“Colonel, I’ve got it!” said the excited voice. “I got a hit.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“A plate belonging to a John McCrae crossed west to east last night at one twenty-two A.M. That’s the wife’s brother.”

Forrest’s blood quickened. “What kind of vehicle is that?”

“It’s not a vehicle, sir. It’s a horse trailer.”

Forrest smiled. “That’s it. Has it crossed back over into Louisiana?”

“Yes, sir. It crossed back in fifty-eight minutes after it left.”

“We’ve got him,” Forrest said softly.

“What was that, sir?”

“Forget everything you just told me, Sergeant. Sequester that data. We may need it, or we may need it to disappear. I want you to prepare for both eventualities. Understand?”

“Understood, sir.”

Forrest pressed END, then picked up his encrypted phone and called Alphonse Ozan.

“Hey, boss,” said the Redbone. “What you got?”

“I think I found Dr. Cage.”

“Where is he?”

“His lawyer owns a house in Jefferson County, Mississippi, near Fayette. It’s way out in the woods. I think he’s there. Deploy the Black Team.”

“What’s the mission? Snatch or terminate?”

“I’ll call you back. Just get ’em in the air and headed north.”

TOM HAD SPENT MOST of the afternoon and evening sleeping. He rested a lot better with Melba Price watching him. The knowledge that his nurse was awake and alert meant that he didn’t have to start at every unfamiliar noise, of which there were many in Quentin’s mansion. After enough sleep, a good meal of bacon, eggs, and toast, and a generous regimen of various drugs, he’d begun feeling human again. Melba had even gotten him off the couch to make several circuits of the house. Thankfully, he managed this without getting angina, and his shoulder pain had been dulled to an endurable throb.

After they settled themselves on the living room couch again, Tom had told Melba she needed to think about heading back to Natchez. She’d done more than he had any right to ask of her, and he assured her that he was feeling better. But Melba wouldn’t hear any talk of leaving. She’d abandoned him the night before, she said, and he’d nearly died because of it. Tom pointed out that she might have been killed at Drew’s lake house as easily as he when the gunmen arrived. But Melba argued that the killers never would have sneaked up on Tom while she was there to keep watch.

After a few minutes, he took a rest from trying to persuade her and clicked on his current burn phone to see whether Walt had sent him any further messages.

There were none.

Melba got up and made a trip around the darkened interior of the house, peering out of each window until her eyes adjusted and she felt confident that no one was outside. Tom appreciated her effort, but Caitlin’s earlier visit by car proved just how quickly someone could appear at one of the doors. If Knox’s people showed up to storm the place, there’d be nothing he or Melba could do to stop them.

“Why won’t you leave, Mel?” he asked, after she’d returned to the sofa. “At a certain point, loyalty becomes foolish. Your first loyalty has to be to yourself.”

His nurse smiled wistfully. “A minute ago,” she said, “I probably couldn’t have told you why. But when you asked me just now, I realized the answer.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Back when Roderick left me—for that girl—and I sunk so low that I was just a shadow of myself . . . when I was drinking so much and thinking crazy thoughts . . . Do you remember that?”

“I remember.”

“That night you came to my house to keep me from doing something stupid? And I threw myself at you?”

“Oh, Mel, no you didn’t.”

She looked up sharply. “Hush. You know I did. We never talked about it after, but I never forgot it.”

“Mel—”

“Would you let me say my piece?” She folded her hands together and stared off into space, as though looking deep into the past. “Lord, that was back when I still looked good, and you were young enough to do something about it.”

Tom’s shoulder throbbed when he laughed, but he couldn’t help himself. “Those days are long gone, I’m afraid.”

“For you and me both, baby.”

“You’ve got some good living left, Mel.”

“Just be quiet, old man. That night, when I let you know you could have whatever you wanted . . . you were nothing but a gentleman. I don’t think many men would have walked away from me in that state, to tell you the truth. But you did.”

Tom recalled the night with perfect clarity. Melba had been a very attractive woman then. But her most alluring quality—to him—was that she’d reminded him of Viola. When she unbuttoned her robe and walked to him, trying to kiss him, for the briefest moment he’d relived the feeling of falling into Viola’s embrace. But then he’d smelled the reek of gin, and the memory evaporated.

“That wasn’t what you needed,” he said.

“I know. But I thought it was.” Melba reached out and laid a warm hand on his arm. “I knew about Viola even then. From what the older nurses had said. I think I wanted you to love me the way you loved her.”

Tom wanted to comfort her, but Melba raised her hand to keep him silent. “I don’t think you ever loved anybody like you did Viola. And I say that with all the respect in the world for Mrs. Cage.”

Tom sagged back against the sofa pillows, his mind drifting. “There are different kinds of love. That’s one thing I’ve learned in this life. I don’t know if concepts like more come into it.”

“Yes, they do,” Melba said earnestly. “Sooner or later, it always comes to a choice. My Roderick made his, and I learned what a fool I was.”

“Well, I made my choice, too.”

Melba’s luminous brown eyes and peered deeply into his. “Did you?”

Tom nodded. “I did. I don’t want to say more than that.”

“All right, then.”

Tom rubbed his eyes to break the spell of remembrance. “Are you planning to spend the night here or what?”

“I think we’re both legal,” Melba said, smiling again. “And it’s not like Quentin’s short of space. Are you sleepy yet?”

“Actually, I feel pretty good. Thanks to the drugs, the sleep, and your nursing.”

“How about we watch some TV then?”

“Fine by me.”

“What you want to watch?”

“Anything but a medical show. What about you?”

“Anything but the news or reality TV. I’d love to see one of them old shows that takes my mind off things, like The Rockford Files.”

Tom couldn’t hide his amazement. “The Rockford Files? You’re a fan of that show?”

Melba tucked her chin into her chest and fanned her face with her hand. “I love me some James Garner, now. That’s one handsome white man.”

Tom laughed so hard that he thought he might have to take another Vicodin.

“Go back and watch him in The Great Escape,” Melba said, “when he was young and pretty. Even my mama thought so.”

“Well, let’s see what we can find.” Tom picked up the remote control and clicked on the widescreen television.

Before he could press the GUIDE button, a news crawl at the bottom of the screen scrolled: Three-state manhunt continues for accused cop killers Walter Garrity and Thomas Cage, M.D. Both men are considered armed and extremely dangerous. Do not approach these fugitives or seek to apprehend them. They may appear elderly, but are suspected of murdering an armed Louisiana state trooper. If you have any information, contact the Louisiana State Police or dial 911 Emergency. . . . The crawl went on to announce a severe thunderstorm alert in northeast Mississippi.

“Dear Lord,” Melba said. “What you gonna do, Doc?”

Tom swallowed hard and made himself press the buttons on the remote. “Wait for Walt. That’s all I can do, at this point.”

“Do you really believe he’s still alive?”

“His message said he’s okay.”

“Are you sure that was real?”

Tom sighed and gave her a pleading look. “Please go home, Melba. You don’t have any business being here for whatever the next act is.”