Morganstern shook his head. "No, you’re just a little fatigued, that’s all. None of this conversation is going in my report. I meant it when I said it was between you and me. You’re way past due for some time off, but that’s my fault, not yours. I want you to take a month off now and get your mind centered again."

A hint of a smile softened Nick’s bleak expression. "Center my mind?"

"Chill out," he explained. "Or try to anyway. When was the last time you went up to Nathan’s Bay to see that big family of yours?"

"It’s been a while," Nick admitted. "I keep in touch with all of them by E-mail. Everyone’s as busy as I am."

"Go home," he said. "It’ll be good for you. Your folks will be glad to see you again. How’s the judge doing?"

"Dad’s fine," Nick answered.

"What about your friend Father Madden?"

"I talk to Tommy every night."

"By E-mail?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you ought to go see him and have those talks face-to-face."

"You think I need a little spiritual guidance?" Nick asked with a grin.

"I think you need a little laughter."

"Yeah, I probably do," he agreed. He grew serious once again and said, "Pete, about my instincts. Do you think I’m losing my edge?"

Morganstern scoffed at the notion. "Your instincts couldn’t be The Stark woman fooled everyone but you. Everyone," he repeated more forcefully. "Her relatives, her friends and neighbors, church group. She didn’t fool you, though. Oh, I’m sure the locals would have eventually figured it out, but by then that little boy would be dead and buried, and she would have snatched another one. You know as well as I do that once they start, they don’t stop."

Pete tapped the thick manila folder with his knuckles. "In the interviews, I read all about how she sat next to the poor mother’s side day in and day out, comforting her. She was on the church’s grieving committee," he added with a shake of his head. He looked as though even he, who had seen and heard it all before, was shocked by the Stark woman’s gall.

"The police talked to everyone in that church group, and they couldn’t find anything," Nick said. "They weren’t real thorough," he added. "But then it was a tiny little town and the sheriff didn’t know what to look for."

"He was smart enough not to wait. He called us in right away," Morganstern said. "He and the other locals were convinced that a transient had taken the boy, weren’t they? And that’s where all of their efforts were focused."

"Yes," Nick agreed. "It’s difficult to believe that one of your own could do such a thing. They had a couple of witnesses who had seen a vagrant hanging around the schoolyard, but their descriptions didn’t match. The team from Cincinnati were on their way," he added. "And they would have figured her game out real quick."

"What exactly was it that tipped you off? How did you know?"

"Little things out of sync," he replied. "I can’t explain what it was that bothered me about her or why I decided to follow her home."

"I can explain it. Instinct."

"I guess so," he agreed. "I knew I was going to do a real thorough check on her. Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I got this weird, gut feeling about her, and it got stronger as soon as I walked into her house… you know what I mean?"

"Explain it. What was the house like?"

"Immaculate. I couldn’t see a speck of dust or dirt anywhere. The living room was small-a couple of easy chairs, sofa, TV-but, you know what was odd, Pete? There weren’t any pictures on the walls or family photos. Yeah, I remember I thought that was real odd. She had plastic covers on her furniture. I guess a lot of people do that. I don’t know. Anyway, like I said, it was spotless, but it smelled peculiar."

"What land of smell was it?"

"Vinegar… and ammonia. The smell was so strong it made my eyes burn. I figured she was just a compulsive housecleaner… and then I followed her into the kitchen. It was clean as a whistle. Not a thing sitting on the counters, not a towel draped on the sink, nothing. She told me to have a seat while she fixed us a cup of coffee, and then I noticed the stuff she had on the table. There were salt and pepper shakers, but in between was a huge clear plastic container of pink antacid tablets, and next to it was a ketchup-size bottle of hot sauce. I thought that was damned peculiar… and then I saw the dog. The animal tipped the scales. It was a black cocker spaniel sitting in the corner by the back door. He never took his eyes off her. She put a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table and when she turned her back to get the coffee, I took one of the cookies and put it down by my side, to see if the dog would come and get it, but he never even looked at me. Hell, he was too afraid to blink, and he was watching her every move. If the sheriff had seen the dog with her, he would have known something was real wrong, but when he interviewed her, the cocker was outside in the pen."

"He went inside her house and didn’t notice anything unusual."

"I was lucky, and she was arrogant and reckless."

"What made you go back inside after you left her house?"

"I was going to get some backup and wait and see where she went, but as soon as I got outside, I knew I had to go back in, and I had this feeling she knew I was on to her. And I knew that the boy was somewhere in that house."

"Your instincts couldn’t be better tuned," Morganstern said. "That’s why I went after you, you know."

"I know. The infamous football game."

Morganstern smiled. "I just saw it again on CNN Sports a couple of weeks ago. They must run that clip at least twice a year."

"I wish they’d give it a rest. It’s old news."

The two men stood. Nick towered over his boss. Morganstern, in his tasseled black leather loafers, was five feet eight inches tall, and Nick was over six feet. His boss was slightly built, with thinning blond hair that was quickly going gray, and his thick bifocals were constantly slipping down the bridge of his narrow nose. He always wore a conservative black or navy suit with a long-sleeved, white, starched shirt and muted striped tie. To the casual observer, Morganstern looked like a nerdy university professor, but to the agents under his supervision, he was, in every respect, a giant of a man who handled the hellacious job and the horrific pressures with unruffled ease.

"I’ll see you in a month, Nick, but not a day before. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

His superior started out the door, then paused. "Are you still getting sick every time you get on a plane?"

"Is there anything you don’t know about me?"

"I don’t believe there is."

"Yeah? When was the last time I got laid?"

Morganstern pretended to be shocked by the question. "It’s been a long while, Agent. Apparently you’re going through a dry spell."

Nick laughed. "Is that right?"

"One of these days you’ll meet the right woman, heaven help her."

"I’m not looking for the right woman."

Morganstern smiled a fatherly smile. "And that, you see, is exactly when you’ll find her. You won’t be looking, and she’ll blindside you, just like my Katie blindsided me. I never had a chance, and I predict you won’t either. She’s out there somewhere, just waiting for you."

"Then she’s going to have a hell of a long wait," he replied. "In our line of work, marriage isn’t in the equation."

"Katie and I have managed for over twenty years."

"Katie’s a saint."

"You didn’t answer my question, Nick. Do you?"

"Get sick every time I get on a plane? Hell, yes."

Morganstern chuckled. "Good luck getting home then."

"You know, Pete, most psychiatrists would try to get to the bottom of my phobia, but you get a kick out of it, don’t you?"

He laughed again. "See you in a month," he repeated as he strolled out of the office.