Quincy held open his arms. Kimberly flew into his embrace.

"It's going to be all right, Kimmy," Quincy murmured. "I promise you, it's going to be all right."

Then he closed his eyes, and Rainie knew why. He didn't want any of them to see that he had just told a lie.

JFK International Airport,New York

Friday morning, five thirty-five, eastern standard time, they boarded the first flight for Portland, Oregon, proud owners of three tickets purchased with cash the day before. They had shown ID to pick up the tickets, then Quincy had used the power of his FBI creds to get the woman at the counter to change their names to aliases so there would be no record of their flight. The attendant had looked secretly excited to be involved in some sort of covert law enforcement operation. The three of them had remained pale and drawn, exhaustion making them sway on their feet.

The thunderstorms had finally passed, though the sky was still dark and the runway slick with rain. Ground crews in yellow windbreakers ran around the plane, loading bags. Onboard, Rainie watched them shout orders at each other, but could not hear their words.

Kimberly sat next to the window. She had taken her seat and almost immediately fallen asleep, her head slumped against the bulkhead. Rainie had the middle. She'd passed the threshold where sleep was still possible and now she was too awake, unbearably aware of the world around her. Quincy sat on her right. His face had become a mask. Once, she'd touched the back of his hand. He had moved it away from her. She had not tried again since.

"When my mother died, I hated my father," he said.

"What caused her death?"

"Heart attack. She was only thirty-four. No one saw it coming."

"Doesn't sound like it was your father's fault."

"I was a boy. My father had the power to make everything right, ergo he was also responsible for everything that went wrong. I used to ask him why she died. He always gave me the same answer. 'Because she did.' "

"Shit happens," Rainie said.

"Yes, the swamp Yankee version of shit happens. It took me years to realize it was the best answer he could give. Sometimes there's simply no reason for why things happen. What is karma to a little boy? What is the divine wisdom of God? What is the fecklessness of fate? Why did my mother die? Because she did. In his own way, my father was teaching me a very important lesson."

Rainie didn't say anything.

"Mandy didn't deserve to die," Quincy said. "Bethie didn't deserve to die, and my father didn't deserve to die. Shit didn't happen. One man did."

"We'll find him, Quincy."

"I'm going to kill him, Rainie. I spent four years being trained to heal as a psychologist, and the thought doesn't bother me. I'm going to find him and kill him. What does that make me?"

She hesitated. "Vengeful," she said at last.

He nodded as the plane finally powered up and prepared for ascent. He said, "I can live with that."

Bakersville,Oregon

Sheriff Luke Hayes lounged against his patrol car outside of Martha's Diner, looking deceptively sleepy in the midday heat. Standing at five nine, with rapidly thinning hair and a featherweight's wiry frame, he didn't possess the kind of physical presence that immediately struck fear in a suspect's heart. It wasn't a problem, however. For one thing, he hit harder than most timbermen. For another thing, he moved three times as fast. Word generally spread pretty quick. See that bald guy? Don't go after him or he'll whip your ass. Hey, it was bad enough to go down in a bar brawl, let alone to be publicly dropped by a guy roughly half your body weight and possessing only a tenth of your hair.

By far, Luke's best feature was his eyes. He possessed apair of riveting baby blues that soothed enraged housewives, calmed rifle-toting drunks, and pacified screaming kids. A suspect had once accused him of practicing major mojo with his gaze. Luke didn't think he possessed any special magic. He was just a naturally calmguy with a solid, even temperament. You'd be surprised howmany women dug that.

Hiseyes weren't visible at the moment. They wereclosed against the white-hot sun, his face turned up slightly as if seeking a cooling breeze. The coastal air was flat today, however. Stagnant. He sighed heavily.

His head came down. He opened his eyes. And found Rainie standing in front of him.

"Another busy day in Bakersville," she said dryly. "Gonna be a fight by six. Probably two fights if this heat keeps up."

"Maybe you should give up law enforcement. Sell air-conditioning units instead."

"It's not half-bad an idea. I could start by giving myself one. Hello, Rainie. Good to see you again."

He held out his hand. She clasped it warmly and didn't immediately let go. He thought she looked tired. Her cheeks had that gaunt look she always got when she was pushing herself too hard. She was a beautiful vJoman, always had been in a striking sort of way. Wide cheekbones, full lips, soft gray eyes. But her body was slimmer now, rangy like a fighter's. And she'd cut off all her rich, chestnut hair, giving herself some spiky city do when he could've told her that half the men in Bakersville dreamed about that long, lush hair. The feel of it in their hands. The look of it, pooled on their pillows. Pipe dreams, of course. But nice ones during the gray Oregon winters.

"Sheriff uniform suits you," Rainie said.

Luke puffed out his chest. "I'm a stud."

She laughed. "All the nice Protestant ladies are lining up their daughters just for you?"

"Tough to be a hero, but somebody's got to do it."

"God, I miss this place."

"Yeah, Rainie. We've missed you, too."

They went into the diner. Carl Mitz wasn't due to show up for another hour. By mutual agreement, they, slid into their old booth and ordered a late lunch/early dinner.

"How's Chuckie?" Rainie asked after ordering the Friday special – chicken-fried steak with extra gravy and garlic-mashed potatoes. Guaranteed to add an inch to your waistline, or your money back.

"Cunningham has settled down," Luke answered. "Bit more confident these days. Plus, I think we've gone a whole month without him drawing down on some poor ciwie whose only mistake was daring to run a red light during Chuckie's shift."

"He's stopped attacking the taxpayers? That is progress. And the rest of the town?"

"One-year anniversary was tough," Luke said softly. "Still a lot of paranoia, some bad blood. I hate to say it, but it's probably a good thing Shep and Sandy moved away. I'm not sure folks could've handled it otherwise."

"What a shame."

"It's human nature, Rainie. We're all looking for something to believe in, and someone to blame."

"Still – "

"We're okay, Rainie. That's the joy of small towns – even when we change, we don't change. Now how about you?"

She didn't say anything right away, which he had expected. She had always been a private person, even when it had been just her, him, and Shep, a three-man sheriffs department united against the world. But then, that's what Luke liked about Rainie. She could be moody. She possessed one hell of a temper. But you knew she'd get the job done. She showed up, she delivered, and when things had gotten rocky, Luke had been proudto have her in charge.

He'd been sad – no, he'd been angry – when the narrow-minded town council had demanded that she go. He had thought she'd put up more of a fight, and likea lot of folks in Bakersville, he'd been surprised, maybeeven hurt, when she hadn't.