“Now, how many years of therapy has it taken you to say that in such a calm, clear voice?”

“More than most suspect,” she admitted grudgingly.

“Come on, sugar. Let’s take a seat.” He headed out into the green field of the range without looking back. It amazed her how easy it was to follow him.

The grass was nice. Soft beneath her battered body. Cool against her bare, sweat-slicked legs. She lay back, with her knees pointed at the sky and her short, serrated hunting knife snug against the inside of her left leg. Mac lay down beside her. Close. His shoulder brushing hers. She found his proximity faintly shocking, but she didn’t move away.

He’d showered since their meeting with Kaplan and Watson. He smelled like soap and some kind of spicy men’s aftershave. She imagined that his hair was probably still damp. For that matter, his cheeks had appeared freshly shaven when he’d walked through the glow cast by the streetlight. Had he cleaned up for her? Would it matter if he had?

She liked the smell of his soap, she decided, and left it at that.

“Stars are out,” he said conversationally.

“They do that at night.”

“You noticed? Here I thought you driven new agent types were too busy for those kinds of things.”

“In personal combat training, we get to spend a lot of time on our backs. It helps.”

He reached over and brushed her cheek. The contact was so unexpected, she flinched.

“A blade of grass,” he said calmly. “Stuck to your cheek. Don’t worry, honey. I’m not gonna attack you. I know you’re armed.”

“And if I wasn’t?”

“Why then, I’d roll you right here and now, of course. Being a testosterone-bound male who’s prone to that kind of brutish behavior.”

“I don’t mean it that way.”

“You don’t like touching much, do you? I mean, biting, flipping and beating the bejesus out of me aside.”

“I’m not… used to it. My family was never very demonstrative.”

He seemed to consider that. “If you don’t mind me saying, your father seems wound a bit tight.”

“My father is wound way tight. And my mother came from an upper-class family. As you can imagine, holidays were a gay, frolicking time in our home. You wouldn’t believe the boisterous outbreaks.”

“My family’s loud,” he volunteered casually. “Not big, but definitely demonstrative. My father still grabs my mother around the waist and tries to lure her into dark corners. As an adult, I appreciate their relationship. As a kid… Hell, we were scared to death not to announce ourselves before walking down a darkened hall.”

Kimberly smiled faintly. “You got an education?”

“Heavens, yes. It’s sweet, though, I suppose. My father’s a civil engineer who designs roads for the state. My mother teaches high school English. Who would’ve thought they’d be so happy?”

“Siblings?”

“One sister. Younger, of course. I terrorized her for most of our childhood. On the other hand, every time I fell asleep in the family room, she put makeup on my face and took pictures. So I guess it evens itself out. Plus, I’m the only man you’ll ever meet who understands just how hard it is to remove waterproof mascara. And I guess I’ll never run for political office. The photos alone would ruin me.”

“What does she do now?”

“Marybeth’s a kindergarten teacher, so in other words, she’s tougher than most cops. Has gotta be to keep all those little critters in line. Maybe when they fall asleep, she puts makeup on their faces, too. I’m too scared to ask.”

“You’re the only police officer in your family.”

“I have a cuz who’s a fireman. That’s pretty close.”

She smiled again. “They sound like fun.”

“They are,” he agreed, and she heard the genuine affection in his voice. “I mean, they could still use some good training and all. But as families go, they’re keepers. Do you miss your mother and sister?” he asked abruptly.

“Yes.”

“Should I shut up?”

“Would you obey me if I said yes?”

“No. I suppose I need some training, too. Besides, the stars are out. You should always talk when you’re lying beneath the stars.”

“I hadn’t heard that before,” Kimberly said, but she turned her face up toward the night sky, feeling the hot air against her face, and it did make it easier. “My family wasn’t happy. Not in the typical way. But we tried. I give us credit for that. We wanted to be happy, so we tried. I guess you could say we were earnest.”

“Your parents divorced?”

“Eventually. When we were teens. But the problems were way before that. The usual cop stuff. My father had a demanding job, worked long hours. And my mom… She’d been raised expecting something different. She would’ve done well with a banker, I think. Or even a doctor; the hours would’ve been just as bad, but at least her husband would’ve held a title with a certain level of decorum. My father, on the other hand, was an FBI profiler. He dealt in death, extreme violent death each and every day. I don’t think she ever got used to that. I don’t think she ever stopped finding it distasteful.”

“It’s a good job,” Mac said quietly.

She turned toward him, finding herself surprisingly serious. “I think so. I was always proud of him. Even when he had to leave in the middle of birthday parties or missed them altogether. His job sounded so larger-than-life to me. Like something a superhero would do. People got hurt. And my father went to save the day. I missed him, I’m sure I had tantrums, but mostly I remember feeling proud. My daddy was cool. For my sister, however, it was another story.”

“Older or younger?”

“Mandy was older. She was also… different. High-strung. Sensitive. A little wild. I think my first memory of her is her being yelled at for breaking something. She struggled with our parents. I mean, really, truly struggled. They were so by-the-book and she was so color-outside-the-lines. And life was harder for her in other ways. She took things to heart too much. One harsh word and she was wounded for days. One wrong look and she’d be devastated. She had nightmares, was prone to crying jags and had genuine fits. My father’s job terrified her. My parents’ divorce shattered her. And adulthood didn’t get much easier.”

“She sounds intense.”

“She was.” For a moment, Kimberly was silent. “You know what gets to me, though? You know what’s truly ironic?”

“What?”

“She needed us. She was exactly the kind of person that my father and I have sworn our lives to protect. She wasn’t tough. She made bad choices. She drank too much, she dated the wrong men, she believed anyone’s pack of lies. God, she desperately needed someone to save her from herself. And we didn’t do it. I spent so much of my childhood resenting her. Crying, complaining Mandy who was always upset about something. Now, I just wonder why we didn’t take better care of her. She was in our own family. How could we fail her so completely?”

Mac didn’t say anything. He touched her cheek again. Gently. With his thumb. She felt the slow rasp of his work-roughened skin all the way down to her jaw line. It made her shiver. Then it made her want to close her eyes, and arch her back like a cat.

“Another blade of grass?” she whispered.

“No,” he said softly.

She turned toward him then, knowing her eyes said too much, knowing she needed more armor, but helpless to find it now.

“They don’t believe you,” she said softly.

“I know.” His fingers traced along her jaw, lingered at the curve of her ear.

“My father’s good. Very good. But like all investigators, he’s meticulous. He’s going to start at the very beginning and have to work his way toward your conclusion. Maybe on another case it wouldn’t matter. But if you’re right, and there’s another girl already out there…”

“Clock’s ticking,” Mac murmured. The rough pads of his fingers returned along her jaw, then feathered down her neck. She could feel her chest rising and falling faster. As if she were running once more through the woods. Was she running toward something this time, or was she still running away?