"Who the hell knows? So far the owner, Peter Harding, looks squeaky clean and yet he smells to high heaven. Of course, that could be because he pissed me off. Obviously has woman-in-power issues."

Jake held the door of the truck for her, then got into the driver's seat but didn't start the motor. He realized he was facing the street that Phoebe had run down just yesterday and felt regret take a big bite out of his concentration.

"If we can find out who Phoebe Mentel really is, it might clear up some thing. Maybe Harding is lurking in her past somewhere," Bryn said.

"She told me married Mentel when she was sixteen," Jake said slowly, "and that her mother was a drunk. She's obviously one of Phagan's runaways."

"That could just be her cover story-"

Jake shook his head. "I don't think so. It had the ring of truth about it. She also mentioned a sister who died."

Bryn frowned. "According to our info, Phoebe doesn't have siblings. Interesting she'd make a mistake like that. She doesn't strike me as someone who makes mistakes."

Jake frowned, remembering that day in her office. There'd been something in the way she'd said it, as if she couldn't not say it. "I could be wrong, but I think the sister is the key to her involvement with Phagan."

"My guy is still digging. Hopefully he'll find what's rotten if Harding is Phagan's next target. On paper, he appears to be an upstanding guy. Hell, he's making a run for governor. Be a stupid move if he's got a big old skeleton in his closet."

"You'd think. Wouldn't be the first politician to think he could outrun his past though. Or Harding could be a smoke screen Phagan's putting up." Jake turned the key and put the truck in gear. "If we're watching TelTech, he and his gang could happily make their move on someone else. No way in hell we could cover all possible targets in the area. Shit, no way we could even identify them."

The one consistency in the Phagan profile was that there was no consistency, except the evil his targets had done in the past.

Bryn bit back a denial that Phagan would deceive her. The truth was, she didn't know what Phagan would do. Perhaps his careful lead feeding had been meant only to build trust so that she would blindly follow his lead. Except she'd never blindly go anywhere. Phagan had to know that about her. Hell, the guy knew she liked to read romance novels. Even her mother didn't know that. "He didn't have to tell us anything. And" -she cleared the defensiveness from her voice, before finishing evenly- "it tracks with his profile to lead law enforcement to clean up after him. He seems to have a remarkable grasp of the law and just what we need to nail his targets, once he's done with them. It's one of his more...annoying characteristics."

"One?" Jake's innocuous question invited confidences that she found she wanted to give. But would Jake respect her in the morning?

"If there's something going on with this guy..." Jake added, gently.

She watched Jake point the truck toward Denver, then flick on the speed control. He looked so relaxed, so in control of his life and his feelings, her defensive feelings came back up in a rush.

"There's nothing going on that I can't handle."

"No one said you couldn't handle anything."

She made herself relax, but the words still wanted to stick in her throat. "His behavior has been...unorthodox." She rubbed her face, so she wouldn't have to look at him. "Hell, this is so embarrassing! He's sort of...seems to have...a kind of...crush on me."

The relief of sharing her secret was immediate and overwhelming, followed almost immediately by horror that it was out. She stole a look at Jake and found him looking thoughtful, not amused. Smart guy.

"He's obviously a man of taste and good sense."

"And?" she prompted.

"Has he been stalking you?"

"Stalking isn't exactly what I'd call it."

"Would courting be more accurate?"

She nodded without looking at him. "He's given me gifts. Small things."

"The rose in your room and at the house?"

She nodded. "Gift certificates to things he knows I like. Nothing big. I don't use them, of course. Except...he built me a VR headset so we could meet. I did use that. He's good. Very good. And very careful."

"If he's leaving you roses, then he's in the area." That was interesting. Jake had gotten the impression that Phagan pulled his strings from a safe, or a maybe a lofty distance was more accurate. "Phagan must be someone you've met at some point..."

"I've racked my brain trying to figure out who it could be. I meet so many people in my work." Bryn rubbed her head as if it hurt. "He could be someone I've questioned, or the guy who washes my car or cuts my hair. No way to know without cracking his network."

"No wonder you're frustrated. Every time you leave home, you'd be wondering," Jake said. It was a wonder she hadn't crashed like a hard drive under that kind of pressure. Of course, he'd always known she was a tough cookie, and yet Phagan seemed to have made some headway in his courtship. Kind of funny, when he thought about it. He and Bryn were caught on the horns of the same dilemma.

So why wasn't he smiling?

Chapter 11.

From the doorway Dewey watched Phoebe sorting through their equipment for tonight. She obviously hadn't heard him come in and the shutters that usually masked the expression in her eyes were not in place. He stepped back outside, feeling like an intruder. Her sadness could have been because the game was bringing back memories of Kerry Anne, but Dewey had a feeling the past was just the icing on her misery cake. Her past was old, and the wounding in her eyes was new, the bleeding fresh and painful to see.

He leaned against the wall, feeling the weight of the responsibility Kerry Anne had left him with when she'd entrusted her little sister to his care. Feeling a sense of failure. Though Phoebe hadn't known it, her need had saved him, given his grief a channel. Her need had kept him from giving in to his own grief at losing Kerry Anne, his own sense of helplessness at the time.

"I've been a poor guardian, Kerry," he whispered. "I saved her life, but at what cost? She's not happy. I thought..."

What had he thought? That committing them both to avenging Kerry's death would make them happy? The truth was, he hadn't thought. He'd felt. They'd both been lost in their feelings of rage and horror. Not a good place to be making life decisions from. He hadn't been much more than a kid himself-expert at computers, not life-and still reeling from the things Kerry had just told him about what her stepfather had been making her do.

He rubbed his face, feeling the horror of that moment sweep through him again. He'd known that sorrow had a permanent home inside Kerry Anne, but not why. He's hope that his love was the key to driving it out. That whatever her burden was, he could remove it.

If he hadn't placed that anonymous call to the authorities, would Kerry Anne still be alive? In his innocence, he hadn't realized how connected Montgomery Justice was. Now Dewey knew just how good Justice was at finding who could help him and who could hurt him. And how effectively he neutralized opposition. Dewey's report had disappeared or been buried deep in the system and Kerry Anne's death had been ruled a suicide before her body was in the ground. A few weeks later, their mama had taken a drunken tumble down the stairs and a "grief stricken" Justice had left the area.

In the end, all Dewey did for Kerry Anne was save to Nadine from Justice's intentions. He'd gotten her a brand new life, then deluded himself into believing that vengeance was the road to healing for them both. He'd healed nothing and cost her a life with her marshal. Way to go, Dewey. What are you going to do for your next trick?

He'd made a royal mess of things, but the game was running. They had to deal with that right now. Maybe after...

He opened and closed the door, noisily this time. When Phoebe looked up, the shutters were firmly in place in her now baby blues.

"Kevin okay?" she asked.

Dewey nodded. "He's on his way to Idaho. Seems he likes potatoes."

He knelt down beside her and started stowing the equipment she'd finished checking. They worked without talking, then headed for the kitchen. Phoebe sat at the table with a diet soda while Dewey heated up some soup and made sandwiches. When he was seated across from her, she picked up a sandwich half, then set it down again.

"You okay?" he asked, crumbling crackers into the steaming soup.

"Do you remember when we met?" She looked at him, but he could tell she was seeing the past. That night when he'd found her huddled in a corner of the park where she'd spent hours until he came trying to screw up the courage to slash her wrists with a rusty razor she'd found under a bench. Kerry's blood was still splattered on her clothes, though there were signs she'd taken the time to wash her hands and face before boarding the bus to the next town. Her eyes were wide and filled with the horror of it. She'd looked up at him, her face and eyes swollen from crying.

"Are you Phagan?" she'd asked, her voice hoarse with unrestrained grief.

The four years he had on her had shrunk to nothing with his own grief and horror and near paralyzing guilt. He'd wanted to sit down beside her and cry with her. Wanted to take the razor and end his own pain of losing Kerry. Her need of him was terrifying, but too insistent to walk away from.

To this day, he wasn't sure why he'd shaken his head and offered his real name, not his internet handle. "I'm Dewey. Dewey Hyatt. A friend of Phagan's."