"Olivia wasn't the baby that went missing," Anna said.

"Hah!" Denise leaned forward, her elbows on her knees so her face was on a level with Anna's. "The camera over the door in the infant care observation room is pointed at the crib. I walked in, back to the camera, carrying one baby, backed out, still not facing the camera, with another baby. Peter doesn't even know his child has gone missing. That's how much he cares about her. Do you think the baby should have water?" Denise asked, her face suddenly worried.

"Probably, but done up like she is, I'm afraid she would choke. Don't you want to hold her?" That was a question new mothers and grandmothers asked Anna. For some reason, women were supposed to want to hold infants. If Denise was among them, maybe Anna would be given an opportunity to do ... well, some damn thing.

For a long moment, Denise sat, chin in hands, elbows on knees, studying Anna and the baby. "I don't want to hold it," she admitted at last. Anna didn't think Denise was talking to her so much as thinking out loud. "I thought I would. I really thought it would be like when my sister and I realized we were two parts of a whole. But when I carried the baby out of the hospital and didn't feel much, I figured it was because things were so, you know, tense. Then back at my apartment all she did was cry. I tried holding her, doing the rocking thing. She kept on crying. She didn't feel like a part of me, not like Paulette, more like a fish trying to flop its way out of a soggy newspaper."

"Babies aren't for everybody," Anna said sympathetically. "No big deal. I never went much for babies. Tell you what, nobody knows she's gone. We could take her back and nobody would be the wiser."

Denise straightened up. She actually appeared to be considering the suggestion, and Anna felt a tiny spark of hope.

Then Denise shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "The closeness will come. It will just take a while."

"Why don't you cut the tape so we can let her out of my arms? Then at least she can have water," Anna said.

"Soon," Denise promised. "If Paulette comes back from work and everything is hunky-dory, we won't need you for a hostage. Then we'll leave, and in a few hours, I'll send an anonymous message saying where you are and that will be that. No muss, no fuss."

Anna doubted she would be left alive. In their previous encounter, Denise had proved to be an individual who chose not to strain the quality of mercy in any meaningful way. A bullet to the back of the head or a one-way night dive was more likely.

Again Denise wiped her face, fingertips pressing on her eyelids. Anna took the opportunity to see if she could bite the duct tape closest to her chin. She couldn't, not without crushing the baby.

"I know Paulette is your sister," Anna said.

Denise laughed. "My identical twin sister." Shaking her head, she smiled to herself. "I'm still having trouble believing it's true. Too good to be true usually isn't."

"Oh, it's true," Anna said. "I know a lot about your family."

Denise had lifted the water bottle she'd used to give Anna a drink partway to her mouth. Her arm froze, suspending it midway between the chair's arm and her face. Her eyes narrowed. It didn't take a psychic to see the aura of paranoia and suspicion that darkened her visage. Paranoia: That was one of the symptoms Gwen had mentioned for Huntington's. Committing murder could make a person a tad jumpy as well. Kidnapping, Anna suspected, was hell on the nerves. Denise would have to be crazy not to be paranoid.

Since Anna had nothing to lose, she chose to feed it.

"I know she's your identical twin," Anna said, shooting for the tone of someone starting on a long list of sins. "I know the woman who delivered you as babies. I know the legacy that your biological mother wanted to share with you."

The water bottle flew from Denise's hand. Rolling, it left a dark wet trail across the rag rug where Anna sat. Denise hadn't thrown the water intentionally. Her hand had spasmed.

"Now look what you've done," Denise cried. Rising from the chair, she retrieved the bottle and set it on a small table beneath the pretend window. Hair whipping wildly, Denise looked around the room. "There's nothing to wipe it up with."

"It's only water. It will dry," Anna said calmly. "I know about your dropping things, too. You didn't used to be clumsy; now you drop things. Same with Paulette." Anna wasn't quite sure where she was going with this, just hoping that things would shake loose in a way that was more conducive to her surviving the night.

Denise growled, or grunted-a sound associated with animals, not humans. Reaching behind her back, she drew something from her waistband.

No surprise, a SIG Sauer 9 mm. Most likely the one Anna lost that night on Schoodic. The gun had never looked as big in Anna's hand as it did in Denise's. Viewed from the wrong end, the gun barrel seemed to take up half the room.

"Stop playing games with me," Denise said coldly. "If you know something, tell me. Otherwise, I'll blow your head off. I might do it anyway. You are supposed to be dead already, so what difference would it make?"

The thin yellow flame from the lantern reflected in Denise's eyes. There wasn't much else there that Anna could see. Not the panic at the spilled water, the confusion at not wanting to hold "her" child, the warmth when she spoke of her sister: Her face reminded Anna of a patient her sister, a psychiatrist, treated. Molly had taken Anna along on a visit to the mental health facility to see a woman who suffered from severe autism. A screaming fight between three other patients had overloaded the woman's senses and she'd shut down.

Denise had that same look, as if the soul had moved a very long way from the windows, so far it almost couldn't be seen. Denise didn't look insane. In fact, she looked saner than anyone Anna had ever seen, if sanity could be measured by control. She exuded the vibe of an individual totally detached and completely dedicated to the task at hand.

A few times in her life Anna had thought she might be going to die. She thought that now. No one knew anything about death. No one came back to report on how it went down, what followed. Dead people gave no interviews, wrote no books.

Perhaps that was the reason that, though afraid, Anna wasn't nearly as afraid as she would have been if she'd been asked to speak in front of a crowd, or crawl down a skinny cave passage. Those things were real and scary. Death wasn't real. It was the last page, the fade to black. It was hard to be truly terrified of an event that wasn't quantifiable, that wasn't quite real.

"No games," Anna said evenly. The baby quieted. Glancing down, she checked to see if it had expired. Olivia's eyelashes were unbelievably long. They quivered on her round cheeks as her eyes moved beneath the closed lids. Still alive.

"No games," Anna repeated. "A woman I know, Dr. Gwen Littleton, delivered twin girls forty-some years ago. The babies were given up for adoption. Gwen and the mother became friends. The mother's health was failing, and she decided to try and find her daughters."

"Makes sense," Denise said. "She's about to kick the bucket. Don't want to die with abandoning two little girls on your conscience. Might go to hell. Tidy up with a quick 'so sorry I fucked up your lives,' and off to heaven goes Mommy."

Denise's voice, hands, and trigger finger were rock steady. If she'd gone over the edge in the past few minutes, she hadn't landed on Anna's side. "Is there anything you want to get off your chest?" Denise asked in a flat voice. "I'm the closest thing you're going to get to final absolution."

"You'll lose your hostage," Anna said. She'd wanted to sound reasonable, but her voice cracked, and she had to swallow to clear her throat.

"We can work around it," Denise said, and her finger tightened on the trigger.

"If you shoot me, you could hit your baby daughter," Anna said.

"I'm a crack shot," Denise said.

"No. You used to be a crack shot. The legacy is you have Huntington's disease; you can't control your hands," Anna said. "You put three bullets in Kurt Duffy from no more than ten feet away and none of them were anywhere near fatal."

"Bullshit." Denise pressed the muzzle of the gun hard against Anna's forehead. "Now I can't miss."

"Wait," Anna begged desperately. "You pull the trigger, this close, and the report will deafen Olivia. Rupture her eardrums. She'll be deaf as a post her whole life, and it will be all your fault."

"Put your fingers in her ears," Denise snarled.

"I can't," Anna said.

Denise glared at her. Turning suddenly, she yanked open the door and stormed out of the room. Through the open doorway all was in darkness until, about forty yards away, the overhead light in the SUV came on. Denise dove into the vehicle, only her legs sticking out.

Anna took the time to look around the room. The place was childproofed. Nothing that could be used as a weapon, even if she had use of her arms and hands, came to her attention.

A squawk made Anna's heart lurch; then a voice called her number, then Artie's. An NPS radio lay on the low table under the fake windows.

The caller was the superintendent. They'd discovered Olivia was missing. Panic vibrated in his voice. Anna had to stop herself from shouting that Olivia was okay, that she had her. Not only would Peter not hear, but Denise would be interrupted in whatever she was doing in the Volvo and hurry back to the shed.

Without fingers or even toes, pushing the TALK button on the side of the radio to reply would be an interesting exercise in ingenuity. Since that was Anna's only option, she wriggled around until her back was to the radio and, shoving with her heels, began pushing herself along the rag rug an inch at a time toward the low table. "Sorry, Olivia," Anna said as she managed to lever herself to her knees by bracing one elbow on the tiny chair by the crib. If she'd already killed Peter's child, it wouldn't matter. If she hadn't, this wouldn't be the fatal move.

Anna nosed the unit over to the wall, then pressed her chin as hard as she could into the TALK button. Maybe she depressed it a hair, maybe not; still she said, "Anna Pigeon, maybe near the Duffy house. Help!"

Denise banged back into the shed, slamming the door behind her. "Stupid bitch," she hissed. In two strides she'd crossed the room. The radio was slapped onto the floor. "Sit." Denise shoved Anna until she fell back against the wall and her rump slid down to the floor.

A pair of Bose earphones was in Denise's free hand. She squatted beside Anna, then carefully settled the phones over the baby's ears.

"There!" she said, standing. Snatching the gun out of the waistband of her pants, she pressed the muzzle to Anna's temple. "This time, promise me you'll die."

Anna closed her eyes and wondered what a person was supposed to think at a time like this.

"Denise? Honey?" The door was pushed open. Paulette stood in the faint spill of lamplight, her pink scrubs as rumpled as pajamas in the morning. "My God!" She stepped in and closed the door behind her. "Denise, what are you doing? Put that gun down." Her eyes on the baby, she stepped onto the rug in front of Anna. Dropping to her knees, she wailed, "No! You promised you wouldn't take the baby." She reached out as if she'd scoop it out of Anna's tape-and-bone bassinet, then froze. "This isn't the Frazier baby. Denise! What have you done?"

"She's kidnapped Peter Barnes's daughter, Olivia," Anna said. "The baby is sick. It was in the hospital for observation."

"Shut up!" Denise snarled.

"You're dead!" Paulette exclaimed, noticing Anna for the first time.

"Yes I am," Anna replied, wondering if it was true. "I've come back to save this child. If we don't get her back to the hospital, she'll die."

"Olivia Barnes? The three-month-old admitted for a seizure? Denise, you said you were going to save a life!" She looked up at her twin accusingly.

"I did, Paulette," Denise said, the gun lowered to her side. "I did. It was the only way. Lily, her mom, has Munchausen-by-proxy syndrome. She poisoned Olivia with ergotamine so she could go to the hospital and be the big hero. If we don't get the baby away, eventually Lily will kill her."

Paulette rocked back on her heels. "How could any mother ... Oh, Denise! This is so awful. What can we do?"

"We have to get the baby and ourselves away from here, leave no hint to where we've gone, or that it was us who saved the baby," Denise said.

Mood swings was an understatement; she sounded so rational, so believable, that for a second Anna wondered if it could be true. "Ergotamine," Anna said suddenly. "How do you know the baby was poisoned with ergotamine?"

Paulette looked from her sister to Anna, then back to her sister. "The doctors didn't know what made the baby sick," Paulette said. Tears flooded her eyes. "Oh, Denise! You did it! You poisoned one of my babies. You ...

"Help!" she screamed, scrambling to her feet. "Help! Somebody help me!" She reached the door and pulled it open.

The gun rose from Denise's side, leveled on Paulette's back.

"Gun!" Anna yelled because that's what she'd been trained to do.

A flash of muzzle fire and a blast, so loud in the small room that it numbed Anna's eardrums, shook the shed. Denise was turning, gun in hand. Before she could aim a second shot, Anna fell to her side, the baby affixed to her chest toppling with her, and whipped her legs out, knocking Denise's feet from under her. The gun hit the floor and skittered to the center of the round rug.

Cursing, Denise crawled for it. Whiplashing her feet, Anna managed to kick the SIG Sauer. The pistol slid over and stopped against Paulette's thigh. Paulette Duffy lay facedown, halfway in and halfway out of the nursery, a stain of blood blooming across the pink teddy bears on the back of her scrubs. There might have been life left in the woman, but Anna doubted it. The bullet had entered the left side of Paulette Duffy's back below the shoulder blade near the spine. The heart had probably been next on its trajectory.

Denise followed the gun. Trying to beat her to it, though the gun was out of her reach now and, she expected, forever, Anna flipped open and shut like a broken jackknife, getting nowhere. No crying from the baby. She hoped she hadn't smashed it.

Denise didn't grab up the SIG Sauer. Coming to her knees beside her sister's bleeding body, she covered her mouth with both hands. Moving in slow motion, she turned her head toward Anna. The hands floated down.

"What have I done?" she asked in a bewildered tone.

"You've killed your identical twin sister," Anna said. "Shot her in the back."

With a keening wail, Denise dragged Paulette up from the floor, cradling her in her lap. Denise's newly blond hair fell over Paulette's face, mingling with Paulette's bleached mess until no difference could be seen between them. Identical noses close, one face in repose, the other in a rictus of grief, Denise's tears dripped onto Paulette's cheeks.

From somewhere in the room the radio crackled. "Anna ... Duffy house ... Roadblocks..." Anna's message had gotten through.

Arms wrapped her around her sister, Denise began to rock. As if an invisible hand arrested her movement, she stopped suddenly. Misery blinked out, cheeks still awash with tears, Denise looked almost happy. Anna watched as her hand dipped into the pocket of Paulette's smock. Pulling out an empty unused syringe, she held it up to the lantern light and smiled.

Using her teeth, Denise uncapped the needle. Thumb on the plunger, she jammed the needle into her carotid artery and ripped downward. Blood sprayed out in a crimson wave, then pulsed ever smaller fountains of red. The sisters' blood mixed until both were dyed red with it and Anna couldn't tell where Denise began and Paulette left off.

Sirens sounded in the distance. "Your daddy is coming," Anna whispered to Olivia.

Expelling a sigh, Anna looked away from the tragedy clogging the door, her eyes moving to the painted sunlight through the fake windows.

There had been an instant, a moment in time, when Anna might have been able to say or do something that would have stopped Denise, saved her life.

But it would not have been a kindness.

ALSO BY NEVADA BARR.

FICTION.

Anna Pigeon Books.

Destroyer Angel.

The Rope.

Burn Borderline.

Winter Study Hard Truth High Country.

Flashback Hunting Season Blood Lure Deep South.

Liberty Falling Blind Descent Endangered Species.

Firestorm Ill Wind (a.k.a. Mountain of Bones) A Superior Death.

Track of the Cat.

OTHER NOVELS.

Bittersweet.

13.

NONFICTION.

Seeking Enlightenment-Hat by Hat.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

NEVADA BARR is a novelist, actor, and artist best known for her New York Times bestselling, award-winning novels featuring Anna Pigeon. A former National Park Service ranger, she currently lives New Orleans. You can sign up for email updates here.

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