"I had her."

"Mandy had standards. You never so much as held her hand."

Albert scowled, so he'd struck a nerve. But the disgruntled agent quickly scrambled to make up lost ground. "Your daughter was a real friendly girl, Quince. Lunches, dinners, breakfasts. Didn't take any time at all to learn all about the rest of the family. And so many fascinating details about you, Pierce. Your habits, your home security system, your pathetic letters trying to keep in touch with your oldest daughter and build some kind of relationship."

"Handwriting samples," he deduced. "Material to copy as the UNSUB prepared the note for Philadelphia. For that matter, stationery."

Albert merely smiled. His gaze flicked once again to the wall clock.

"I was at Mandy's one night when you called," Albert said. "Got to hear one helluva stilted conversation, that was for sure. Really, Quince, you never did understand your own daughter. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"He milked her for information," he said softly. "And then he killed her."

"I came up with the idea. Get her drunk and behind the wheel of the car. It was a little risky. Maybe she didn't die right away. Maybe she regained consciousness. In the end, who cared? She was so damn drunk, she'd never remember what really happened, and we could always arrange a little accident in the hospital."

"We?"

"I," Albert said hastily. "I could arrange a little accident. I considered her murder a little test, Quince. Would you catch on? How good was Quantico 's best of the best? But, true to form, when it comes to your family your instincts are a complete zero. Hell, you didn't even stay at her bedside. Just showed up and agreed to pull the plug. You helped kill your daughter, Quince. Not that I mind, but how do you feel about that?"

He ignored the question. "You used her to approach Bethie."

"Sure. Mandy told us… me! all about her mom. Favorite restaurants, favorite music, favorite food. It's not rocket science after that. And I do have my charm."

"Bethie hates charm. He approached her as an organ recipient. He disguised himself as part of Mandy."

Albert's eyes widened. He clearly hadn't known they knew that much. His gaze dashed to the clock. The time seemed to soothe him. He took a deep breath and eyed his interrogator more warily.

"When I'm brilliant, Quincy, I'm brilliant," Albert tried.

Quincy merely shook his head. "He had to wait over a year for Mandy to die. Did that make him anxious? That couldn't have been part of his plan."

"Patience is a virtue," Albert said.

"No, he got nervous. He needed my attention for the game to be interesting. So he used Mary Olsen to raise my suspicion."

"I didn't want destroying you to be too easy," Albert said. "After fifteen years of planning, a guy's gotta have a little fun."

"Mary Olsen is dead."

That shocked him. Albert's gaze widened again and this time, he distinctly paled. "Ummm, yeah."

"How'd you kill her, Albert?"

"I…uh…"

"Gun, knife?"

"I shot her!"

"You poisoned her, asshole!" He felt a spark of anger, then checked himself, and said more sternly, "She received a care package in the mail, chocolates from her lover, laced with cyanide. Horrible way to die."

"Stupid bitch," Albert muttered. He was definitely uncomfortable now. His fingers drummed on the table.

"How do you think he'll kill you?"

"Shut up!" His eyes shot to the clock.

"Poison? Or something more personal? You're a liability, Albert. A big, fat liability who, thanks to Glenda, is in no shape to run and hide."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

"Or did you forget that from the Sanchez case? Psychopaths can have partners, but partners are never equal. Miguel Sanchez lived. His partner, Richie, died on a prison floor with his balls crammed down his throat."

Albert shot up from his chair. The movement jarred the supporting chair from beneath his injured leg and his cast fell heavily to the floor, making him yelp. Albert gripped the edge of the table to keep himself from falling, then glared at him with a face mottled with rage.

"You just fucking blew it!" he roared. "I was gonna tell you where your father is. I was gonna take pity on the pathetic old man. But not now. Now he can rot where he is, tied up, starving, shitting in his own pants and getting bedsores from his piss. How do you like them apples, you arrogant prick!"

"My father is dead," he said quietly, though he really didn't know that and his heart had begun to beat hard in his chest. This was the big risk. The life-or-death gamble. If he was wrong… I'm sorry. Lord have mercy, because I cannot. "My father is dead," he repeated more forcefully. "We already found his body."

"Impossible!"

"Would you like to go to the morgue to see him?"

"But he shouldn't have washed up for days, not after all the weights we put on him." Albert suddenly heard his own words. He drew up short, then burst out, "You tricked me. Goddammit, you ice-cold son of a bitch, you gave up on your own dad!"

"All in a day's work," he murmured, though his throat felt tight now. He had an ache in his chest. Montgomery was a monster. The UNSUB was a monster. God, he was sick of all of this.

"It's over, Albert," he said hoarsely. "You're nothing but a liability now. You either talk to us, or you die for him."

"You don't know shit!"

"Tell that to Mary Olsen."

"Dammit, I'm the one in charge here."

"Then prove it! Tell us something we don't know. Dazzle me!"

Albert froze. He suddenly smiled. He drew himself up straight. His gaze was on the wall clock again, but this time he made no attempt to hide it.

"Hey Quincy," he said. "Here's something interesting. Mandy wasn't the first target. Mandy didn't give up her family. Kimberly did."

"What?"

"Oh, look at the time. Four-fourteen P.M. Why don't you call your daughter's hotel room, Quincy? Reach out and chastise Kimberly who's staying right where Everett told me she would be. Oh wait, I'm sorry, you won't be able to reach your daughter anymore. Four-fifteen P.M. Time's up, Agent. And your daughter is dead."

Portland,Oregon

When the phone on the coffee table finally rang, Rainie nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Shit," she said, then glanced hastily over at Kimberly.

"Shit," Kimberly agreed. One P.M. Much later than they had thought and they were both now wound too tight. Rainie scooped up the phone before it could ring again.

"Hello."

"Rainie? It's Luke. I got a problem."

"What problem?" she said without thinking. Then her eyes widened and she motioned furiously to Kimberly. The girl got the hint and ran for her Glock.

"I'm not convinced this afternoon's meeting is the way to go, Rainie," the man was saying. "Maybe too risky. Can we meet ahead of time and talk about it?"

"My God, you're a perfect mimic," Rainie murmured. "If I didn't know any better…"

"What's that?" He sounded friendly and still so much like Luke Hayes that even knowing better, one part of her kept thinking it was him. But it wasn't. He was simply a person with a superb aptitude for mimicry and an extremely cruel sense of humor.

"How did you get this number?" she asked.

"I looked up the hotel."

"I never told you where we were staying, Luke."

"Sure you did. When we met with Mitz."

"No, I didn't. And Luke knew better than to ask where I would be. Nice try. Super Freak. Wanna try again?"

The voice changed instantly, from an almost dead-on impression of Luke Hayes to the silky, smooth voice Rainie remembered from yesterday on the phone. "Why Ms. Conner, you don't trust your own friends. How interesting. You know Bethie surprised me, too. She actually requested a background check on me. What do you suppose it means that all the women in Quincy 's life are so suspicious?"