Him. Lena had always come to Jeffrey when she had a problem, whether she needed something as small as a ride into work or as big as taking care of her asshole white supremacist boyfriend. This time was different, though. This time she had gone too far. Valentine was right about one thing: on purpose or not, Sara had aided Lena 's escape. Lena was a cop; she knew the law better than most lawyers. She'd known exactly what she was dropping Sara into and she hadn't cared.

In the quiet of the car, Sara asked, 'What now?'

'We go back home.' He could feel her looking at him, trying to figure out if he was serious. 'I mean it, Sara. This is it.'

'You're just going to leave Lena down here to rot?'

'After what she said to you? What she did to you?' He shook his head, his mind made up. 'It's over. I don't care what happens to her.'

'Did you see her reaction when we walked into that room?'

'I heard what she said.' He felt his anger spark back up at the memory. 'There's no choice here, Sara. She used you. I'm not going to help her.'

'I've never seen her so afraid. She's usually completely in control of herself.'

He snorted at the idea. 'Maybe with you.'

'You're right. She never shows me her weak side. It's always this act, this posturing about how tough and invincible she is.' Sara insisted, 'That wasn't an act back there, Jeffrey. Maybe later, but when she saw us in her room, she was absolutely terrified.'

'Then why not talk to me? Or at least to you? She had you alone. She knew you weren't going to run off and tell the sheriff anything. Why didn't she confide in you?'

'Because she's scared.'

'Then she should've just shut up and left you out of it.'

Sara spoke carefully. I appreciate that you're taking up for me, but just think about it for a minute: Lena knew that if she hurt me, you would do exactly what you're doing right now. She didn't want me to leave town, Jeffrey. She wanted you to.'

Jeffrey gripped the steering wheel, not wanting to admit that Sara could be right. 'Since when did you start taking up for Lena Adams?'

'Since…' Sara's voice trailed off. 'Since I saw her scared enough to risk everything in order to get you away from this town.'

He saw the scene again, the way Lena had reacted. Sara was right: Lena wasn't faking her fear. She hadn't looked Jeffrey in the eye because she knew that he was probably the only person in the world who knew when she was lying.

Sara said, 'I've seen her in a lot of bad situations, but I've never seen her terrified like that.'

Jeffrey let her words hang between them as over and over, he replayed Lena 's response in his mind, trying to figure out what it had to do with the dead body in the torched Cadillac.

Sara told him, 'She said that I should be afraid.'

'Did she say why?'

'She went into this pity thing about how everything she touches turns to crap. I thought she was feeling sorry for herself, but now I think she realized what she was doing wasn't working, so she decided to try something else.' Sara shook her head. 'She's terrified, Jeffrey – so terrified that she's willing to cut you out of her life if she has to. You're the only constant she's ever had. What's so horrible that she's willing to lose you?'

'Did you ever think maybe she's right?' he responded, not wanting to answer her question. 'Maybe it's a good idea that I don't get involved.'

She gave something like a laugh. 'You're not going to leave this alone.'

'You sound pretty sure about that.'

'Seven-eight-zero, A-B-N.' She paused, as if she expected an answer. 'Isn't that what you wrote on the back of the card – the license plate number from the white car?'

Jeffrey took out the card, checked the number on the back. 780 ABN. As usual, Sara had perfect recall. He glanced at his wife. She was staring out the window, keeping her thoughts to herself. He knew that she was no longer regretting the fact that she'd come to the hospital with him. She was regretting that he was there, that Lena had yet again managed to pull Jeffrey into something dangerous.

Sara was a cop's wife, and she had absorbed a cop's mistrust of coincidence. The thug in the white sedan had shown up less than thirty minutes after Lena 's escape. Even from where she sat in the BMW, the tattoo on the man's arm must have stood out to Sara like a neon sign.

It's hard not to notice a blood-red, four-inch swastika.

Sara paced around the motel room with the phone tucked up against her ear, the cord limiting her movement like a leash on a dog. Both Sara and Jeffrey had been relieved when they had seen the 'vacancy' sign outside the Home Sweet Home Motel as they drove out of Reece last night, but Sara had regretted their decision to stay the moment Jeffrey had opened the door. The place was almost from a parallel universe, the kind of dump that Sara thought only existed in B movies and Raymond Chandler novels. Just thinking about the dank shag carpet in the bathroom was enough to bring a shudder of revulsion. Making matters worse, neither Jeffrey's nor Sara's cell phone could get a signal in the motel. Sara had used all the alcohol swabs she could find in the first-aid kit from her car before she could even think about using the phone.

'What did you say?' her mother asked. She was somewhere in Kansas. Her parents were only two weeks into their road trip and already Sara could tell that Cathy was desperate to return home.

'I said that Daddy's not that bad,' Sara answered, thinking it was a rare day indeed that she felt compelled to defend her father. Cathy and Eddie Linton had been married for over forty years, yet Sara had guessed from the beginning that their dream vacation together was a big mistake. The fact was, her parents did not spend much time in each other's company, let alone stuck in a confined space. Her father was always at work or fooling around in the garage, while her mother usually had some meeting to attend, a rally to organize, or a church group that took her away from home for hours on end. Their independence was the secret to their happy marriage. The thought of them both trapped in the thirty-seven-foot Winnebago they had purchased for their two-month-long trek across America was enough to give Sara a headache.

I just never realized how irritating he can be,' her mother insisted. She was obviously in the kitchen of the RV; Sara could hear cabinets opening and closing. 'How hard is it to hook up to a waste trap? The man is a plumber, for the love of God.' She gave a heavy sigh. 'Two hours, Sara. It took him two whole hours.'

Sara held her tongue, though her mother had a point. On the other hand, her father was probably dragging out the chore in order to prolong his life.

'Are you listening to a word I'm saying?'

'Yes, Mama,' Sara lied. She was wearing thick socks, but she used her big toe to prod a green MStM that seemed to be stuck in the carpet by the window. 'Two hours.'

Her mother was silent for a moment, then said, 'Tell me what happened.'

Sara gave up on the M amp;cM when her sock kept getting stuck to the candy. She resumed pacing. I told you what happened. I let her escape. I might as well have opened the door for her and driven her to the airport.'

'Not that,' Cathy insisted. 'You know what I'm talking about.'

It was Sara's turn to sigh. She was almost glad she'd made a fool of herself last night at ^he hospital because Lena 's rapid departure had given Sara a new thing to toss and turn over when she was supposed to be sleeping. Now, her mother's question brought the malpractice suit firmly back into her consciousness.

Sara told her, 'I would say their strategy is to claim that because I was attacked ten years ago, I was too distracted to tell the Powells that Jimmy had leukemia, and that he died because I waited an extra day.'