"I'd never have known it was you," Dewey said, his eyes hidden behind mirrored glasses. His voice was flat, almost too flat. Was he worried about her? That must be it, because he hadn't known Kerry. It was Phagan who?d known Kerry, who'd talked her into running away with him. Who'd lost her when she insisted on bringing her little sister along, too. If only-

Phoebe cut that thought off at the knees.

"Harding's gonna shit a brick when he sees you."

"I hope so." Phoebe smiled her sisteR's smile as she slid into the limo through the door Dewey held open for her. She leaned back, not thinking about what was ahead. Not just yet. Right now was for her and Kerry.

As if he sensed this, Dewey didn't speak either, just directed the driver to take them to the country club. He did take her hand in a comforting grip. She held on and let the past engulf her.

Jake was sitting on the stoop sipping a soft drink when Matt and Bryn arrived with some local cops.

Matt climbed out of one of the cars-the driveR's seat of course-and looked at his little brother. He had a powerful, stocky body and blunt, weathered features that his marriage had softened slightly. As always, he reminded Jake of their dad.

Jake finished his drink and tossed it into a street-side rubbish bin. "Took you long enough."

"Got caught in some traffic." Matt looked tense, but compared to Bryn he was positively mellow.

Bryn was giving off tension vibes like a hot sidewalk. Being a wise man, Jake refrained from commenting on anything but the job at hand. When they'd deployed the local cops outside the building, he led Bryn and Matt inside to the elevator.

Phoebe moved through the crowd like a ghost, sliding between clusters of rich, smart people like a will-o-the-wisp. At some level her senses were on alert for a sign of Harding or his goon, Barrett Stern, but it was hard to feel real when no one even acknowledged her presence in this gathering of the powerful and moneyed of Denver.

It was like being split into pieces. Kerry Anne was in full and firm control of Phoebe's outside, but inside who she was now and who she'd been wrestled like twin babies in a womb. A gateway to the past had been opened. Her demons were out of the box and couldn't be sent back because she needed them to make the game happen. She just hoped she could control them. The stakes were high. If she lost this one, she lost big, she lost it all, and she lost without hope of recovery.

This Wasn't a news flash. She'd known the risks when she signed on to the game. What she hadn't anticipated was meeting Jake. He was a wild card in their game, who, totally against her will, made her wild with longing for a life outside the game. Meeting him had introduced a bitter regret to the emotions seething below the surface of the Kerry Anne fa?e. It was like adding propane to a flame, turning it bright, hot and dangerously unstable. Unstable was not the way she wanted to be for her first meeting with her sisteR's murderer.

She found a leafy bower near a small artificial lake and sank down onto the decorative bench. There was one person she could summon right now, one identity that would bind them together into a cohesive whole.

Pathphinder.

With the thought came the path she needed to follow, step by careful step. She sighed, feeling the tension give way to purpose. She, they-all the people she'd been in the last seven years-would do what was necessary. No matter what the cost. No matter what she would never have because of it.

She stood up, but before she could turn around, she heard his laugh behind her. It was charming, even infectious. Only those who truly knew him heard the edge of evil buried in its heart.

She turned slowly and found him standing in the full sun with the black rose on his lapel. Light loved him, though he didn't love it. He fooled it, as he did most people, with his easy, addictive charm. Like taking a drug, being around him was intoxicating at first. Only when it was too late did you realize the pleasure of his company was a soul-destroying poison.

She actually took a step back as her flight instinct overcame her fight. Then she saw him smile down at the two little girls standing next to a woman who was obviously their mother. He touched the older child, his eyelids drooping in pleasure, then lifted his glass and drank.

It was at that moment he saw her.

"Here it is," Bryn said, stopping outside a solid wood door just around the corner from the elevator.

"Guns and badges?" Matt asked.

Jake shook his head. "These guys pack pocket protectors, not guns."

Bryn hesitated, then nodded her agreement, but she kept her hand on her weapon.

"Ollie Smith's death might have changed that." Matt stepped to one side of doorjamb with his hand also on his gun.

Jake took the other side, then knocked on the door. "Might already be an empty hole-" He stopped at the sound of movement from inside. Someone fumbled with the lock, then the door opened a crack, the safely chain still on. A young, scared face peered out.

"Yes?"

"I'm Jake Kirby, US Marshals Service." He held up his badge, shifting his weight to put his shoulder against the door, a precaution that immediately proved wise when the kid tried to slam the door.

Matt saw it coming and shoved his foot into the opening to help Jake, giving a grunt of pain when the door crunched into his foot. "Shit. I hate nice neighborhoods. The doors are too damn heavy." He slammed his shoulder into the door and this time it gave as far as the chain would allow.

"He's running." Jake pulled his gun, stepped back, and kicked the door. The chain gave up and the door popped open.

"Cover me," Matt said. He went in sideways, with his body turned to present the smallest target, with Jake and Bryn were on his heels. Moving fast but carefully, they fanned out. Jake took the kitchen and almost immediately found the rear exit swinging on its hinges.

"He went out the back!" Jake yelled. "I'm heading down."

As he went out, he heard Matt shouting instructions into his radio. Out in the hall, Jake looked down the flight of stairs, then turned and headed for the elevator. He had his own idea of where the kid would come out.

Peter Harding couldn't believe what he was seeing. Kerry Anne Beauleigh, standing in a flower and leaf frame? Could it be? The dress. He remembered it. Graduation. In a rare moment of sobriety, Norma Jean had taken her to pick it out. The girl has looked magical in it. Hopeful, ready to fly free. She hadn?t known yet that she'd never be free. Not until he'd explained her options to her. Her eyes-they looked at him now with the same expression she'd had that night.

Wide, shocked. Accusing. Defiant even as her blood dripped her life onto the white tile. He'd left her for Nadine to find, so she'd know what would happen to her if she defied him. Instead, she'd run away.

His hands curled into fists as a red mist formed before his eyes. It had to be Nadine. Kerry Anne was dead. He'd watched them wheel her lifeless, naked body away. Made all the arrangements to put her in the ground since Norma Jean was, as usual, too drunk to cope.

"Peter? Are you all right?" Audrey's face came between him and Kerry Anne.

"I'm fine." He lifted his arm to shove her out of the way, but someone grabbed it, the fingers biting into his flesh like a vise.

"You've cut your hand," Stern said, interposing himself between Harding and Audrey.

Harding looked down, saw blood and drink dripping onto the broken shards of glass. Pieces of the glass still cut into his palm, but he felt no pain there.

"Looks like you had a cracked glass." Stern spoke again. His eyes told Harding to pull it together.

Harding took a shaky breath, realized his heart was pounding like a piston. He licked his lips. Stern shoved a glass of water into his good hand and lifted it to his mouth. Harding drank, then pushed it away.

"I thought I saw...an old friend. You should...bring her to me."

"I will, when I'm sure You're all right," Stern said. He stepped aside for Audrey.

In control was what he meant. Harding managed a reassuring look for her. "Sorry, darling. Those...flowers over there reminded me of my...mother?s funeral."

Behind Audrey's back, Stern's eyes told him it was a good save.

Tears filled her eyes as she took his hand in hers. "You're bleeding."

Her touch, combined with the smell of his blood, was intoxicating. He could feel the power, the violence rise within him. Could imagine his fist smashing into her face. Blood spurting from her mouth and nose. Seeing the look in her eyes change from love to fear-

"We'd better find a first-aid kit," Stern said, breaking into his thoughts with a firm voice and a vice-like grip. "Perhaps Mrs. Dilmont could hold down the fort with your guests until we get you taken care of?"

The only thing Peter wanted to take care of was business. As if Stern sensed it, his grip on his arm tightened until Harding winced.