She had a B.A. in criminal psychology, and a master’s in behavioral psychology. She knew all about the shadow side, and she knew it existed in everyone. There were plenty of experts who debated the fine line between good and evil and they all hoped to explain why some people choose evil, while others choose good. What was the determining factor? Did anyone really know?

“Trust in yourself,” Kernan had told her. And that the decisions she made in a split second would somehow reveal her true self.

What kind of psychobabble was that? What if her true self really was her shadow side? What if her true self was capable of Stucky’s blend of evil? She couldn’t help thinking that all it would take was a split second for her to aim and fire one bullet right between those black eyes. She no longer wanted to capture him, to stop Albert Stucky. She wanted him to pay. She wanted—no, she needed—to see fear in those evil eyes. The same kind of fear she felt in that Miami warehouse when he cut her abdomen. The same fear she felt every night when darkness came and sleep would not.

Stucky had made this a personal war between the two of them. He had made her an accomplice to his murders, making her feel as though she had handpicked each woman for his disposal. If he had somehow managed to coerce Walker Harding into his game of horror, then there were now two of them who needed to be destroyed.

She glanced at the map spread out on the passenger seat. The toll bridge was about fifty miles from Quantico. Tully was still making arrangements. It would take several hours before he had everything ready according to his careful, by-the-book standards. There would be more waiting. They’d be lucky to make it to Harding’s property by nightfall. Tully was expecting her back at Quantico in the next ten to fifteen minutes. Up ahead a sign indicated that her exit was just ten miles away.

She pulled out her cell phone and slowed the car to the speed limit, allowing her to maneuver more easily with one hand on the steering wheel. She punched in the number and waited.

“Dr. Gwen Patterson.”

“Gwen, it’s Maggie.”

“You sound like you’re on the road.”

“Yes, I am. Just coming back from D.C. Can you hear me okay?”

“Little bit of static, but not bad. You were in D.C.? You should have stopped in. We could have done lunch.”

“Sorry, no time. Look, Gwen, you know how you’re always saying I never ask anything of my friends? Well, I need a favor.”

“Wait a minute. Who did you say this was?”

“Very funny.” Maggie smiled, surprised she was able to amidst all the internal tension. “I know it’s out of your way, but could you check on Harvey this evening—let him out, feed him…all those dog things that a real dog owner normally does?”

“You’re off fighting serial killers, and you’re still worried about Harvey. I’d say you already sound like a dog owner. Yes, I will stop and spend some quality time with Harvey. Actually, that’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time as far as spending an evening with a male companion goes.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“Does this mean you’re simply working late or have you found him?”

Maggie wondered how long it had been since her friends and co-workers could simply ask her about “him” and automatically mean Albert Stucky.

“I don’t know yet, but it’s the best lead we’ve had so far. You may have been right about the candy bar wrappers.”

“Wonderful. Only I don’t remember what it was I said.”

“We dismissed Stucky’s old business partner as an accomplice because the guy was supposedly going blind due to some medical condition. Now the evidence suggests that the condition could be diabetes. Which means the blindness may not have been sudden or complete. In fact, he could be hoping to control it with insulin injections.”

“Why would Stucky be working with an accomplice? Are you sure that makes sense, Maggie?”

“No, I’m not sure it makes sense. But we keep finding fingerprints at the scenes that don’t belong to Stucky. This morning we found out the prints are a perfect match with Stucky’s old business partner, Walker Harding. The two sold their business about four years ago and supposedly went their separate ways, but they might be working together again. We also discovered a remote piece of land just across the river registered to Harding. This place sounds like the perfect hideout.”

Maggie glanced down at the map again. The exit to Quantico was getting closer. Soon she’d need to make a decision. She knew a shortcut to the toll bridge. She could be there in less than an hour. Suddenly she realized that Gwen’s pause had lasted too long. Had she lost the call?

“Gwen, are you still there?”

“Did you say the partner’s name is Walker Harding?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Maggie, last week I started seeing a new patient who is blind. His name is Walker Harding.”

CHAPTER 68

Tully ripped off the fax and began piecing the four sheets together. The Maryland Parks Commission had faxed an aerial view of Harding’s property. In black and white not much could be seen through the acres of treetops. The first thing Tully noticed was that, from above, the area looked like an island except for a sliver that connected it to the mainland. The property jutted out into the water with the Potomac River on two sides and a tributary river on the third.

“The SWAT team is assembled and ready to go,” Cunningham said as he entered the conference room. “Maryland State Patrol will meet you on the other side of the toll bridge. Are those any help?” He came around the table and looked at the map Tully had just finished taping together.

“Can’t see any buildings. Too many trees.”

Cunningham pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and bent down to examine the map. “From what I understand, the facility housing the generator is in the upper northwest corner.” He ran his index finger over the spot that resembled a black-and-gray mass. “I would think the house would need to be close by. Any idea how long Harding has lived here?”

“At least four years. Which means he’s settled and knows the area. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had a bunker somewhere on the property.”

“That seems a bit paranoid, doesn’t it?” Cunningham raised his eyebrows.

“The guy was a recluse long before he and Stucky started their business. Some of the computer video games he sells are his own creations. The guy may be a computer genius, but he’s weirder than hell. A lot of the games are antigovernment, white supremacist garbage. He even has one called ‘Waco’s Revenge.’ Lots of Armageddon-type stuff, too. Probably sold truckloads of it in 1999, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s well prepared.”

“What are you saying, Agent Tully? You mean we might have more problems on our hands than busting a couple of serial killers? You think Harding may have an arsenal in there, or worse, have the property booby-trapped?”

“I don’t have any proof, sir. I just think we should be prepared.”

“But be prepared for what? A stand-off?”

“Anything. I’m just saying if Harding is as extreme as his games would suggest, he could freak out with the FBI showing up on his doorstep.”

“Wonderful.” Cunningham stretched his back and walked over to the bulletin board where Tully had tacked up printouts of Har-ding’s Web site next to photos of the crime scenes.

“When is Agent O’Dell scheduled to be here?”

Tully glanced at his watch. She was already a half hour late. He knew what Cunningham was thinking.

“She should be here any minute now, sir,” Tully said without indicating he thought that she might not show up. “I think we have everything we need. Is there anything I’m forgetting?”

“I want to brief the SWAT team. We should let them in on your suspicions,” Cunningham said, looking at his own watch now. “What time did Agent O’Dell leave D.C.?”