They packed plenty of ammo, water, Culbeau's cell phone and food. 'Shine of course.

Sleeping bags, too. Though none of them expected the hunt to last very long.

A grim Lincoln Rhyme wheeled into the dismantled forensic lab in the Paquenoke County Building.

Lucy Kerr and Mason Germain stood beside the fiberboard table that had held the microscopes. Their arms were crossed and, as Thom and Rhyme entered, both deputies regarded the criminalist and his aide with a blend of contempt and suspicion.

"How the hell could she do it?" Mason asked. "What was she thinking of?"

But these were two of many questions about Amelia Sachs and what she'd done that couldn't be answered, not yet, and so Rhyme asked merely, "Was anybody hurt?"

"No," Lucy said. "But Nathan was pretty shook up, looking down the barrel of that Smith and Wesson. Which we were crazy enough to give her."

Rhyme struggled to remain outwardly calm, yet his heart was pierced with fear for Sachs. Lincoln Rhyme trusted evidence before all else and the evidence showed clearly that Garrett Hanlon was a kidnapper and killer. Sachs, tricked by his calculated facade, was as much at risk as Mary Beth or Lydia.

Jim Bell entered the room.

"Did she take a car?" Rhyme continued.

"I don't think so," Bell said. "I asked around. No vehicles missing yet."

Bell looked at the map, still taped to the wall. "This isn't an easy area to get out of and not get seen. Lot of marshland, not many roads. I've -"

Lucy said, "Get some dogs, Jim. Irv Wanner runs a couple hounds for the state police. Call Captain Dexter in Elizabeth City and get Irv's number. He'll track 'em down."

"Good idea," Bell said. "We'll -"

"I want to propose something," Rhyme interrupted.

Mason gave a cold laugh.

"What?" Bell asked.

"I'll make a deal with you."

"No deals," Bell said. "She's a fleeing felon. And armed, to boot."

"She's not going to shoot anybody," Thom said.

Rhyme continued, "Amelia's convinced there's no other way to find Mary Beth. That's why she did it. They're going to where she's being held."

"Doesn't matter," Bell said. "You can't go breaking murderers out of jail."

"Give me twenty-four hours before you call the state police. I'll find them for you. We can work something out with the charges. But if troopers and dogs get involved we all know they'll play it by the book and that means there's a good chance of people getting hurt."

"That's a hell of a deal, Lincoln," Bell said. "Your friend busts out our prisoner -"

"He wouldn't be your prisoner if it weren't for me. You never would've found him on your own."

"No damn way," Mason said. "We're wasting time and they're getting farther away every minute we've wasted talking. I'm of a mind to get every man in town out looking for ' em now. Deputize the lot. Do what Henry Davett suggested. Pass out rifles and -"

Bell interrupted him and asked Rhyme, "If we give you your twenty-four hours then what's in it for us?"

"I'll stay and help you find Mary Beth. However long it takes."

Thom said, "The operation, Lincoln…"

"Forget the operation," he muttered, feeling the despair as he said this. He knew that Dr. Weaver's schedule was so tight that if he missed his appointed date on the table he'd have to go back on the waiting list. Then it crossed his mind that one reason Sachs had done this was to keep Rhyme from having the surgery. To buy a few more days and give him a chance to change his mind. But he pushed this thought aside, raging to himself: Find her, save her. Before Garrett adds her to the list of his victims.

Stung 137 times.

Lucy said, "We're looking at a bit of, what would you say, divided loyalty here, aren't we?"

Mason: "Yeah, how do we know you aren't gonna send us 'round Robin Hood's barn and let her get away?"

"Because," Rhyme said patiently, "Amelia's wrong. Garrett is a murderer and he just used her to break out of jail. Once he doesn't need her he'll kill her."

Bell paced for a moment, gazing up at the map. "Okay, we'll do it, Lincoln. You've got twenty-four hours."

Mason sighed. "And how the hell're you going to find her in that wilderness?" He motioned toward the map. "You just going to call her up and ask where she is?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do. Thom, let's get the equipment set up again. And somebody get Ben Kerr back here!"

Lucy Kerr stood in the office adjacent to the war room, on the phone.

"North Carolina State Police, Elizabeth City," the woman's crisp voice answered. "How can I help you?"

"Detective Gregg."

"Hold, please."

"'Lo?" asked a man's voice after a moment.

"Pete, s'Lucy Kerr over in Tanner's Corner."

"Hey, Lucy, how's it going? What's with those missing girls?"

"Got that under control," she said, her voice calm, though she was enraged that Bell had insisted she recite the words Lincoln Rhyme had dictated to her. "But we do have another little problem."

Little problem…

"Whatcha need? A couple troopers?"

"No, just a cell phone trace."

"Got a warrant?"

"Magistrate's clerk's faxing it to you right now."

"Gimme the phone and serial numbers."

She gave him the information.

"What's that area code, two one two?"

"It's a New York number. Party's roaming now."

"Not a problem," Gregg said. "You want a tape of the conversation?"

"Just location."

And a clear line of sight to the target…

"When… wait. Here's the fax…" A pause as he read. "Oh, just a missing person?"

"That's all," she said reluctantly.

"You know it's expensive. We'll have to bill you."

"I understand."

"Okay, hold the line, I'll call my tech people." There was a faint click.

Lucy sat on the desk, shoulders slumped, flexing her left hand, staring at fingers ruddy from years of gardening, an old scar from the metal strap on a pallet of mulch, the indentation in her ring finger from five years of wedding band.

Flex, straighten.

Watching the veins and muscles beneath the skin, Lucy Kerr realized something. That Amelia Sachs' crime had tapped into an anger within her that was more intense than anything she'd ever felt.

When they took part of her body away she'd felt ashamed and then forlorn. When her husband left she'd felt guilty and resigned. And when she finally grew mad at those events she was angry in a way that suggested embers – an anger that radiates immense heat but never bursts into flames.

But for a reason she couldn't understand, this woman cop from New York had let the simple white-hot fury burst from Lucy's heart – like the wasps that had streamed out of the nest and killed Ed Schaeffer so horribly.

White-hot fury at the betrayal of Lucy Kerr, who never intentionally caused a soul pain, who was a woman who loved plants, a woman who'd been a good wife to her man, a good daughter to her parents, a good sister, a good policewoman, a woman who wanted only the harmless pleasures life gave freely to everyone else but seemed determined to withhold from her.

No more shame or guilt or resignation or sorrow.

Simple fury – at the betrayals in her life. The betrayal by her body, by her husband, by God.

And now by Amelia Sachs.

"Hello, Lucy?" Pete asked from Elizabeth City. "You there?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"You… are you okay? You sound funny."

She cleared her throat. "Fine. You set up?"

"You're good to go. When's the subject going to be making a call?"

Lucy looked into the other room. Called, "Ready?"

Rhyme nodded.

Into the phone she said, "Any time now."