid hit the news, he got spooked and packed up his whole family. Or was Tommy that brilliant?

Bobby wanted to know more about Tommy. And Annabelle's father.

Naturally, the good parking spaces at Boston PD were taken. Bobby looped around four times, finally got lucky as someone pulled out. He tucked in, still deeply lost in his own thoughts as he locked up the Crown Vic and headed inside the building.

First thing he noticed when he made it through the glass doors into Homicide was the silence. The receptionist, Gretchen, was staring blankly at her computer screen. A couple of other guys sat at their desks, moving around paperwork, looking subdued.

He tapped the counter in front of Gretchen. She finally looked up.

"What?" he asked softly.

"Tony Rock's mom," the receptionist whispered back.

"Ah jeez."

"He called in about thirty minutes ago. He didn't sound good at all. Sergeant Warren's been trying to reach him since, but he's not answering his phone."

"Ah no."

"Probably just needs some time."

"Sure. That stinks. When you find out about the memorial service…"

"I'll let everyone know," Gretchen promised.

Bobby nodded his thanks and headed straight for D.D.'s office. She was on the phone but held up one finger when she saw him. He leaned against the doorjamb, listening to one side of a conversation that mostly consisted of "Yes, mmmhmmm, that's right." Must be talking to the brass.

Bobby rested his shoulder against the wooden frame. All of sudden, he felt exhausted. The stakeout in the woods. D.D. pinned to the ground, being mauled by a giant Rottweiler. Realizing she was okay, calling Annabelle, only to hear her frightened voice over the phone. Another mad dash across town, wondering what he would find, worrying he would be too late.

Was this how Annabelle's father had felt, once upon a time? As if life was spinning out of his control? As if he could see the train coming but couldn't get off the tracks?

Christ, he needed a good night's sleep.

D.D. finally hung up the phone. "Sorry about that," she said curtly "Rock's-"

"Already heard."

"Naturally, he'll be out for a few days."

" 'Course."

"Meaning…"

"Hey, hard work is good for us. Builds character."

"So," she said.

"So Russell Granger's real name is Roger Grayson. He, his wife-Lucille Grayson-and their newborn daughter, Amy Grayson, were stalked by Roger's deranged brother, Tommy Grayson, while living in Philadelphia. Roger believed Tommy went so far as to murder Lucy's parents one afternoon when they took Amy to the park. Shortly thereafter, Roger made arrangements to move his entire family to Arlington and live under the assumed name Granger. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to get fake ID, so all financial records remained under their original identities. According to Paul Schuepp, former head of mathematics at MIT, Roger became convinced in '82 that Tommy had found them. That's when he arranged for the family to run a second time, this time doing the job right."

"Holy crap," D.D. said.

"Got a friend running down Roger's name, Lucille's name, Tommy's name, and a few others. Tommy has a criminal history, so it should be in the system. Million-dollar question is, once Tommy realized Annabelle's family had slipped away from him, did he hang in Massachusetts or hit the road? Oh, and where is he now?"

D.D. rubbed her temples. "Our prime suspect is Tommy Grayson?"

"Yeah. Sorry to disappoint you, but I think Annabelle's father is dead."

"But the whole posing as an FBI agent-"

"Russell made the same connection we did-that Catherine looked remarkably like Annabelle. He worried the attack on Catherine was Tommy's work. Given his desire to remain under the radar, he couldn't go to the police, so he handled the matter himself."

"But Tommy wasn't Catherine's attacker."

"No, Catherine's resemblance to Annabelle is pure coincidence. Umbrio's methodology, however, probably inspired Tommy's use of an underground chamber two years later. So the cases have a relationship, but a distant one."

"And Christopher Eola?"

"Most likely a murderer, just not our murderer."

"Charlie Marvin?"

"An honest-to-goodness retired minister who works at the Pine Street Inn. According to witnesses, he was there last night."

"Adam Schmidt?"

"Haven't the foggiest. You'd have to ask Sinkus."

"He's been looking for you," D.D. supplied. "He spent the afternoon with Jill Cochran from Boston State Mental. You two need to catch up."

Bobby stared at her. "That's it? I nail down the real identity of Annabelle's father, crack the case wide open, and you're on my ass because I haven't magically debriefed with my fellow detectives yet?"

"I'm not on your ass," she retorted crankily. "But I am thinking all your brilliance has still left us with an obvious hole."

"Which is?"

"Where the hell is Tommy Grayson right now, other than skulking around Annabelle's apartment and leaving trained attack dogs in the woods?"