Thank you, Brynn prayed silently. Thank you. “She was going to use her own child as a diversion and then shoot me right in front of him?” Brynn could hardly believe it.

“Looks that way.”

“What’s the boyfriend’s story?”

“Rolfe? They’re questioning him now but looks like he was in the dark. If he should be arrested for anything it’s bad judgment in women.” His cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. “Better take this. S’the mayor. We’re holding a press conference about the whole thing. Gotta get some notes.”

He rose and stepped outside, walking stiffly to his car.

Brynn sat back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, silently thanking Stanley Mankewitz and his slim assistant-James Jasons, she’d learned-for leading her to Michelle Kepler.

Maybe you’re looking for the wrong who.

After their get-together in the bad-coffee restaurant, Brynn had looked into other motives for murdering Emma Feldman, specifically the ones suggested by Mankewitz: suicidal state politicians and the Kenosha company making dangerous hybrid car parts. Some of her other cases too. But none of them had panned out.

She then considered Jasons’s comment and wondered: What if “the wrong who” could mean not who wanted to kill her-but who was the intended victim?

As soon as Brynn began to consider that Michelle had wanted Steven Feldman dead, not Emma, the case fell into place. Feldman was a caseworker for the city’s Social Services Department, part of whose job function was checking out child abuse complaints and, in extreme cases, placing victims in foster homes.

Recalling how the young woman had silenced poor Amy that night in Marquette State Park, Brynn had wondered if he’d been investigating Michelle, with an eye toward placing children she might have.

There was no record of a file involving anyone named Michelle but Brynn had recalled that at the lake house that night Steven’s backpack was empty, while a number of Emma’s files were scattered on the floor. Had Michelle thrown his files, including the one about her own children, into the fireplace?

When she’d returned to Lake Mondac, Brynn had taken samples of ash from the fireplace. She intimidated the state lab in Gardener into analyzing it ASAP and learned that it was identical to ash produced by burning the manila folders issued to city workers. She also found the coiled bindings of steno pads, which Feldman had used to take notes during field interviews.

Eventually, by talking to his colleagues and friends and reviewing scraps of notes and logs of phone calls, Brynn had discovered that some neighbors of a businessman named Samuel Rolfe had complained about his new girlfriend’s treatment of her young children.

The girlfriend’s name was Michelle Kepler.

Bingo.

The Milwaukee police had set up surveillance around Rolfe’s house but before they could get a warrant to move in, Brynn had gotten the phone call from the purported manager of the Harborside Inn. It struck her as suspicious and, after hanging up, she’d checked the incoming number. A prepaid mobile.

She was sure the “clerk” was Michelle, setting her up to be shot.

Tom Dahl called Milwaukee PD and they put together a tactical team to collar the woman as soon as she left Rolfe’s elegant house.

Only one question remained. Did Brynn want to arrest Michelle in person?

The debate raged-oh, how badly she wanted to. But she finally decided no.

A detective from the Milwaukee Police Department dressed in a Kennesha County Sheriff’s Department uniform and using a department squad car drove to the rendezvous at the Harborside Inn.

Brynn McKenzie went home.

The bell rang again-Tom Dahl, ever proper-and Joey let the sheriff back into the house. He was grinning as he stood in the doorway to the family room. “Get this. They’ve got reporters everywhere!” He laughed. “Fox, CBS and I’m not talking the local affiliates. Even CNN. The mayor’s wondering if everybody who works there’s blond.”

Brynn laughed. “That’s the way they grow ’em in Atlanta.”

The sheriff continued, “Michelle’s being transported to our lockup tonight. You’ll want to interview her, I assume.”

“You bet. But not tonight. I told you. I have plans.”

So, is what I’m about to do now a good idea, or a bad idea?…Why even bother to ask the question? It doesn’t matter. I’ve already made the decision.

She’d done what she needed to capture the Feldmans’ killers; now it was time to begin reassembling her life. Or trying to.

She rose and walked him to the front door. Stepping outside, he said, “So what’s going on that’s so important?”

“I’m making dinner for Anna and Joey. And then we’re watching American Idol.”

Dahl chuckled. “It’s a rerun. I can tell you who wins.”

“’Night, Tom. See you in the office bright and early.”

AT 9 A.M. on a stormy Friday, Michelle Alison Kepler sat in one of the two interrogation rooms in the Kennesha County Sheriff’s Office. Originally for storage, the rooms had been stripped of shelves and boxes and set up with fiberboard tables and plastic chairs, along with a Sony video recorder from Best Buy. One of the deputies had installed a mirror he’d bought at Home Depot but it was for effect only. Any experienced perp could see it wasn’t two-way. But in Kennesha County pinching pennies was part of law enforcing.

Minus her gun, armed only with pen and paper, Brynn sat down across from Michelle. She looked over at the woman who had lied to her so ruthlessly. Yet Brynn was oddly calm. Sure, she’d felt some sting of betrayal at the deception, thinking that they’d begun that night as survivors, then become allies, and finally friends.

But Kristen Brynn McKenzie was a cop, of course. She was used to being lied to. She had a goal here, information to gather, and it was time to get to work.

Michelle, confident as ever, demanded, “Where’s my son and daughter?”

“They’re being well taken care of.”

“Brynn, please…They need me. They’ll go crazy without me. Really, this is a problem.”

“You took your son to Milwaukee to help kill me?” Brynn’s voice couldn’t quite hide astonishment.

Michelle’s face blossomed in horror. “No, no. We were just going to talk to you. I wanted to apologize.”

“He’s seven. And you took him with you. With a gun.”

“It’s for protection. Milwaukee’s a dangerous town. I have a permit but I lost it.”

Brynn nodded, her face neutral. “Okay.”

“Can I see Brad? He’s miserable without me. He could get sick. He inherited my low blood sugar.”

“Wasn’t he adopted?”

Michelle blinked. Then said, “He needs me.”

“He’s being well taken care of. He’s fine… Now, you’ve been arrested for murder and attempted murder and assault. You’ve been advised of your rights. You can withdraw from this interview at any time and speak to an attorney. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Michelle glanced at the red light on the video recorder and said, “Yes.”

“Do you wish to have an attorney present?”

“No, I’ll talk to you, Brynn.” She gave a laugh. “After all we’ve been through…why, we’re sisters, don’t you feel that? I shared with you, you told me about your problems at home.” She glanced at the camera with a sympathetic wince. “Your son, your husband… We’re like soul mates. That’s pretty rare, Brynn. Really.”

“So, you’re waiving your right to an attorney?”

“Absolutely. This is all a misunderstanding. I can explain everything.” Her voice was soft, reflecting the burden of the injustice that had befallen her.

“Now, why we’re here,” Brynn began. “We’d like a statement from you, telling the truth about what happened that night. It’ll be much easier on you, on your family-”

“What about my family?” she snapped. “You didn’t talk to them, did you? My parents?”

“Yes.”