David Gould was scheduled for an early flight out of Savannah that would get him to Suffolk County, Virginia, in an hour. From there his lawyer would pick him up and they would drive to meet with his wife and her attorney in order to get the divorce papers signed and finalized. If all went smoothly, he would be back to Savannah by early evening.

It was still dark when he boarded the small commuter jet, carrying nothing but a briefcase with copies of the divorce papers plus some notes on the TTX case. He tried to tell himself that once the papers were signed everything would be over. He wouldn't have to think about Beth again.

Right.

The flight departed ten minutes ahead of schedule.

As David leaned his forehead against the window and watched the airport shrink below him, he tried to empty his mind, a trick he'd learned from a man who taught transcendental meditation. It didn't work this time. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure it had ever worked, because he now understood something he hadn't understood at the time: He could really fool the shit out of himself.

A guy had to be careful about creating his own reality. Because you could get lost in it, so lost that it was hard to get back to the real world.

He had two excuses for his early infatuation with Beth: youth and hormones. Those things together could slant a person's perspective more than heavy drugs.

David Gould and Beth Anderson had been high school sweethearts. That in itself should have been a warning, because at age sixteen most people aren't who they're going to become. Often, they aren't even close.

But you think you are. At sixteen, you think you know everything, and when sex is part of the equation it's hard as hell for a guy to think straight.

Now that he was an adult, David could see his relationship with Beth for what it had been-a purely physical attraction, as shallow as that was.

The shallowness was something he would never have admitted at the time. On the outside, Beth was the perfect woman, with the attributes a male looked for in a potential mate.

It had been biological, all about the continuation of the species, with no logic involved. She had the requisite full lips. She had the correct waist-to-hip ratio. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Great skin, full breasts. And so healthy. Vibrant. His mate radar was saying she would be a good mother who would produce healthy, beautiful children.

And she did.

A boy. A beautiful baby boy.

It was a tedious, unremarkable story, almost embarrassing in its plot. He was in his second year of college, and she was a high school senior when she became pregnant.

Had she sensed that he was drifting away? Had she known he was beginning to notice other girls on campus? Had she suspected he was beginning to think of her as too young, too immature? Had she noticed how he'd changed? How their interests were no longer the same?

Had she become pregnant on purpose?

These were all questions he'd asked himself over the years, but at the time of her announcement there was no question, only the answer to what they must do, what they had always planned to do anyway, which was get married.

Two days after she graduated from high school, they were married and she immediately joined him at George Mason University in Fairfax, Virginia. And when the baby came, a beautiful boy with blond hair and blue eyes, David was happy. Blindly happy.

Warning signs had been there, but he'd missed them. Beth attended to Christian's needs, but didn't cuddle with him or laugh with him. She seemed to resent her own child, blaming him for an unsatisfying marriage.

David got his degree in criminal psychology and joined the FBI. Beth had been proud of that, and by the time he made it through training, they began to talk of having another child.

His beautiful boy…

Reading him a bedtime story by lamplight.

Tucking him in, trusting little arms wrapping around your neck, fine hair that smelled like newness and innocence.

As an FBI agent, his schedule became erratic. He worked long hours. Beth was bored. Deeply depressed. She didn't get along with the other FBI wives, so she had no one to confide in.

A.n FBI agent's marriage could go either way. Sometimes the job made for a strong relationship at home, and sometimes it was a recipe for failure. David's fell into the failure category.

"You never make me laugh anymore," she once complained.

"I can. I will."

But it was too late.

Beth had an affair.

And one affair just seemed to call for another.

David had been willing to stay together for his son, afraid he might lose Christian, but she'd insisted upon a divorce. Because of his job, she was granted custody, just as he'd feared. Christian could visit every other weekend, plus rotating holidays.

The plane landed, jolting David back to the present.

He was met by his lawyer, Ira Cummings, a serious and sad man. A good man.

Ira drove like he did everything else, with rapid efficiency. Within forty-five minutes of David's plane landing, they were pulling into the parking lot of Sussex I Prison, a maximum-security, high-level prison that housed Virginia 's death row population.

They were expected, so it was a matter of signing in; then a guard led them through a series of computerized sliding metal doors with locks until they reached the meeting room. The guard took her place near the door, while cameras watched from every corner.

The long rectangular table was bolted to the floor, and the chairs were attached by chains. A man in a suit sat at one end; a woman faced the door. It took a moment for David to recognize the woman as Beth.

She was fat.

Not yet obese, but she'd probably put on forty pounds. Dressed in an orange jumpsuit, she sat staring at the surface of the table, her hair hanging limply on either side of her face.

He and his lawyer took seats across from her.

She slowly raised her head until she was staring into his eyes, hatred and a smug cockiness radiating from her, a smirk on her lips.

She'd won. Even though she was in prison, she'd won.

You bitch. You evil, evil bitch.

She must have read his mind, because her smile got a little bigger.

It had been his weekend to get Christian. She didn't like David to come to her apartment, so they usually met someplace neutral like McDonald's. That way Christian could get a Happy Meal. That way it could seem like a friendly little outing.

She was late. Not unusual. For her to be on time would have been a bigger surprise.

David ordered a soda and waited, staring out the window into the parking lot while kids played and shrieked behind him in the indoor playground. Fifteen minutes later, he called her apartment. No answer.

Must be on her way.

He waited another fifteen. And another.

He tossed his cup, got in the car, and headed for her place.

Traffic was heavy, and it took him almost half an hour. When he arrived, her car wasn't in the lot.

He knocked on the door. Nobody answered.

He tried the knob.

Unlocked.

The door swung open as if the place had been expecting him.

His heart began to thud in his chest.

"Beth?"

He listened for an answer. When he didn't get one, he followed with his son's name.

The apartment was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator.

His gaze shot around the kitchen and living room; then he was running up the carpeted steps.

Drip, drip, drip.

Coming from the bathroom.

Drip, drip, drip.

A leaking faucet.

He moved down the narrow, carpeted hallway, following the sound.

The bathroom door was ajar. He slowly pushed it open. Slowly stepped inside.

Lying facedown in a tub of water, blond hair spread around his head, was his son.

"No! God, no!"

David pulled him from the tub, turning the child in his arms, water gushing around him. He attempted CPR, but it was too late.

Christian's skin was blue. His lips were almost black.

He'd been dead a long time.

David let out a cry of anguish and hugged the dead child to him, out of his mind with grief.

A sound made him look up.

Beth stood in the doorway, her eyes red and swollen from tears, clutching the cat, Isobel.

"Wh-what happened? What happened?" David asked, unconsciously rocking his dead child, unable to comprehend.

"He told me if I got rid of the kid, he'd marry me."

She stroked the cat, cuddled the cat, tilting her head toward it.

"Wh-what? Wh-what are you talking about?"

" Franklin. He said if I got rid of Christian, he'd marry me. So I did. Then I called him to come and get me, but he refused. He hung up on me."

"Y-you did this? Y-you murdered our child?"

The tone of his voice frightened the cat. It squirmed and jumped from Beth's arms, disappearing from the room.

"I had no choice," Beth said.

He had no memory of the next few seconds. Rage was like that.

He didn't know exactly how he got from the floor to her, but suddenly he had her by the throat, pressing his thumbs into her trachea, shutting off the murdering bitch's air.

He would have killed her if the police hadn't come. Her boyfriend had called them, saying he thought his girlfriend may have murdered her child. One more minute and David would have been in prison too.

Killing her would have been worth prison.

"I'm not sure I'm going to sign those," Beth said from her chair across the table.

The lawyers looked at each other.

Her lawyer cleared his throat. "Come on, Beth. Sign."

David wouldn't have even had to come, but he'd thought doing it in person would give him the closure that had been eluding him for so long.

She signed. Paper after paper. When she was done, she tossed the pen down. It slid across the table and hit the floor. Her lawyer had to retrieve it, examining it with concern.

David signed, and they were done.

"You creep! It's all your fault," Beth shouted, her face contorted with rage and hatred. "All your fault! Look what you've done to me! I could have been somebody! I could have been a model. An actress."

She stuck out her chin, displaying a plump and ravaged face. "Look at me now! LOOK AT ME!"

He turned and walked from the room, his shoulders sagging with an incredible weight, while she continued to scream after him.