"So what else did Dr. Andrews say?" she asked Kim-berly at last.

The young girl shrugged. She was holding up remarkably well, Rainie thought. Pale, jumpy, but functional. Rainie supposed they'd all hit the edge where you either kept moving or completely collapsed. Dying was not preferable to living at this point, so they kept moving.

"He… he told me I should tell you something," Kimberly said abruptly. Her gaze flicked to her father, before becoming locked once more on her coffee mug. "I um… a few months ago, I started having what I thought were anxiety attacks. I felt as if someone was watching me. I'd get goose bumps, find it hard to breathe. The hair would stand up on the back of my neck."

Quincy set down his mug hard on the old table. Hot coffee sloshed over the edges. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"At the time, I thought it was stress related. The situation with Mandy, I've been carrying a heavy course load plus the internship… It doesn't matter. What's important is that I'm telling you now and that maybe it wasn't all in my head. Maybe it wasn't stress induced – "

"He's been watching you," Quincy said flatly. "Some man has been stalking my daughter and you didn't even tell me!"

"I carry Mace! I pay attention to the people around me. I make eye contact. You can't hold my hand, Dad, and you can't always protect me – "

"Like hell! It's my job and what's the purpose of all these years of training if I can't protect my own family?"

"No father can protect his family. All children grow up. It's what we do."

"I'm a professional – "

"You're human, just like all other fathers."

"You should have told me – "

"So, I'm human, just like all other daughters."

"Dammit, I'm sick of this!" Quincy roared.

"Good, I am, too!" his daughter yelled back. "So let's catch this son of a bitch, so I can return to ray classes and finish up my degree. Then I'll join law enforcement, neglect my own family, and the cycle will be complete!"

Quincy pressed his lips into a thin line. He opened his mouth, shut it. Opened his mouth, then shut it again. Finally, he picked up his mug of coffee and stared at the rain-splattered window.

"You know," Rainie said, "these family moments are very touching."

"I may have a lead," Quincy said thirty minutes later. The clock had now struck two. By some unspoken agreement, it appeared that none of them were going to bed. Quincys 10mm sat on the kitchen table for easy access.

"We sit," Kimberly murmured. "We wait. We wonder where he'll strike next."

"We're ahead now," Rainie rebutted firmly. "He had the advantage with Mandy because she was his first victim. He continued his advantage with Bethie, because we didn't know any better. We know now. And in exactly" – she glanced at her watch – "three hours, we'll be out of strike zone. We'll finally be ahead of his game."

Kimberly and Quincy nodded tensely. Rainie returned to her notes. "Now then, I have another person for us to pursue. According to the AA president, Mandy's sponsor at the meetings was her boss. Larry Tanz owned the restaurant where she and Mary both worked. Now, I don't know a thing about Mr. Tanz, but given Mary's strange behavior and the fact that Mr. Tanz knows both Mary and Mandy…"

"He's worth considering," Quincy said.

"I told my new best friend Phil de Beers to work on it. You know," she added seriously, "he makes his coffee with sour mash. I think my cream-and-sugar habit is now looking quite respectable."

As a unit, Quincy and Kimberly rolled their eyes. They looked just like father and daughter when they did that. Huh.

Rainie flipped the page of her notebook. "Finally, I have the two aliases that the UNSUB has used thus far. He used Tristan Shandling in Philadelphia – we should run that through a database of names from your past cases, Quince, to see if it rings any bells. Then, twenty months ago in Virginia, he used the name Ben Zikka to approach Mandy at her AA meeting."

"What?" Quincy spoke up sharply.

"Ben Zikka," Rainie repeated. "The name Ben Zik – "

"No! Son of a bitch. No, no, no!"

Quincy bolted from the table. He grabbed the cordless phone, fumbled it for a moment, then got a hard grip. His knuckles were white. Rainie didn't even recognize his face. Something bad had happened. She didn't understand what. She glanced at Kimberly and saw the girl's face turn the color of bone.

"Grandpa," Kimberly whispered.

"Oh no." Rainie closed her eyes. None of them had even thought about Quincy 's father. He was a sick old man, stricken with Alzheimer's, tucked away in a retirement home. "Oh no…"

"Shady Acres Elder Care," Quincy barked into the phone. "Put me through!" And a moment after that, "Abraham Quincy, please. What do you mean he's not there? Of course he's there; he requires full-time medical attention. His son picked him up? His son, Pierce Quincy, picked him up earlier this afternoon. Of course you made him show ID. Of course he had a driver's license. His son, Pierce Quincy…"

A horrible stillness had come over Quincy 's face. Rainie couldn't move. Go to him, she thought. Touch him. But she knew she couldn't. She knew Kimberly couldn't. Because they were watching a man in the throes of something terrible and it had only just begun.

He punched off the phone. He lowered it, cradling it against his neck as if the plastic receiver were something special.

"Ben Zikka was my father's best friend," Quincy murmured. "They grew up together, went to war together. He used to tell stories.."

Kimberly and Rainie remained silent.

"He's an old man," Quincy whispered. "Seventy-five years old, can't even remember to piss in a toilet, for God's sake. He's sick, he's easily frightened. He doesn't recognize his own reflection, doesn't know he has a son. He doesn't even remember the name Pierce Quincy."

Kimberly and Rainie didn't say a word.

"He worked hard his whole life. Built a farm, raised a son, helped pay my way through college when money was tight. Never even wanted a thank-you. He did it because that's what he did. Seventy-five years old. At the stage where he deserves to die with dignity."

" Quincy…"

"He's doesn't even know he has a son! How can the man kill him? He doesn't even remember I exist. Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit!"

He hurtled the phone receiver to the floor. It shattered into bits but it wasn't enough. He grabbed a chair and smashed it into the stove. He hurtled the coffeepot into the sink. He flipped over the table with a roar.

"Dad…"

"I can't go I have to stay he might be alive you never know. I can't leave him he's my father and he doesn't even know he has a son. He's going to be tortured and murdered and oh God did you see what that monster did to Bethie and he's just a sick old man he doesn't even know he has a son. Jesus Christ, Rainie, he doesn't even know he has a son…"

"You're coming to Portland."

"No."

"You're coming to Portland, Quincy. We won't let you stay. It's exactly what this sicko wants."

"My father – "

" Quincy, he's dead. I am so sorry, but he's dead. You know he's dead. I am so sorry…"

Quincy 's knees buckled. He went down on the floor, surrounded by glass and wood and fragments of plastic phone. He went down on the floor and he looked at Rainie with an expression she hoped she would never have to see again.

"My father," he whispered. "My father…"

"Daddy, I'm scared. Please Daddy, I need you."

Quincy turned toward his daughter. She had begun to cry. A heartbeat passed. Rainie didn't know what he was thinking. Looking at his daughter and seeing traces of his rapidly vanishing past? Or looking at his scared, stricken little girl, and seeing a future that could still happen?