The bank account gave her a sense of equally strong accomplishment.

She was opening a bank account for money 'she' had earned. She had become independent. For someone who had been told from childhood that she wasn't capable of being anything other than an ornament, it was heady stuff indeed.

'Empowerment'. She had been reading a lot about abusive behavior and empowerment. She saw herself only too clearly as a victim. She had thought about leaving Randolph, but she'd feared losing her son. It hadn't been until she was faced with her own death that she had been able to take the steps toward freedom.

She signed the bank papers and carefully counted out fifteen hundred dollars. Another fifteen hundred was hidden in various places in her house and in her car. And now her small sculptures were selling well enough to provide what little she and Harry needed to live day to day. Everything above that went into savings.

The a.s.sistant manager gave her a broad smile. "We're delighted to have you as a customer. Your bankcard should arrive in a few days. Here are some temporary checks until you receive the personalized ones."

"Thank you," she said, rising from the chair.

"If you need any investment advice or anything at all, please call me," the woman said, giving her a card.

Investment advice. The words implied a future, stability. Success. Permanence. Independence.

A future.

And it was 'hers'.

'A' thrill of accomplishment ran through her, chasing away some of the dark shadows that had been hovering around every minute of every day. She warned herself she would still have to be cautious. But she had taken positive steps on her own, and had succeeded.

Now she had one thing left to do to try to secure her safety and that of her son.

She would have to record the recent events as they had happened. She wished she had kept the paper with the security code for her home written on it, the paper she had found in the pocket of the intruder. But she hadn't, and the least she could do was alert authorities in the event Randolph found her.

But who to entrust with her story?

She didn't know anyone she could trust in New Orleans. Not after what had happened. How long was her father's and Randolph's reach in New Orleans? She didn't know. She couldn't take chances.

But her new friends?

Would she be putting them in danger if she gave them information to forward in the event anything happened to her? An attorney here. That would be her best bet. Client-attorney privilege was absolute. She knew that.

With renewed confidence, she left the bank. She held Harry's hand firmly. Her son clutched a red lollipop, a gift from the bank, in his free hand.

Home. A phone call. Lunch. Then work.

Normalcy.

It felt good.

'NEW ORLEANS'.

Meredith had to wait three hours at the hospital before the busy emergency room staff had time to swab her arm with antiseptic and st.i.tch the wound.

The level of pain increased with each pa.s.sing minute. Now it hurt like h.e.l.l. She'd had a shot to deaden the area before the st.i.tches were made, but it had worn off. Now she had to wait to be released.

Nan needed a simple bandage and had left with the counselor from the shelter. She would be all right.

Now.

Meredith was tired, exhausted from the emotional aftermath of the funeral and then the shooting. Too tired to consider rationally what had happened.

Nan had said Rick had pledged to get her. Could he have been behind everything that had happened? He had been on duty the night she'd been attacked, but he certainly had access to shady characters who wouldn't shy away from violence.

That seemed easier to believe than a conspiracy that reached back thirty-three years.

Had one bitter, deranged man who had wanted to terrify her and take away anyone close to her been behind the terrifying events of the last week?

If so, she was safe now. It was over.

She could return to normal.

'Normal?'

Nothing would be normal again. She knew she would never leave a door unlocked again. She would never walk in her city without fear again.

And she still had a sister to find.

She looked out the hospital doors. It was past midnight. Her limbs were weak, unsteady. Most of all she felt rootless. Rudderless. She thought about her mother lying in another hospital across the city.

'She shouldn't die alone.'

Or was doing as she asked more important?

Meredith didn't know any longer.

She didn't even have transportation. Her car was at her parents' house, where she'd left it when she and Gage raced to Nan's home. She imagined Gage was at headquarters, being grilled.

She could call Sarah.

She played with the idea, then dismissed it. She hated to put other people out, to ask her staff to do ch.o.r.es unrelated to the practice. She would call a cab. Go home. Have a pot of hot chocolate and a long, scented bath.

She allowed her thoughts to return to Gage, to the expression on his face as he had leaned over the body of Rick Fuller. For a man who usually kept thoughts hidden, it had been raw, naked. Devastated. The look had lasted only seconds. Then the mask had fallen back in place.

Perhaps two weeks ago that would have surprised her. Now it didn't. He cared far more about his job, and about people, than he wanted anyone to think.

In dying, Rick Fuller had hurt still another person who had tried to help her.

She only wished she didn't want to see Gage so badly. That she didn't wish he would appear at the door.

But she was only too aware of the procedures after a shooting incident. Add to the fact that the victim was a cop, he was likely to be tied up all night.

As she waited for the paperwork, including some prescriptions, she wondered again whether the violence was really over. She wished with all her heart she could believe that. But she couldn't dismiss the possibilities that something more sinister was at play. There was the sudden disappearance of everything in the attic to explain ... and her father's last words to her. His fear and despair. Fuller had nothing to do with that.

Was she still a danger to everyone she met?

She wasn't going to take the chance.

From now on, she planned to proceed on her own.

She had two avenues left in her search for her sister. The photo. And Memphis, where neighbors of her great-aunt might recall something.

Both were long shots.

But finding her sister now was her driving force. She felt that in some way she had pushed certain people into action. Maybe it was Fuller. Maybe someone entirely different. She only knew she had to find out which.

She signed papers and dutifully accepted prescriptions for painkillers and an antibiotic, then used her cell phone to call a cab. For a fraction of a second, she wanted to cry. But tears wouldn't help.

She could think of only one thing that would. Her family had been taken by disease and malice. But she still had a half sister somewhere.

No matter what it took, she was determined to find her.

Then perhaps she could reclaim her life. Get back to the practice of law.

'BISBEE'.

Holly finished the letter. She wrote in longhand since she didn't have a computer, and what she had to write couldn't be done on the library computers. It was too dangerous.

Writing it in her own handwriting might be an advantage. 'If' it was ever seen.

She had asked Marty for names of some reputable attorneys in the area. She needed a will now that she was Harry's sole parent.

Marty had given her several names but recommended one especially highly.

Holly called him and made an appointment in two days' time, the first slot he had available. It would give her time to perfect a story. Even with client-attorney confidentiality, she didn't dare trust too much.

She stared at the letter. This was her third try. The other two had gone into a wastebasket and would be later torn into tiny pieces and flushed down the toilet.

She was no writer. But she carefully detailed everything that had happened the day she had left New Orleans. She described the phone call she had overheard, then the intruder. She explained how the man had a gun in his hands, the code to the security system and a key to the house.

When she was finished, she had three pages. She took Harry with her to a store where she made three copies, then put the contents into envelopes and sealed each of them.

Then she went to see Marty.

She waited until Marty was alone in the store. She drew her friend aside to a place where she could keep Harry in sight, yet out of his sometimes too keen hearing.

"I have an appointment to see Mr. McIntyre," she said.

"I want to make provisions for Harry in the event anything ..."

Marty nodded.

"I don't have anyone," Holly said starkly. "I know it's a great deal to ask but would you--could you--be my executor? Would you look after Harry's interests?"

Marty searched her face. "There's no one else? No parent? No sibling? Perhaps your husband's family ...?"

Holly shook her head. "No direct relations, and those who aren't, well, I wouldn't want them near my boy."

"I'm sixty-five years old," Marty said.

"The youngest sixty-five I've ever known."

"Still..."

"I am not asking you to keep him," Holly said, her heart aching at the thought of an abandoned little boy. But she had thought and thought and thought. There was no one else she could trust.

Marty's eyes bored into hers, seeking to go deeper than Holly intended to allow.

"Nothing will happen," Holly sought to rea.s.sure Marty. "But everyone should have a will." She hated lying to Marty. She hated not telling her that there was a possibility that something 'could' happen. If it did, her husband's family might get control of Harry after all. But at least she could try to do something.

Perhaps the desperation in her face reached Marty. She nodded her head slowly, then asked in a soft voice, "Is there something I should know, Liz?"

There was. There was a lot she should know. But Holly couldn't tell her. Not now. What if she disapproved of murder, even in self-defense? What if she didn't believe her?

She didn't know if she would believe someone with that kind of tale. Why not go to the police? That would have been her first reaction.

So instead she thanked Marty. She gave the shop owner one of the sealed envelopes. "It's not to be opened unless something happens to me."

Marty gave her a searching gaze, her eyes worried. Then she nodded.

One of the other two envelopes would go to her attorney. The third would stay in her possession.

Harry approached her, and his hand clutched hers tightly. His small earnest face reflected worry. Apparently her tension had seeped into him.

"Let's go someplace special," she said.

He looked up at her with big, round eyes. "Where?"

"It's a surprise."

"Can we take Caesar?"

"Not this time, but we'll take him for a walk when we get home."

She had been wanting to take him to a nearby town for days, but she'd been afraid to drive. Now, with her newly obtained license, she could give him some of the adventures he craved.

Work could wait until tonight when he was asleep.

She settled him into the car seat and looked around at the houses as she drove out of town.

Days were rushing by. She loved working on her sculptures. She loved the walks she took with Harry and Caesar. She liked her easy relationship with Marty and her growing friendships within the city.

She had even missed her morning trip to the library today. She had been intent on seeing Marty, yes, but she wondered whether it wasn't also a sign of growing confidence that she and Harry were safer. The visits to Marty and to the attorney were insurance. Nothing more.

Harry chattered as they drove. He saw a cow and exclaimed.

They reached Tombstone and his eyes grew even larger as he gazed at the Old West exteriors. The town had daily recreations of the shoot-out at the O.K. Corral with Wyatt Earp. She wasn't crazy about the violence, but she knew Harry would love the actors in Old West garb. And the horses.