It wasn't exactly an elephant in the room, but it was something Jake was still getting used to. He didn't begrudge her happiness. She'd worn black for Dad long enough. It was just hard to think of your mom in the dating zone. Which, judging by the flush in her cheeks and the softened line of her lips that tipped up in a slight smile, she'd just returned from.

The vestiges of her smile didn't survive her scrutiny of her sons. The three of them did, Jake had to concede, look pretty hashed. No sleep last night, followed by a long, hellish day, had put new lines in all their faces and deepened the ones already there.

"Dani must be out of town. Or you're afraid to wake her." Debra Kirby's gaze summoned Matt from the counter supporting him up. He gave her a kiss and a hug. Luke didn't wait for her gaze to find him. He planted a kiss on her opposing cheek the same time as Matt, then dropped into a chair and gave her his I'm-the-good son smile. The slight lift of her brow erased it.

Jake felt her high beams find him but was too tired to protect or defend his secrets. Limbs heavy, he pushed back his chair, rounded the table and lifted her into a hearty, desperately needed hug. If Mom couldn't make it better, then no one could.

"About time you showed up here," she scolded. Her arms and clean scent enfolded him in a wave of comfort. Before she let him go she patted him down for injuries, then framed his face with her hands.

Jake set her down. "Sorry, Mom. Been-"

"-Working. I know." Their gazes met and he saw hers widen slightly, then narrow into two X-rays. "Just like I know you'll find time to tell me what's been happening with you."

"Cross my heart." He knew he'd gotten off lightly, mostly because his brothers were there. She'd dig out his secret, but not in front of his brothers, not until she was sure it was common knowledge. If he had his way, this particular secret never would be common knowledge. He dropped back into his chair, exhaustion a dead weight dragging him down. "After I've had some shut-eye."

A shower came on over their heads, and her eyebrows shot up.

"It's Jake's FBI agent," Luke explained. "We made up the bed in the guest room for her."

"How domestic of you." Jake felt his mom's gaze swing his way again, question marks like neon signs in her eyes. Was this who'd put the sad in my baby boy's eyes, they asked him.

Jake gave her a silent no, then let his upper lids go back to ground zero against his lowers. More than anything, he wanted to fall onto his old bed upstairs. But he wasn't sure he could make it up the stairs, let alone down the hall to his boyhood bedroom, one that now did double duty as a sewing room. His mom didn't leave shrines to the past in her house.

"Want me to drop you off, Luke?" he heard Matt say, his voice wavering in and out as tired began to win the battle of Jake's body.

"Thanks." Jake heard the scrape of chairs being pushed back. "But let's get our baby brother up to his room. Doesn't look like he's gonna make it."

His brothers' voices got farther and farther away. The sensation of being manhandled barely registered before tired took him down into a deep, dark well.

Phoebe woke facedown on a pink rug amid scattered sheets of computer paper. She rolled onto her back and saw Dewey kneeling next to her. He smelled, she noted groggily, like roses.

It wasn't a great way to wake up. To make matters worse, she'd stiffened, first from her collision with the tree, and then from falling asleep on the floor. She could see herself in the mirror over the heart-shaped bed. She'd managed to ice away the shiner but now had a strange looking rose pattern creased into her cheek from the carpet.

Dewey, wise man that he was, moved back a safe distance before he grinned at her. "What the hell happened here?"

Phoebe managed to sit up, though it felt as if she was breaking bones to do it. She looked around because she had no idea what he was talking about.

Coke cans, chip and candy wrappers, mingled with the print outs of RABBIT research data. The television screen was giving off a white-noise buzz, and a tape protruded from the video player. Pieces of memory drifted to the front of her mind, then whole chunks, until she remembered it all.

"Oh, yeah." Not remembering had been so much better. "I've been finding out about RABBIT. What it does. What it doesn't do. Like...work."

She leaned against the bed and rubbed her imprinted cheek, hoping to speed its return to normal.

Dewey dropped down beside her. "What are you talking about?"

"Harding's little chip is a piece of crap."

"What?"

"It doesn't work. That's why those guys were there. To steal it before other people found out it doesn't work, too."

He stared at her, his jaw slack, but there were indications in his eyes that he was attempting to assimilate what she was saying. He held up the morning newspaper.

"He wouldn't. Not when he's running for governor."

"Apparently he had no choice. Losing it being preferable to, say, jail?"

"No way. He wouldn't be that stupid, would he?"

"Maybe the billions of dollars he took from the government to develop RABBIT gave him a false sense of security. Thanks to Ollie, I've got the real tests and the falsified ones Harding used to keep the money flowing his way. But it was all going to come out when he turned it over if his RABBIT didn't disappear into the night."

"Billions, huh? Well, that could make a man stupid. What tipped you off?"

She crawled through the debris to the video player, pushed in the tape and started it. The television screen cleared, turned black, then filled with the scene outside TelTech the night before. "Look at this."

The tape she'd shot of Harding appeared on the screen. She froze the frame on the close-up. "Look at him."

Dewey looked. "What?"

"Look at his eyes." Phoebe sank back on her heels, fighting off the feeling of being sucked back in time. That was the way he'd looked when he beat them. Sorrow on the surface, pleasure underneath.

Dewey leaned in, then looked at her. "I see what you mean."

"He's why those guys were there. He needed RABBIT to disappear." She rubbed her face. "And, clever little thieves that we are, we did the bastard a favor by grabbing it. If we give it back, turn this stuff over to the Feds, he can claim we faked the data and ruined his chip. Who's going to believe the nasty little thieves?"

Dewey processed this and finally sighed. "Well, that's pretty damn ironic."

Phoebe chuckled, then leaned her head on his shoulder. "That, my friend, is a serious understatement."

Despite the early hour, Harding poured drinks for them both. He left Stern's on the bar and carried his to the window. Stern left the drink where it was and walked over next to him. This wasn't the time to cloud his wits with liquor, especially if Harding was inclined to play the fool.

Outside the window, Harding's landscaping was tidy and controlled. The shrubs and flowers lined up like soldiers on review. Even the fountain spouted water in regimented bursts. Just the way Harding liked it. The view and the liquor smoothed the stress from Harding's face, blurring the fa?e and giving a brief glimpse of the evil lurking beneath. He craved control, fed on it; like a junkie, he had to have his fix at regular intervals or he spun out of control.

In the years since their mutual darkness had drawn them together, Stern had made sure Harding had his fixes, had fed his addiction judiciously, kept him in control. Looking at him now, he wondered why he'd bothered. It was obvious the addiction would never really be under control, just occasionally forced into remission.

Harding was happy now because he thought the threat was over. Whoever was gas-lighting him was good. And knew him well, knew where and when to apply the pressure. It was hard to believe a terrorized fifteen-year-old girl had managed to grow into someone clever enough for this kind of game. At first she'd mildly interested Stern, then she'd begun to annoy him. Now, well, even he could appreciate a job well done.

She'd reminded him of something he'd forgotten. Drive, don't be driven.

He'd let himself be distracted putting out fires. Reacting instead of acting. He'd gotten lazy, almost sloppy. He should know better. His perfect, middle-class father had taught him to keep an eye on the details, but never lose the long view. He'd kept track of everything but his only son. By the time he'd realized it, Stern had already chosen his long view.

Everyone had to choose light or dark. Some, like Harding, chose dark to hide their own evil. Others, like Stern, just liked the dark. Like Batman. It was his natural element, the place where he belonged. He liked danger. He liked killing. There was something fascinating about watching a life slip away. Where did it go? Was there a soul in those bodies? Or was it just over? Sometimes he thought he could see the soul leave, if the life he took had been lived in the light. When the innocent died, he believed in souls, but the feeling didn't last.

Unlike Harding, he didn't seek out victims, but he didn't turn aside when circumstances delivered them to him either. It was all in the details, and someday he'd know. One way or another, he'd know.

"Farley doesn't have RABBIT," he said, taking out a cigarette and lighting up to avoid seeing Harding's histrionics.

To his surprise, Harding said calmly, "So, what? As long as it's gone."