"You screwed up the Sanchez case – "

"I made a mistake."

" Quincy saved the day."

"I never said he was a bad profiler."

"Oh come on, everyone knows you blame him. It's bad enough to choke, let alone have another agent come along, get it right, and grab all the credit. How many times do you replay that in your head at night, Albert? How many times do you revisit every little nuance of that case, and feel your hatred for Quincy grow a little bit more?" She stared hard at Montgomery. The agent bowed his head.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" she challenged. "The perfect opportunity to come in and torpedo Quincy 's career."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No! Dammit!" Montgomery glowered. He looked trapped and cornered, shifting around his heavy bulk until he finally seemed to realize there was no place left to run. Then he planted his feet. "You want to know the truth?" he spat back. "Fine, I'll tell you the truth. Not that you'll believe me, not that anyone will believe me, but I took this goddamn case to save Quincy 's butt. I took it 'cause I thought, hey, if you can't be the hero, you might as well save the hero. That's gotta count for something."

"What?"

"Do I have to put this on a Hallmark card? I figured I could help Quincy. And yeah, I kind of thought that might jumpstart my career. Altruistic, I ain't. But I'm not a total jackass either. My career is in the toilet. Do a good deed, however, and I might escape the eternal flush. I'm fifty-two years old, Glenda. My ex-wife hates me and so do my kids. I got nine hundred dollars in the bank. What the fuck am I going to do if I'm no longer an agent?"

Glenda frowned, wanting to refute Montgomery 's argument, but coming up empty. She didn't know what to think anymore. She didn't like Montgomery. His ill-kept appearance did bother her. So did his disappearing act. But he had a point. In the patriotic world of the Bureau, there was no greater currency than saving a fellow agent's hide. If he did find Quincy 's stalker, Montgomery 's career would get a second chance. Probably, its only chance.

"But now you think Quincy murdered his ex-wife," she said.

"You bet I do."

"Because the scene is staged?" Montgomery shrugged. "Because of a lot of things. Frankly, the phone calls bother me. If you were out to get someone and you had his private telephone number, would you fool around with prank calls, or would you just go out and kill the man? I mean, we're saying this guy has some connection with Quincy 's career. So we're talking about a psychopath. Now, what kind of psychopath wants to talk about killing an agent, when he can attack the agent?"

"We discussed this. It's a ruse, a way of disguising the UNSUB's true identity by creating hundreds of other suspects with opportunity and motive."

"But it also alerts the victim," Montgomery countered. "Seems like a massive downside to me. Especially when you consider that in this day and age, the UNSUB can simply read articles on-line about how to conceal evidence. He has the element of surprise, then has all night to cover his tracks."

"Maybe the UNSUB didn't want an easy murder. Assuming vengeance is the motive, maybe he wanted to make sure Quincy suffered first."

"Maybe. Or maybe we're making this all too complicated. Look, from where I sit, there is another plausible theory to everything that's happened: Quincy made this whole thing up. Ran the ad in the prison newsletters himself. Then showed up in Everett 's office with his, 'The sky is falling, the sky is falling!' routine, knowing that Everett will follow protocol and assemble a case team. Now Quincy has four federal agents swearing to the Philadelphia police that someone is stalking him, and that mysterious person probably murdered his ex-wife and kidnapped his old man. But is someone stalking him? Or was this all a cover-up, so that he could kill his ex?"

"Listen to yourself, Albert. You're saying Pierce was willing to dupe the Bureau and harm his own father; simply to cover up an attack on his wife."

"We don't know that Quincy harmed his father."

"Abraham Quincy is a bedridden Alzheimer's patient. He's now been missing from the nursing home for over twenty-four hours. That's not good."

"Papa Quincy was checked out by Pierce Quincy, bearing proper ID."

"Anyone can get a fake driver's license."

"Yeah, and anyone can use a real one. Glenda, we got no body. For all we know, Abraham is tucked away at some nice posh resort, courtesy of his son. When the police buy Quincy 's story of the phantom stalker, Abraham will promptly reappear, having magically escaped his evil captor. Or maybe Quincy will phone in an anonymous tip and the searching agents can rescue his dad. Either way, no harm, no foul, and Quincy 's story is better all the time."

"It's too far-fetched!" Glenda protested. "Three more reasons: One, you saw Pierce in Philadelphia and there wasn't a mark on him."

"Quick kill. Plus, police have found blood in the drainpipes. Killer cleaned up at the scene."

"Two, you still have no motive. Quincy and his wife have been divorced for years. You're talking about a long, complicated scheme leading up to a particularly brutal murder. Why? The marriage is old business."

"I don't know that part," Montgomery conceded. "But it's still early. Maybe she never took him off her life insurance. Maybe he blames her for the daughter's death. Give me time. I'll work on it."

"Ah-hah," Glenda announced triumphantly. "Three, the daughter's death – Quincy has evidence that it wasn't an accident. She was murdered. Probably the stalker's first victim."

"What?" That brought Montgomery up short. "I thought the daughter was an MVA. Drunk driving. How does a DUI become murder?"

"Someone tampered with the driver's seat belt, rendering it useless. And there's evidence that someone else was sitting in the passenger's seat. The Virginia state police are investigating it now."

"Maybe the daughter tampered with the seat belt. Maybe it was suicide."

"Why tamper with the seat belt?" Glenda asked dryly. "Why not simply not wear it?"

"Oh." Montgomery was flummoxed. He shifted around his bulk, then grimaced. "I don't know," he said at last. "Have to think about it."

"It's a complicated case," Glenda said softly. "Three family members of a fellow agent are now dead or missing. We shouldn't be rushing to conclusions about Quincy, or anyone else."

"That's not what Everett said."

"You already presented this to Everett?" Glenda's voice raised a notch.

"Sure, I called him last night. If Quincy really is our killer, the Bureau is going to have a little bit of egg on its face.

"You shouldn't have done that. Dammit!"

"I can't speak to Everett? Christ, you really do hate my guts." Montgomery wandered over to the refrigerator.

Glenda remained poised in the middle of the kitchen. Her hands were clenched into fists at her side. Her heart was beating too fast. She was angrier than she'd ever been, angrier than she probably should've been. Except… Except Everett would now call Quincy back. The SAC would have no choice. He'd bring Quincy back and if there really was someone out to get him …

You asshole, Montgomery. Why couldn't you wait? What's one more afternoon, one more day of due diligence? Stupid son of a bitch.

The phone rang; the answering machine clicked on. Glenda raised a hand, and began to slowly and methodically rub her temples. It didn't ease the ache. She didn't know what to believe anymore. Montgomery raised in-; teresting points, and if Quincy had committed the mur-| der then it was her job to track him down.

And yet, if he hadn't. If he'd told the truth… Then they were doing exactly what the UNSUB.wanted. Three highly skilled federal agents were danc-i to a killer's tune. And Quincy, what could he do if Everett ordered him to come in? The minute he walked through Bureau doors, he would be forced to surrender his creds and his gun. He wouldn't be much help to his daughter then. But what was his other option? Become an outlaw to protect Kimberly? It would never work. The Bureau had long arms, particularly when faced with embarrassing situations such as policing its own.