"I will let you know what I find with the samples, Dr. Owens. Are you free for a late dinner? I could give you the results then."

Fletcher coughed into his hand. Sam smiled at Nocek. She didn't get the sense that he was. .h.i.tting on her; he wore a wide gold band on his right hand, like many Europeans. Just in case, though, she declined.

"That is a very kind offer, but I'm afraid I have already promised myself tonight. Perhaps another time."

He nodded. If he was disappointed, it didn't show. "Then I shall call you with the results. Let us finish."

Amazing, how quickly a body can share its secrets. Another twenty minutes and they were through. Frederick put Croswell back together, then began to wash the body and table, flicking away the remaining bits of blood and tissue.

Nocek washed up, taking his time before excusing himself. "If you will forgive me, I have another guest to attend to."

"Of course. Thank you, Amado. I appreciate you letting me help."

He turned and limped off. Finally, it was her turn at the sink. She got the water a little hotter and felt the warm, calming liquid spill over her hands, almost as soothing as a deep-tissue ma.s.sage of her neck after a long day. Her shoulders relaxed. Her hands tingled from the heat. She did her best not to think about lungs, the water rushing into the airway, a dead-end street.

Sam took an extra second under the water, ostensibly getting one last bit of soap out from under her nails. It felt so good. So clean. Her eyes closed involuntarily, then flicked back open. Jesus, Sam. Watch yourself. You're not alone.

The second she realized Fletcher was scrutinizing her curiously, she pulled her hands from the water.

"We need to get in touch with the remainder of Donovan's unit." She ripped off a towel and blotted her palms with it. "They may be in danger."

"You think?" Fletcher was getting his color back.

"I do. Two murders in three days with the same gun?"

"They may be finished. These two may have been the target. Why else ditch the gun?"

Sam thought about that for a second.

"Perhaps Donovan and Croswell are the only two members of the unit living locally. Maybe the killer needs to go to another state. If he's flying, he can't take the gun with him."

"A good thought." Fletcher stuck out his hand. "It's been a pleasure, Dr. Owens. Are you really tied up this evening? I'd be happy to show you around town. Personally, after this day, I could really use a drink."

Unlike the innocent offer from Nocek, Fletcher's was tinged with expectation. He was a decent-looking man, not gorgeous, but handsome, in a weary kind of way. He had a square face, with dark, keen eyes. If Nocek looked like an oversize fly, Fletcher reminded her of a crow. One who was looking at her a little too familiarly right now.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid I am already committed. Besides, there's a great deal of work to be done on this case."

"Still gotta eat. You don't look like you do enough of that."

"Excuse me?" Sam forced her mouth closed, felt her teeth click together. How dare he?

"Relax. I'm just saying you could use a cheeseburger. You're a little thin."

"Thank you, Detective Fletcher. I do so appreciate the observation."

"What? I thought all women like to be told they're skinny."

What was it with men? Cops, especially? Sam would never get used to the ogling, the innuendo, the inappropriate language and actions. She could be bawdy with the best of them if needed, had a decent sense of humor, but she was a lady, and by d.a.m.n, she expected to be treated that way.

But when things went too far, or she was feeling frachetty and sick of it, she would lash out. Like now.

"Yes, of course we do. All women love their bodies to be the focus of a stranger's attention. Now, if you'll excuse me? I have someplace to be." She shouldered past him, knocking into his arm as she went.

Fletcher looked surprised by her reaction, and grabbed her wrist in an attempt to stop her flight.

"Jeez. Wait. I'm just trying to be nice. Come on, Dr. Owens. Lighten up. If you're going to work with me, we can't be at each other's throats."

She wrenched her hand from his.

"I don't want your pity." The words were out of her mouth before she even thought them. She heard them tumble from her lips and knew she couldn't take them back. G.o.d d.a.m.n it all.

Fletcher's brow creased. "What are you talking about? Pity? I'm trying to buy you a drink and some dinner. That's all."

Oh, G.o.d. He didn't know. She just a.s.sumed he did. The way he was looking at her, watching her... She had expected him to look her up, and if he did, it would be hard to miss the news reports. Maybe he had and was simply good at charades. But no, he looked genuinely confused.

She swallowed. If he hadn't checked her out thoroughly before, he would now.

"Never mind," she said. "I need to meet Eleanor Donovan at five. I'm going to have to leave you here. Thank you for including me today. I'll let you know what the reports say."

She walked away at last, wrist tingling, embarra.s.sment and dismay flooding her mind. How could she be so careless?

Chapter Nineteen.

McLean, Virginia

Susan Donovan

Susan Donovan sat in the driver's seat of the car with the cell phone planted against her ear and listened to Betty Croswell cry. Her words were strangely surreal. Susan was thrown back three days, when the doorbell rang and she knew, just knew, Eddie was gone. It was eight at night. The sun had slipped away almost an hour earlier. The porch lights cast shadows across the driveway, shadows that she could swear held Eddie's likeness. She'd allowed the police into the house, not listening to their words, not wanting to hear that he was dead. As if she ignored them, it wouldn't be true.

"Mommy, why are you crying?" Ally asked, jerking her back from the precipice.

Susan sniffed, hard. "Betty, can you hold on a minute? I need..."

Without listening to Betty's reply, she put the phone on the dashboard and pulled Ally right out of her seat into her lap. She put her arms around the girl and sank back into her thoughts.

Death comes for us all. She knew that. Understood it.

But d.a.m.n it, she didn't need to accept it.

"I miss Daddy, baby."

"I miss him, too, Mommy."

Ally settled comfortably against her mother's shoulder, as if she knew they needed this physical connection to get through the afternoon.

One day at a time.

Susan took in one more deep breath and reached for the cell phone once again.

"Betty, I'm sorry."

But Betty was gone. Another call, or annoyance, or whatever. Susan didn't mind. She had a bad feeling about all of this.

She had no idea how long they sat there, mother to daughter-bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood-holding each other. Ally fell asleep within minutes. Susan may have slept, too, even dreamed, her daughter's breath warm on her clavicle. Eventually she roused, and moved the sleeping Ally back into her seat. She pulled the seat belt across her frail body, knowing she should put her in the back, in her booster, but not wanting to move too much in fear of breaking the small spell they'd cast on each other. A spell of hope, mingled with love.

It was only two miles to the house on Spring Hill. She took the back road, up windy Georgetown Pike for the last bit, and managed to get into their garage unnoticed by either nosy neighbors or the police.

She shut the garage door, walked around the car, nestled the still-sleeping Ally against her breast and went into the house.

Something was wrong.

A smell, a dislocation of the air, a breeze...

The back door was open.

Had she left it that way when she rushed out to the school?

No. No way. She'd never be that careless.

Ally must have felt her tense, because she opened her eyes with a start.

"Mommy?"

Susan set her down.

"Ally, go back to the car. Get in and lock the doors. Okay?"

Ally's eyes grew wide, but she listened to her mother without hesitation. When Susan heard the thunk of the car locks, she turned and went to the breakfront in the corner. She reached up, high on her tippy toes, to the top, and felt the hard angles of the weapon stored there.

Even with a chair and the knowledge of the gun's existence, the girls were too small to get to it. She brought it down, checked the magazine, popped it back in, pulled the slide and felt the rea.s.suring clink of the bullet settling itself into the chamber.

Locked and loaded, as Eddie used to say.

Susan was no stranger to guns. She's been around them all her life. This one in particular had been a gift from her father on Eddie's second deployment. "Just in case," he'd said with his characteristic gruffness.

Susan wanted to close her eyes and revel in the memory, but forced it away and started walking, slowly, carefully, into the kitchen. The house was broken into sections: the kitchen, eat-in and family room were open, the dining room was through a small swinging door and led to the wide living room. She crept through the rooms, into the foyer, the den, Eddie's office, then eyed the upstairs. She'd be the most vulnerable on the stairs. Hugging the wall, she crept up, one step at a time, thankful again for the silk runner she'd laid. It kept her footfalls silent. Stealthy.

She cleared the girls' rooms first, then the guest bedroom, her own office, then went into the large master suite.

Her discarded Redskins baseball cap was sitting squarely in the middle of the bed.

Chapter Twenty.

Washington, D.C.

Raptor Offices

Detective Darren Fletcher

Fletcher admired the gla.s.s-and-steel building nestled against the older, more sedate brick of the original wall of the Navy Yard. The Raptor headquarters looked inviting, but to get inside Fletcher had to travel through three security checkpoints. Defense contractors were all the same to him, hiding away inside their shiny metal boxes, fiddling with the security of the world. He preferred his criminals front and center, thank you very much, not amorphous maybes disguised in the cloaks of friends. He thought it sad that the days of gentlemen's warfare had drawn to an abrupt close-once you have the ability to sneak up on your enemy, and the b.a.l.l.s not to care about the consequences, war inevitably became inequitable.

Of course, being on the side of might was a good thing.

Finally inside the quiet, cool, building, Fletcher approached the reception desk. A young woman with slicked-back hair and a nice sharp jawline looked up and said, "May I help you?"

You can give me your number, sweetheart.

"Detective Darren Fletcher for Mr. Deter, please."

"Of course. Mr. Deter is expecting you. Right this way."

Fletcher followed the woman, admiring the view, through a set of steel-and-gla.s.s doors. She used an optical scanner to unlock the outer door. Raptor took their security seriously.

A thin, balding man met them on the other side.

"Thank you, Veronica. That will be all."