The ride north on I-95 at nine-thirty in the morning was always an exercise in patience. As another weekend approached, the travelers who saved their vacation until late summer were in a hurry to get to their destinations. That usually meant taking the quickest route, which-north to south and back again-was I-95. Add the commuters to the mix, and you had heavy volume. Throw in a little road repair and you had yourself a backup.

T.J. moved his seat back to give his legs a little extra room. For some reason, when he was driving, the space didn’t seem quite as narrow as it did when the car was sitting still. He toyed with the idea of putting the top up. Stopped on a major highway in three lanes of traffic that were going nowhere, you felt pretty much exposed to your fellow travelers with the top down. With the temperature rising steadily, and the sun blazing, you just knew all the other drivers were sitting there watching you fry.

He hunted in the console for a paper towel or a tissue to dry the sweat from his face. He found a crumpled but unused yellow napkin from a fast-food restaurant, and put it to work, blotting the area around his eyes and the back of his neck. Leaning against the headrest, he slipped his dark glasses back on and closed his eyes.

The drive to Callen wasn’t more than forty minutes in light traffic. He’d told Lorna to expect him around ten. Their appointment with Dustin Lafferty was at noon, at his office in Elk Run. Lorna figured that was about an hour from her place, so they had time to spare. Or would have, if traffic got moving again.

Being stuck in the car, with nowhere to go and nothing else to do, gave him plenty of time to think about things he’d been trying not to think about for the past few days. His future. The voice-mail message on his cell phone from John Mancini. Lorna.

He figured the future was wide open. He didn’t have to rush to make any decisions right away. Selling the business had provided more than enough cash to live on for a while. Money wasn’t going to be a problem, unless he did something really stupid, which wasn’t his style. Once the sale of his house in Baltimore went through, he’d be sitting even prettier. Until, of course, he found another place to buy, but he was in no hurry to do that, either. He could always rent something for a few months, or a year if he had to, until he decided where he wanted to go, and what he wanted to do.

Bored, he listened to the message from his former boss again, disconnected from voice mail. He didn’t know how he felt about the Bureau right now. He’d loved that job. Loved being Special Agent Thomas Jefferson Dawson, loved the challenge of putting together the facts and circumstances of a crime in order to solve it. He’d been good at it-so good, they’d asked him if he was interested in being assigned to the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime and taking on some of the duties generally termed “profiler.” T.J. had jumped at the opportunity, and over the next few years had developed analytical skills that had set him apart from most of his peers. Over time, he’d honed those skills and had become sought after more and more for consultation in the most complicated cases. He’d loved the work, loved the role he’d played in bringing down vicious criminals. He could have gone on with the Bureau until retirement, had all intention of doing exactly that. Until Lakeview, Georgia, and Teddy Kershaw…

The ringing of his cell phone brought him back from a place he’d just as soon not go.

“ Dawson.”

“T.J., it’s Lorna. I have the TV on and I just saw the tie-up on I- 95.”

“That’s me there on your screen, top down, baseball cap, dark glasses.”

She laughed. “If you can get as far as Havre de Grace and exit the interstate, I’ll give you directions that will save you time. Assuming traffic is still slow.”

“Traffic is not slow. Traffic is at a standstill.”

“Well, if it gets moving, call me back.”

“I’ll do that, thanks.” He paused, then said, “We may need to call Lafferty and reschedule for later today, if possible. What’s the latest you think we can leave your house and still make it to his office by noon?”

“Eleven-twenty, not much later than that, unless we don’t mind being a few minutes late.”

“I don’t mind being late, but I don’t know how much latitude Lafferty has in his schedule. What’s he like? Is he the type to get annoyed at being postponed?”

“I have no idea. I never really knew him very well. He’s a few years older than I am-six or seven, I think-and the only times I ever saw him were at the Eagans’. I don’t have a clear recollection of him, really. So I don’t know if he’ll be put off or not.”

“Well, hopefully, we won’t have to worry about that. Hey, I see a little movement from the vehicle ahead of me.” T.J. straightened in his seat and put the car in gear.

“Great. Well, call me back if you need directions.”

“Will do. And thanks, Lorna.”

The Crossfire inched along behind the Tahoe directly in front of him. The SUV being taller and wider, T.J. couldn’t see over or around it, and wasn’t sure how far ahead traffic had begun to crawl. It was stop and go for the next mile. He saw the sign for Havre de Grace up ahead, and thought about calling Lorna back. He’d wait until he got closer, to judge whether he needed an alternate route.

Not that he’d mind another reason to call Lorna. So far, the best thing about striking out on his own had been meeting her. The case was intriguing and complex enough to challenge him, and though he’d be hard-pressed to admit it to Mitch, T.J. was enjoying working with his old teammate again. With Lorna in that mix, T.J. almost felt as if he’d won the lottery.

He’d always liked women with brown eyes, and Lorna’s were almost the exact same shade of cinnamon as her hair. She was down-to-earth and pretty, with a frequent smile and an easy laugh. She was independent and smart, and he couldn’t think of one thing about her that he didn’t like. In fact, he’d liked her the minute he met her. He’d never been one to mix business and pleasure-too risky to one’s professional reputation-but he didn’t figure this case would go on forever. In the meantime, he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather be working a case with right now. All around, it had been a very good week.

If he hadn’t been thinking so much about Teddy Kershaw, the week would have been damned near perfect.

“You want to drive?” T.J. asked Lorna as she walked toward the car.

“Sure.” She grinned. “I’d love to drive, thanks.”

He got out of the car and dangled the keys in front of her.

“You remember the rules?”

“Yeah, yeah. No lead feet and if I get stopped for speeding, the fine is on me.” She grabbed the keys and got in, tossing her handbag onto the back ledge before putting the key in the ignition and turning it on.

“Don’t you love the sound of that engine?”

She laughed. “Yes, I guess I do.”

“Easy, Andretti. She has a little more pickup than your SUV,” he reminded her.

“Don’t I know it.” She was still grinning as she turned onto the road.

T.J. adjusted his seat, moving it back to make room for his legs, content to let her drive, pleased to have given her so much to smile about. She was a cautious driver-he’d discovered that the other day when he’d let her take the sports car for a short drive-but she clearly was having fun behind the wheel. He leaned back against the headrest and watched the countryside roll by.

They drove past farm after farm-from the most modern-equipped to the Amish and Mennonite homesteads-past ponds where great blue herons fed and one where a lone swan was curled upon the bank. The drive was restful, the airflow through the front seat making it too difficult to carry on a conversation. They rode mostly in silence, but neither appeared to care.