The Gaelic curse wishing d.a.m.nation upon me wasn't unfamiliar. Felicity was p.r.o.ne to slipping into the old language whenever she was angry, just like her father was doing now. In fact, her personal list of favorite vulgarities mirrored his, so I'd heard most of them before. Of course, the imprecations usually weren't directed at me as they were in this case.

"I didn't do anything to her, Shamus. You know that."

"Aye, I don't believe it. You and your G.o.dless cult did something to my colleen. You brainwashed her and forced her to do some Satanic sacrifice or something, didn't you!?"

He didn't even give me a chance to respond to the ludicrous accusation before starting in again.

"ANSWER ME, YOU b.a.s.t.a.r.d! THAT'S WHAT YOU DID, ISN'T IT?!"

"Listen to me, Shamus," I interjected sharply. "Number one, she didn't kill anyone, much less get forced to do anything against her will. Number two, you sure as h.e.l.l aren't going to help her situation if you go around telling everyone that she did do it but only because I forced her to."

There was a brief pause, and I hoped that I had managed to get my point across to him. When he finally spoke again, he was somewhat more reserved, though you could tell the anger was still seething behind his words, just waiting for a chance to escape.

"Why didn't you call me? Why did I have to hear about this from the television, then?"

"I've been just a little busy, believe it not." I couldn't keep the sarcasm out of my tone. "As you noted, my wife just got arrested."

"Well, what are you doing about this?" he demanded without actually acknowledging what I had just said.

"I'm trying to find out what's going on myself. Our lawyer is already at the station..."

He interrupted, "Aye, is he any good, this lawyer of yours?"

"He's a she and yes, she's good."

"Aye, well it doesn't really matter. I'll be sendin' my own then anyway."

"Shamus, don't turn this into a bigger circus than it already is. If Jackie doesn't think she can handle this, she'll be the first one to say so. Then, if I need to, I'll hire another attorney."

"I'll be sendin' mine," he repeated flatly.

I started to object again but decided against it. At least he seemed to have calmed a bit and was apparently trying to be constructive instead of just placing blame and swearing at me.

"Fine," I told him. "Just tell your attorney to get in touch with Jacquelyn Hunt. She's got the lead on this, and we don't need any confusion causing problems."

"I'll tell him your girl is there, but I'll be wanting him to take over."

"Shamus... Dammit...Can't you...Sheesh!" I stammered out a halting mish-mash of verbiage as I tried to beat down the desire to climb through the phone line and throttle the man. I knew he wasn't going to listen to me, and this whole conversation was about as futile as trying to empty an ocean with a teaspoon and a paper cup, so I decided it was time for it to end. "Listen, I'm going to have to get off the line here. When you called I was just heading out the door to go down to the police station myself."

My bid for a quick exit did nothing more than set fire to his temper once again.

"Don't you dare!" he snapped. "You stay away from my daughter. You've done enough to her already!"

It had become a violent internal struggle for me to keep an even temper during this conversation. I thought I had been more than reasonable with him, even if we had been under the best of circ.u.mstances. There was no doubt, however, that the current conditions were a far cry from the best.

I simply couldn't hold my tongue any longer, and my own anger rose to the surface, "Dammit, Shamus. She may be your daughter, but she's also my wife!"

"If I have anything to say about it, she won't be for much longer!"

Confusion filled my voice. "Excuse me?!"

"Don't play stupid. I've figured you out. I know you've brainwashed my daughter and turned her against me. I've already talked to someone about taking care of it!"

It only took a fraction of a second for his words to sink in. "You've got to be fuc... Deprogramming? Is that what you're talking about, Shamus?! Deprogramming?!"

"They call it exit counseling and thought reform therapy."

"They call it that when it is done by an ethical, licensed therapist and the subject is willing," I spat. "If you kidnap her and do it against her will, it's deprogramming, pure and simple."

"It doesn't matter what you call it."

"It sure as h.e.l.l matters that she doesn't need it," I countered. "Not to mention that it's also illegal."

"I don't care about that. She needs to be rescued."

"From what? Who? Me?"

"Aye."

"Have you lost your G.o.dd.a.m.ned mind?"

"No, but apparently you've taken my daughter's from her, and I'm going to get it back. And then once she's in her right mind, she'll be getting you out of her life, of that you can be sure."

That was it; I'd had enough. "Listen up you son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h, don't you even think about doing this!"

"Go hifrean leat!"

"You want me to go to h.e.l.l, Shamus?" I returned, quickly translating the epithet he'd just screamed at me. "Well I've got some happy freaking news for you, I'm pretty much already there, and you just helped with the trip. I've got to go. Bye."

I could hear his voice screaming from the handset even as I slammed it back onto the base. What I picked up of the stream of Gaelic was yet another condemnation I'd heard before, and it roughly translated into him wishing "scorching and burning" upon me. Well, I sure wasn't going to call back to break the news to him, but he definitely wasn't the first to offer up that curse, so he could just stand in line.

I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, huffing it back out angrily as I tried to settle myself. Lashing out, I slammed the heel of my fist against the underside of one of the empty bookshelves. The impact generated a hollow thud followed by a resounding crash as the shelf lifted off the adjustable pegs then slammed back down. For some reason, the wooden rectangle skewed downward and slid out onto the floor, narrowly missing my foot. The resulting clatter startled the cats and made them jump, which in turn caused them to knock a stack of books from the coffee table and onto the floor. The clamorous chain reaction sent them skittering throughout the house to their secretive hiding places. The dogs, however, took the opposite tack and both came to investigate the small crashes but more or less took it in stride.

I picked up the shelf and tried to re-install it, and that's when I discovered that the reason it had fallen was that the impact had sheared off one of the forward adjustable pegs on the uprights. I reached up and slid it onto the empty shelf above for the time being then shook my head and turned, starting back toward the alarm keypad on the wall across the room. Before I could take the first step, however, the peal of the telephone's ringer filled the room.

My anger really hadn't had time to drop off, and it immediately welled in me once again. I twisted back in a flash, s.n.a.t.c.hing the handset up and placing it to my ear as I shouted, "What?! Did you think of some other curse to throw at me?!"

There was a hollow buzz but no reply came from the other end. I couldn't imagine that Shamus would be shut down by the comment, so I allowed my gaze to fall down to the caller ID box. I didn't get a chance to offer up an apology right away as a confused voice finally broke the relative silence.

"Rowan?" Jackie asked.

"Yeah, sorry," I returned. "I just got off the phone with... Screwit...Never mind, what's going on? Were you able to get her out?"

"She's still in processing," she replied. "They're almost done, and then I'll be able to get into a room with her."

"She's not coming home tonight, is she?"

"No, Rowan, she isn't. She's likely not coming home this weekend at all."

My voice dropped almost to a mumble as I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead, "Dammit, Jackie..."

"I told you to prepare yourself for this."

"I know."

"Look, I called for a couple of reasons. First, to give you an update, and second, to ask a couple of questions."

"About what?"

"I called in a favor and managed to get a little bit of information about what's going on. It's not much, but it's a place to start. So, what I need to know is if Felicity does any traveling alone."

"What do you mean?"

"Like for her job. Does she ever go out of town without you?"

"Well, yeah. She's one of the top freelance photographers in the country. She gets jobs all over the country. Why?"

She pressed on, ignoring my query. "Has she ever been to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina that you know of?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure she has," I replied impatiently then demanded again, "Why?"

"Without you?"

"Yeah, I think so. Why?"

"Specifically, about a year ago, maybe? Somewhere around the beginning of December?"

"Yeah. I don't remember for sure, but yeah, I think she took a trip around then, so could be." My edginess ratcheted up the scale and I took on a harsh tone. "Jackie, just what the h.e.l.l is this..."

I stopped cold with my mouth hanging wide open. Before I could even consider finishing my sentence, the conversation with Doctor Rieth's a.s.sistant flashed through my brain. Two and two joined forces to create four, and that became the sum of all my fears, which then punched me square between the eyes.

"Rowan?" Jackie queried. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah," I finally replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Listen, the information I obtained could be wrong, but the rumor is the police have hard evidence placing Felicity at the scene of a somewhat bizarre homicide in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina that happened in December of last year."

"What evidence?" I asked quietly.

"I don't know that yet," she replied.

The dull ache at the back of my head was now returning in force. It wasn't going to take long for it to fill my skull and make itself right at home for the duration. I closed my eyes once again and sighed.

"Well, they're right about one thing," I offered flatly. "The same woman committed that murder as did the two homicides in Saint Louis. But, Felicity is NOT that woman."

"I believe you, Rowan," Jackie replied. "But you need to understand that I'm not the one we need to convince of that fact."

CHAPTER 9:.

"I thought I told you to wait at home?" Jackie said, glaring at me with the best stoic attorney face she could muster plastered across her features.

"I got lonely," I replied.

"Don't be a smarta.s.s, Rowan," she snapped. "I've got my hands full here, so I really don't need to be babysitting you."

"I don't recall asking you to."

"Let me refresh your memory," she snapped. "You asked by showing up here."

"Hey, don't get mad at me."

"How can I not? I just had a detective drag me out of the middle of an interview with your wife."

"Then you should go yell at him."

We were standing in the lobby of police headquarters at the corner of Clark and Tucker in downtown Saint Louis. I'd been here more times than I cared to count, but usually I was escorted straight in by Ben and at times, even treated like just another one of the cops. This afternoon, however, was vastly different. I had been detained here at the main entrance, and Jackie had been brought out to see me. It was immediately obvious that she wasn't thrilled about it. Of course, she also hadn't been aware that I was on my way here, and I had purposely neglected to mention it before hanging up the phone earlier.

"Right now I'd rather tell him to just shoot you," she hissed, still trying to keep her voice low. At the tail end of the comment, she let out a heavy sigh and shook her head in exasperation.

"From the reception I got, I'm guessing you wouldn't have a problem getting him to take you up on the idea," I replied.

"What did you expect, Rowan, a marching band and a parade? You're the husband of a murder suspect who is currently detained in this building, and you come blazing in here like everyone is supposed to clear a path for you. Wake up, will you?!"

Jackie was in her mid-fifties but looked more like she was hovering somewhere in her forties, even when sporting the flat expression. She was the sole attorney in a wildly successful one-woman shop bearing her name, although she did have a small support staff consisting of a paralegal and a part-time receptionist.

I'd heard rumors that she'd been offered partnerships in some rather prestigious local firms more than once but always declined in favor of the autonomy that allowed complete control over her caseload. I wasn't at all surprised, because she wasn't one for taking direction. Giving it, yes. Taking it, definitely not.

"Hey, I'm trying to help here," I appealed, attempting to change my approach, though in a halfhearted sense.

"Well, you definitely aren't. Helping, that is."

My bid at toning down my temper didn't last, and I snarled my reply. "Yeah, well you don't appear to be helping all that much either."

She tossed back a shock of platinum blonde hair and fixed me with her hard gaze once again. Physically, she was really closer to Felicity's height than mine, but wearing her ever-present designer heels, she came right to eye level with me. The stature elevating shoes along with her reputation for relentlessly tearing apart cases-and even other attorneys if necessary-until she came out on top are what had garnered her the nickname "the pit bull in high heels." She would instantly feign annoyance anytime she heard someone call her by the moniker, but secretly, I think she actually liked it.

After a pause she punctuated her cold stare with a calm but brutally caustic reply, "That's because I'm out here dealing with an a.s.shole instead of being allowed to do my job."

"Listen, I..."

She cut me off before I could finish. "No. Just shut up and YOU listen for once. If that last comment had come out of any other client's mouth, I would have packed my briefcase and headed home. But, I've known you way too long, and I know that you're actually a pretty nice guy. I'm writing this all off to the stress you are under, but believe me, I'm only going to write off just so much.