"I'm sorry to hear that, Kimberly. Is everything all right?"

"Where were you yesterday?"

"I was sick. I'm sorry. I tried to reach you at your apartment, but apparently you had already left."

"And last night?"

"I was at home with my wife. Why are you asking?"

"I thought I saw you. Somewhere. At a restaurant."

"I don't think so. I did come here briefly to pick up some paperwork, but then I went straight home."

"To your wife?"

"Yes."

"What is her name again?"

"Laurie. Kimberly – "

"You don't have any kids, do you?"

"Not yet."

"How long have you been married?"

"I don't like this conversation, Kimberly. I'm not sure what is going on, but I don't think this is appropriate."

"I thought we were friends. Friends can ask questions, can't they? Friends can talk."

"We are friends. But I don't feel that you're asking these questions in a friendly way."

"Does that make you nervous?"

"Yes."

"Am I asking too many questions?"

"I think so."

"Why? What are you trying to hide?"

Doug James didn't say anything right away. He stared at her, his peering eyes impossible to read. She returned his look inch for inch, though her pulse was fluttery and her hands had fisted at her side.

He said slowly, "I'm going to return to my student now."

"I'm not coming back."

"I'm sorry – "

"I'm leaving this state. You won't be able to find me."

"Okay, Kimberly."

"I'm not as easy as my mother."

"This other student really needs my attention."

"She was a lovely woman, did you know that? Maybe she was raised out of step with the women's revolution. Maybe she should have tried harder in her marriage. But she loved us, and she did her best and she never stopped trying to be happy. Even when it was hard, she never stopped trying to be happy – "

Her voice broke off. She was crying. She stood in the middle of the threadbare lobby with its trophy case, stuffed animal heads, and sagging couch, weeping while other gun club members began to stare. Doug James slowly backed away, his hand fumbling behind him for the door connecting to the shooting gallery.

"I miss my mother," Kimberly said, and this time her voice held as her tears stopped. She stood there dry-eyed, which she knew must be worse. The other members looked away. Doug James fairly bolted out of the lobby.

After a moment, she turned back to the front desk where the new, diligent employee of the month was regarding her with unabashed terror.

"What time did Doug stop by last night?" Kimberly asked.

"Eight p.m.," the boy squawked. "Stopped in the office, grabbed paperwork and left. His wife was waiting outside for him."

"You saw her?"

"Yes."

"What does she look like?"

"Not nearly as pretty as you," the boy said hastily, still not understanding the situation.

Kimberly slowly nodded. Her mind was still trying to make the pieces fit. What had the witness said about her mother last night? Her mother and the strange man had pulled up together at ten P.M. in a fancy red car. According to the neighbor, her mother had been out all day.

"Was the woman a blonde? Mid-forties, slender, nicely dressed?" she asked.

The boy frowned. "No. Doug's wife is a brunette and she's kind of big right now. I think they're expecting a baby."

"Oh." It definitely wasn't her mother who'd come here at eight. Which meant it might indeed be Doug James's wife. And hey, he might be telling the truth and he might be an actual gun instructor, happily married and now expecting his first child.

Day One, I don't know what to believe anymore. Day One, I've grown so afraid. Day One… Mandy, I'm so sorry I never realized before how life must feel to you.

Kimberly walked out the door. The air was black as pitch outside and just about as heavy. Nine-thirty P.M. She thought there was going to be a storm.

Quantico,Virginia

Quincy left Quantico shortly after ten P.M., as the first fat drops of rain hit his windshield. He peered up at clouds so thick they obliterated the moon. The wind was whipping. It was going to be a good, old-fashioned thunderstorm. He turned toward 1-95 as the first bolt of lightning lit up the sky.

Not much longer, he kept telling himself. Not much longer.

Everett didn't like Quincy 's decision to leave town. He demanded full accountability – where Quincy would be staying and who he would be with at all times. It did not give Quincy the level of security that he would've liked, but he couldn't very well tell the Special Agent in Charge that he didn't trust him, not when the man was going out of his way to help Quincy salvage his family and career. Both of them gave up what they had to. Neither of them was happy. It was the usual sort of compromise.

Quincy had packed up his laptop. He'd put a box of old case files in his trunk. He still had his FBI-issued 10mm, which he planned on keeping until the bitter end. He did not feel ready, but he was as prepared as he was ever going to get.

Not much longer.

Wind howling fiercer now. Trees starting to bend. He had to slow the car, but he did not get off the road. Ten-thirty P.M. His daughter needed him.

Not much longer.

He stared in his rearview mirror at the approaching headlights and he felt an incredible sense of doom.

Motel 6,Virginia

Ten forty-five P.M. Rainie dashed from her car to the entrance of her motel. The rain was coming down in sheets and the four-second sprint left her soaked. The night manager looked up as she bolted through the door, spraying raindrops and bits of tree leaves that had gotten stuck in her hair.

"Ugly night," he commented.

"F-ugly night," she amended. She stalked down the hall, shivering as the blast from the motel's air conditioner cut her to the bone. She needed to grab her things and check out. A hot shower could wait. Dinner could wait. All attention was focused on making it to New York. T minus seven.

In her room, the message waiting light was blinking. She glanced at it apprehensively. Then she sighed, sat down, and prepared to take notes.

Six calls. Not bad considering hardly anyone knew this number. Four were hang ups. The fifth was Carl Mitz. "I'm still trying to reach Lorraine Conner. We need to talk." She gave anxious Carl the credit for the hang ups as well, though she could be wrong. The sixth call surprised her the most. It was from her former fellow Bakersville officer, Luke Hayes.

"Rainie, some lawyer is calling all over town with all sorts of questions about you and your mom. Name is Carl Mitz. I thought you should know."

Rainie glanced at her watch. She didn't have time for this now. Mr. Mitz, on the other hand, didn't seem inclined to back off. Asking questions about her and her mother. All these years later, and the memory still gave her a chill.

She called Luke at his home, but got his machine. "It's Rainie," she informed the digital recorder. "Thanks for the heads-up. I'm out of town, but I'll be back in the morning. Do me a favor, Luke. Set up a meeting with Mitz. Just you and him. Then let me know when and where so 1 can crash the party. The man has spent the last three days hunting me down like vermin. It's time he and I had a chat."

She hung up the phone. Rain ran off her short hair and splattered onto her T-shirt. She caught her reflection across the room, and was startled by the broad, pale lines of her face, the deep shadows hollowing out her rain-dampened cheeks. Her lips appeared bloodless.

Her chestnut hair was spiky and wild. She looked like a punk rocker, she thought. Or maybe a vampire's latest victim. She gazed at her own reflection, felt no kinship with that beat-up woman, and was nearly struck dumb by sheer exhaustion.