" Quincy 's in trouble," she said abruptly.

"I gathered that."

"It's… bad, Luke. Very bad."

"Accident wasn't an accident?" She nodded.

"Amanda was murdered by somebody out to get Quincy. Except it didn't end there. The man then used her death to target Quincy 's ex-wife. Befriended her, romanced her, and slaughtered her, Luke. Absolutely butchered her. That crime scene was barely twenty-four hours old, before he kidnapped Quincy 's father."

Luke arched a brow. "Bureau's got to be involved," he said tightly. He liked Quincy, seemed like a good guy. At least for a fed.

"Sure, the Bureau's involved. Any day now, we think they'll arrest Quincy."

"What?"

"He's been framed for the murder of his ex-wife. Did I mention that?"

"When G-men make enemies, they make enemies." Luke was frowning. "How's he holding up?"

"I don't know."

Luke's frown deepened. "I thought you'd know better than most. Or has something changed?"

"For God's sake, Luke, the man's family is being hunted. We're living Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None. Now is not exactly the time to put him on a sofa and say, Hey, Quince, tell me how you really feel."

"That's convenient."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Her voice had picked up. Color stained her cheeks. This was supposed to intimidate him. Instead it simply made him feel better. Rainie needed some color in her cheeks. He only wished that he'd brought a box of #2 pencils for her to snap. For old times' sake.

"I'm just saying – " he began mildly.

"Oh I heard what you were saying. Now I'm sorry I brought this up."

"I would've brought it up if you didn't," he assured her. "That's what friends are for."

"Speaking of which, thanks for telling some Virginia cop that I have the hots for a fed."

"You have the hots for a fed?"

"Luke Hayes – "

He was grinning and the sight of his amusement sent her temper spluttering. But then his grin faded, and he said a bit more honestly, a bit more gently, "Face it, you and Quincy have a genuine meeting of the minds. That's serious shit, Rainie. You can go an entire lifetime without finding anyone who matches like that. 1 know I have."

"Harumph," Rainie said. She scowled, but Luke wasn't fooled. He saw something in those wide gray eyes. Gratitude maybe. Or relief. Someone else thought she and Quincy could work out. Someone else believed the scrappy home-town girl was worthy of a fed.

You were bigger than this town, Luke wanted to tell her. You were too smart to spend your career patrolling Friday-night football games. Damn, I'm proud of you. But he didn't say those words because he understood that she wouldn't know how to take them.

The waitress came over with two Cokes. Luke accepted his with a smile. Rainie set hers on the table and proceeded to spin it absently between her hands.

"It's… it's insane," she murmured. "There's someone out there, Luke. We don't know his name. We don't have a clear description. We don't even know how he ties in with Quincy. We just know he's smart. Methodical. And at least twelve steps ahead of us."

"Plan of attack?" Luke asked quietly.

"Attack is a strong word. We have a plan of retreat. We fled here with Quincy 's surviving daughter, Kimberly. The man knows too much about their lives on the East Coast."

"You need manpower?"

Rainie shook her head. Then she ran a hand through her short-cropped hair. "It's hard to explain. This man… his system. He's not hit-and-run. This guy, it isn't just about the kill, it's all about the game. We know he's still-coming. We know he'll follow us here. But he won't strike out of the blue. Somehow, someway, he'll convince one of us to open the door."

"Carl Mitz," Luke filled in.

"You have to admit, the timing is suspicious."

"I see your point." Luke sighed. He spread out his hands on the table. "Well, I don't know what to tell you, Rainie. Mitz started calling four days ago. I checked with the law offices of Avery amp; Abbott in Portland and they confirm having him on staff. He's also on record with the Oregon State Bar. I don't like his timing either, but at this point…"

"Mitz checks out."

"Mitz appears to be a genuine vermin, er, lawyer."

"What about his client?"

Luke frowned. "His client?"

Rainie nodded. She leaned forward. "This guy – Tristan Shandling, for lack of a better name – he's been using each family member to learn about the other family members. Mandy tells him about Bethie who tells him about Kimberly. Shandling plays his game and conducts his recon all at once. Except Amanda, Elizabeth, and Kimberly don't know a thing about me."

Luke got it. "So assuming he's learned that Quincy has a friend in Portland – "

"Not a big assumption. He seems to know everything about Quincy 's life, plus he's stolen Quincy 's identity. All you need to check anyone's phone bill is a name and Social Security number."

"Then Shandling needs a source of information about you."

"He can't come himself." Rainie thought out loud. "He's been too busy with Bethie in Philadelphia."

"So he hires someone."

"Someone reputable. Just in case we get suspicious and check the person out."

Luke nodded thoughtfully. "You're right, he's smart and methodical. So how do you want to play it?"

"I'm thinking we stick to the basics. I sit in the booth behind this one with a newspaper in front of my face so Mitz doesn't see me when he walks in. You greet him, make him comfortable, and pretend to be willing to cooperate."

"Good cop," Luke filled in dryly.

"Exactly. I wait here, eavesdrop, and let you pour on the charm. Then, when he's nicely entrenched in his, 'we don't give out information on our clients' speech, I pounce and tear him to shreds."

"Bad cop."

"Yeah." She smiled wolfishly.

Luke shook his head, "Rainie," he said, "damn, it's good to have you home."

At exactly five P.M. Carl Mitz strolled through the doors of Marthas Diner. In a crowd of plaid western shirts and field-stained jeans, he stood out conspicuously wearing a tan linen suit and carting a behemoth brown briefcase. He identified Luke easily enough – maybe the sheriff's star gave him away – and proceeded straight to the booth.

Rainie opened the newspaper and ducked down against the red vinyl seat. The newspaper easily obscured her face, but she still felt vulnerable. Not that she had much to fear. Her first impression of Mitz was an oversized accountant with bad taste in glasses. Mussed-up hair, ill-fitting suit, pinched white features. Whatever kind of law he did, it wasn't criminal because there wasn't a jury in the world who would take that face seriously. He probably did taxes or corporate deals. Something with really big spreadsheets.

Luke shook the man's hand. Mitz winced.

Oh boy, Rainie thought. When your stalker cares enough to send the very best…

Mitz sat down. He slid his briefcase onto the seat beside him. It took up half of the booth, but he seemed determined not to let it go.

"Thank you for seeing me," he told Luke crisply.

"No problem at all," Luke drawled, his voice magically two octaves lower and eight beats slower. "You seemed like an earnest fellow. I figured it would be easiest to meet in person, shake your hand, and address all your questions at once."

"Well yes, of course. Face-to-face is always nice. I only hate to intrude…"

"Oh you know how it is in small towns. We got plenty of time and we're always happy to meet new folks."

Rainie rolled her eyes. She thought the Andy Griffith routine was laying it on a bit thick, but Mitz seemed to relax a fraction more, his spine actually making contact with the back of the booth.

"It's a simple matter really," Mitz said briskly. "I'm running a routine background check on someone who used to live in this town. Lorraine Conner. I understand she was a police officer here."