The window rattled, as though something were clawing at the glass, trying to get in. A draft of air moaned down the chimney, scattering flames and sending a gust of smoke into the room.

Grace hugged her knees to her chest. Staring up at the wavering shadows, she whispered: “Then where did all these people go?”

THE GIRL WAS TWENTY-THREE POUNDS OF NO! NO, BED! NO, SLEEP! No, no, no!

Jane and Gabriel slumped bleary-eyed on the sofa and watched their daughter, Regina, spin around and around like a pygmy dervish.

“How long can she possibly stay awake?” asked Jane.

“Longer than we can.”

“You’d think she’d get sick and throw up.”

“You would think,” said Gabriel.

“Someone has to take control here.”

“Yeah.”

“Someone has to be the parent.”

“I absolutely agree.” He looked at Jane.

“What?”

“It’s your turn to play bad cop.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re so good at it. Besides, I put her to bed the last three times. She just doesn’t listen to me.”

“Because she figured out that Mr. FBI is a total marshmallow.”

He looked at his watch. “Jane, it’s midnight.”

Their daughter only whirled faster. When I was her age, was I just as exhausting? Jane wondered. This must be what the term poetic justice meant. Someday, you’ll have a daughter just like you, her mother used to complain.

And here she is.

Groaning, Jane shoved herself off the sofa, the bad cop at last springing into action. “Time for bed, Regina,” she said.

“No.”

“Yes it is.”

“No!” The imp scampered away, black curls bouncing. Jane corralled her in the kitchen and scooped her up. It was like trying to hold on to a flopping fish, every muscle and sinew fighting her.

“No go! No go!”

“Yes, go,” said Jane, carrying her daughter toward the nursery as little arms and legs flailed at her. She set Regina in the crib, turned off the light, and shut the door. That only made her cries more piercing. Not wails of distress but of sheer fury.

The phone rang. Oh hell, it’s the neighbors, calling to complain again.

“Tell them that giving her Valium is not an option!” Jane said as Gabriel went into the kitchen to answer the phone.

“We’re the ones who need the Valium,” he told her, then picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

Too weary to stand straight, she slumped in the kitchen doorway, imagining the diatribe now pouring from that receiver. It had to be those Windsor-Millers, the thirty-somethings who’d moved into the building only a month ago. Already they’d called to complain at least a dozen times. Your child keeps us awake all night. We both have demanding jobs, you know. Can’t you control her? The Windsor-Millers had no kids of their own, so it wouldn’t occur to them that an eighteen-month-old couldn’t be turned on and off like a TV set. Jane had once caught a glimpse inside their apartment, and it was spotless. White sofa, white carpet, white walls. The apartment of a couple who’d freak out at the thought of sticky little hands getting anywhere near their precious furniture.

“It’s for you,” said Gabriel, holding out the receiver.

“The neighbors?”

“Daniel Brophy.”

She glanced at the kitchen clock. Calling at midnight? Something had to be wrong. She took the phone. “Daniel?”

“She wasn’t on the plane.”

“What?”

“I’ve just left the airport. Maura wasn’t on the flight she booked. And she never called me. I don’t know what-” He paused, and Jane heard the sound of a car horn blaring.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“I’m driving into the Sumner Tunnel right now. I’m going to lose you any second.”

“Why don’t you come over to our place?” said Jane.

“You mean right now?”

“Gabriel and I are both awake. We should talk about this. Hello? Hello?”

The tunnel had cut off their connection. She hung up and looked at her husband. “It sounds like we’ve got a problem.”

Half an hour later, Father Daniel Brophy arrived. By then Regina had finally cried herself to sleep; the apartment was quiet when he walked in. Jane had seen this man at work under the most trying of circumstances, at crime scenes where wailing relatives reached out to him for comfort. He had always radiated quiet strength, and just by his touch or a few soft words, he could soothe even the most distraught. Tonight it was Brophy himself who looked distraught. He removed his black winter coat, and Jane saw that he was not wearing his clerical collar but a blue sweater and oxford shirt. Civilian clothes that made him appear more vulnerable.

“She never showed up at the airport,” he said. “I waited around for nearly two hours. I know her flight landed, and all the baggage was claimed. But she wasn’t there.”

“Maybe you missed each other,” said Jane. “Maybe she got off the plane and couldn’t find you.”

“She would have called me.”

“You tried calling her?”

“Repeatedly. No answer. I haven’t been able to reach her all weekend. Not since I spoke to you.”

And I brushed off his concerns, she thought, feeling a twinge of guilt.

“I’ll make some coffee,” she said. “I think we’re going to need it.”

They sat in the living room, Jane and Gabriel on the sofa, Brophy in the armchair. The warmth of the apartment had not brought any color to Brophy’s cheeks; he was still sallow, and both his hands were curled into fists on his knees.

“So your last conversation with Maura wasn’t exactly a happy one,” said Jane.

“No. I… I had to cut it off abruptly,” Brophy admitted.

“Why?”

His face snapped even tighter. “We need to talk about Maura, not me.”

“We are talking about her. I’m trying to understand her state of mind. Do you think she felt snubbed when you cut the call short?”

He looked down. “Probably.”

“Did you call her back?” asked Gabriel, using his just-the-facts voice.

“Not that night. It was late. I didn’t try calling her until Saturday.”

“And she didn’t answer.”

“No.”

“Maybe she’s just annoyed with you,” said Jane. “You know, it’s been tough on her this past year. Having to hide what’s going on between you.”

“Jane,” cut in Gabriel. “This isn’t helping.”

Brophy gave a sigh. “But I deserve it,” he said softly.

Yes you do. You broke your vows, and now you’re breaking her heart.

“Do you think Maura’s state of mind could explain this?” Gabriel asked, again in his matter-of-fact law enforcement voice. Of the three of them, he was the only one who seemed to be approaching this logically. She had seen him react to other tense situations in just this way, had watched her husband grow calmer and more focused as everything and everyone around him melted down. Hand him a crisis, and Gabriel Dean could instantly transform from an exhausted father into the Bureau man she sometimes forgot he was. He was watching Brophy with eyes that gave away nothing, but noticed everything.

“Was she upset enough to do something rash?” Gabriel asked. “Hurt herself? Maybe worse?”

Brophy shook his head. “Not Maura.”

“People do surprising things under stress.”

“She wouldn’t! Come on, Gabriel, you know her. You both do.” Brophy looked at Jane, then back at Gabriel. “Do you really think she’s that immature? That she’d drop out of sight just to punish me?”

“She’s done the unexpected before,” said Jane. “She fell in love with you.”

He flushed, color at last suffusing his cheeks. “But she wouldn’t do something irresponsible. Disappear like this.”

“Disappear? Or just stay away from you?”

“She had a reservation on that flight. She asked me to pick her up at the airport. When Maura says she’ll do something, she does it. And if she can’t follow through, she’ll call. No matter how upset she might be with me, she wouldn’t stoop to something like this. You know that about her, Jane. We both do.”