Nick shook his head in disbelief.

“I bet even Jeffreys was surprised to find all that stuff in his trunk.”

They stared at each other, neither wanting to acknowledge out loud what they had stumbled upon. Ronald Jeffreys had been framed for two murders he hadn’t committed, and there was a good chance the frame-up had been done by someone in the sheriff’s department.

Tuesday, October 28

The day had not gone well, and Nick blamed the two hours of sleep in his office chair. Maggie had gone back to her hotel room at three in the morning to rest, shower and change. Instead of driving the five miles to his house in the country, Nick had fallen asleep at his desk. All day his neck and back had reminded him again that he was only four years away from forty.

His body certainly wasn’t what it used to be, although his concerns about sexual performance may have diminished thanks to Agent O’Dell. Last night, the touch of her lips against his fingers, the look in her eyes, the electricity. Jesus, he was grateful the county jail’s shower blasted only cold water. Even he had rules about married women. Now if only his body didn’t talk him into changing the rules.

Unfortunately, his stash of clean clothes at the office had been used up in the last few days. He had resorted to the uniform browns, a more appropriate choice for the morning press conference. Not that it had made a difference. The press conference had quickly turned into a lynch mob within minutes, especially after Christine’s morning headline: Sheriff’s Department Ignores Leads in Alverez Case.

He thought for sure Eddie had checked out where old lady Krichek lived, a long time ago, after her first call. Why the hell wouldn’t he have realized Krichek had a perfect view of the parking lot where Danny had been abducted? Jesus, he wanted to strangle Eddie or worse, offer him up to the media as a scapegoat. Instead, he let him off with a simple and private verbal lashing and a warning.

Hell, right now he needed every officer he had. It was no time to be losing his cool, which he almost did at the press conference when the questions got ugly. But O’Dell, in her calm and authoritative manner, had rapidly put things back in perspective. She had challenged the media to help find the mysterious blue pickup, making them a part of the hunt for the killer instead of hunting for faults in the sheriff’s department. He began wondering what he’d do without her and hoped he wouldn’t have to find out any time soon.

He turned the Jeep onto Christine’s street just as the sun made a rare appearance from a hole in the clouds, then sank slowly and gently behind a line of trees. It had gotten colder with a biting wind promising the temperature would drop even more.

Maggie had spent the entire trip next to him quietly buried in the Alverez file. Photos from the crime scene and her own Polaroids were scattered across her lap. She was obsessed with completing her profile as though it could somehow save Matthew Tanner. After an afternoon of contradictory leads and a string of unimpressive witnesses, Nick worried that it was too late. Since Matthew’s disappearance, a hundred and seventy-five deputies, police officers and independent investigators had been searching almost nonstop. Not one shred of evidence brought them closer to finding the boy. It really did seem as though someone had pulled up alongside Matthew and had him willingly get into his vehicle, just as Sophie Krichek had described.

If that was true, then there was a good chance the killer was someone the boys knew and trusted. Jesus, Nick would rather believe the boys were disappearing into thin air than being killed and mutilated by someone they knew. Someone who lived in the community. Maybe someone he knew.

Nick absently pulled into the driveway and hit the brakes, sending photos across the seat and onto the floor.

“Sorry.” He shoved the Jeep into park, his hand sliding along Maggie’s thigh. He jerked his hand away and reached to pick up the photos. Their arms crisscrossed each other. Their foreheads brushed. He handed her the photos he had retrieved, and she thanked him without looking at him. They had been tiptoeing around each other all day. He wasn’t sure if it was to avoid talking about their discovery in the Jeffreys case or to avoid touching one another.

At Christine’s door, Maggie’s cellular phone began ringing.

“Agent Maggie O’Dell.”

Christine motioned for them to come in. “I thought for sure you’d cancel,” she whispered to Nick and led him to the living room, leaving Maggie to the privacy of the foyer.

“Because of the article?”

She looked surprised, as though she hadn’t even thought of the article. “No, because you’re swamped. You’re not mad about the article, are you?”

“Krichek is nutty as a fruitcake. I doubt she saw anything.”

“She’s convincing, Nicky. There’s nothing wrong with the lady. You should be looking for an old blue pickup.”

Nick eyed Maggie. He could see her pacing. He wished he could hear her conversation. Then, suddenly, he got his wish as her angry voice carried into the living room.

“Go to hell, Greg!” She snapped the phone shut and shoved it into her pocket. It began ringing again.

Christine looked at Nick, eyebrows raised.

“Who’s Greg?” she whispered.

“Her husband.”

“I didn’t know she was married.”

“Why wouldn’t she be?” he snapped, then regretted his abruptness as soon as he saw his sister’s smile.

“No wonder you’ve been on your best behavior with her.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, little brother, she’s gorgeous.”

“She’s also an FBI agent. This is strictly professional, Christine.”

“Since when has that stopped you? Remember that cute little attorney from the state attorney’s office? Wasn’t that supposed to be only professional?”

“She wasn’t married.” Or if he remembered correctly, at least, she was getting a divorce.

Maggie came in, that distraught look invading her face again.

“Sorry about that,” she said as she leaned against the doorjamb. “Lately, my husband has had the annoying tendency of pissing me off.”

“That’s why I got rid of mine,” Christine said with a smile. “Nicky, get Maggie some wine. I need to check up on dinner.” She patted Maggie on the shoulder on her way out.

The wine and glasses were on the coffee table in front of him. He poured, watching Maggie out of the corner of his eye. She paced, pretending to be interested in Christine’s decorating talents, but obviously distracted. She stopped at the window and stared out into the backyard. He picked up the glasses of wine and came alongside her, startling her.

“You okay?” He handed her the wine, hoping for a glimpse of her eyes.

“Have you ever been married, Nick?” She took the glass without looking at him, suddenly interested in the shadows swallowing Christine’s garden.

“No, I’ve done a pretty good job avoiding it.”

They stood quietly, side by side. Her elbow brushed his arm when she took a sip. He stood perfectly still, enjoying the surprising rise in his temperature the slight contact generated, and hoping for more. He waited for her to continue, wanting to hear how her marriage was falling apart. Then immediately, the guilt hit him. Perhaps to justify his thoughts, he said, “I couldn’t help noticing you don’t wear a wedding ring.”

She held up her hand as if to remind herself, then tucked it into her jacket pocket. “It’s at the bottom of the Charles River.”

“Excuse me?” Without seeing her eyes, he wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not.

“About a year ago, we were dragging a floater from the river.”

“A floater?”

“A body that’s been in the water a while. The water was very cold. My ring must have slipped off.”