No, that cant happen.

Theres something she has to do.

It came up incidentally, as she and Ashley ate their pancakes and chatted over breakfast at that diner.

Ashley caught a glimpse of her thick silver bracelet falling from beneath her sleeve, and mentioned that her mother always liked to wear gold jewelry.

She only had one silver thing in her jewelry box, Ashley said. A really pretty bracelet that was like a link of rosebuds.

How do you know about that?

I saw it once when I was snooping around, trying on some of her stuff, Ashley admitted with a guilty expression. But then I heard my mother coming so I put it back and got out of there.

Im sure she wouldnt have minded. All girls try on their moms jewelry. Your mother and I always did, when we were young. My father used to buy her costume jewelry for every occasion, and she never wore any of it. She just let it pile up in her jewelry box.

Well, I think my father must have given the silver bracelet to her, and she never wore it, but she kept it. I used to think it meant she still loved him and they were going to get back together again, but now I dont know.

Oh, Ash She shook her head. Your father didnt give it to her. That was her sorority bracelet.

No, I dont think so, Aunt Dee. Im pretty sure it was a Ralph Lauren bracelet, from my dad.

Why do you think that?

Ashley told her.

And the ugly germ of an idea sparked in her brain.

It cant be No. Theres no way.

Ashley must be mistaken.

But theres only one way to know for sure.

Brynns heart is pounding as she stares at the dark splotch on the floor.

It almost looks as though something seeped under the door.

Something.

Blood.

No. Youre being ridiculous.

The spot is dry, soaked into the wood; she can see that without touching it. Its probably just an exceptionally large knot in the pine.

Or perhaps whoever finished the floor splashed paint there, or dark-colored stain.

Or its blood.

Officer, Brynn calls again, taking a step back from the closet door, her voice tremulous. Please Where are you?

But her invisible protector remains stubbornly silent; the only sound is the rain pattering on the porch roof, pinging into the metal gutters.

I cant do this.

Brynn presses a trembling hand against her lower stomach.

She doesnt care about Quincys trap, or the police catching the killer, or having to live with the consequences if they dont.

At this moment, all she cares about is her baby.

The d.a.m.ned cop isnt answering her pleas, and she cant even use her cell phone to call for help.

I have to get out of here. I have to get to a doctor.

She abruptly turns to fleeand screams.

Unmistakably outlined in the doors gla.s.s pane is the figure of someone looming on the porch, watching her.

Parked in the deserted lot of a bait-and-tackle shop thats been boarded up for winter, Quincy stares at the crackling two-way radio in his hand and bites out a curse.

Still no response up there. Somethings wrong, he tells Connelly, standing just outside the car in the rain, training a pair of binoculars on the mountainside in a futile effort to see something.

What do you want to do, then? Go up?

I dont know. Quincys stomach burns as this mornings acrid coffee mingles with his growing uneasiness about Brynn Saddler.

For a long moment, Quincy stares through the windshield, gazing up at the forested incline now mostly obscured by low-hanging clouds and wisps of mist.

Somewhere up there, he believes, an unwitting Brynn Saddler is vulnerable and unprotected.

But if you and Connelly go barreling up there, and everything is fine, and its just a communications problem because of the terrain or the weather or whatever Then h.e.l.l have tipped his hand.

And enable Rachel Lorent, if shes lurking nearby, to escape.

But if you dont get your a.s.s up there right now and check things out Brynn trusted him. He cant let anything happen to her.

Quincy jerks his head toward the mountain in a decisive nod. Lets go.

Whos there? a voice demands, as the key turns in the lock.

But it isnt Rachels voice, Brynn realizes.

No, its a mans.

A cop It might be one of the cops. It must be. Because a stalking serial killer wouldnt be asking whos in here; he would know.

Nonetheless Brynn instinctively backs away in dread, both hands splayed against her abdomen as if to shield her unborn child.

Brynn?

The door opens And she recognizes his voice in the split second before she sees him.

Patrick Hagan.

Thank G.o.d.

Her knees sag in relief as they stare at each other.

Pat is wearing a red and black checked wool jacket, jeans, boots. His hair is sprinkled with droplets of rain. He blinks at her in confusion.

I thought that was your car, he says, shaking his head like a wet puppy and rubbing a hand through his damp hair. What are you doing here?

Fee said I could use the cabin whenever I wanted, is her lame reply.

She watches a frown begin to cross Pats face, only to be chased away by a flash of remembrance.

He forgot she was dead,Brynn realizes.

For a second there, Pat was obviously annoyed with his ex-wifes open invitation to their shared property.

Now, however, hes shrugging and offering a slightly sheepish grin.

Im glad you took her up on it, then, he says graciously. Im the only one who ever comes up hereits kind of nice to have some company for a change. Hey, I brought donuts.

She realizes hes holding a white paper bag in one hand, a take-out cup of coffee in the other.

Brynn shakes her head, still trying to reconcile her relief at the ordinariness of Pats intrusion with the stark terror of the last few minutes.

Are you sure? Ive got glazed and Pat, listen, I need you to help me. This isnt going to make any sense at all, but Are you okay, Brynn?

No. Her voice breaks. Im not okay. I have to get out of here.

Whats wrong?

Im pregnant and Im bleeding.

His jaw drops and he starts toward her. Sit down. Ill get you some No, Pat, I cant stay here. We cant stay here. Theres something She gestures helplessly at the floor in front of the closet door. Do you see that stain? What is it? Paint or something? Has it always been there?

She watches his gaze drop to the floor, sees him frown. No, I dont know what that is.

He strides toward the door, jerks it open, and stiffens.

What is it? Brynn asks, somehow knowing that her worst suspicion has just been confirmed.

It was blood.

Pat turns away and she sees his stunned expression.

With a muttered oath he grabs her arm, pulling her toward the door. We have to get the h.e.l.l out of here, Brynn. Come on.

Is it Is someone in there? she manages to whimper as she allows Pat to propel her across the porch, down the steps through the rain to his Jeep.

h.e.l.l, yes. Pat is breathing hard, his hand clenched almost painfully on her upper arm. Weve got to get the h.e.l.l out of here before He doesnt finish the sentence, opening the door and practically tossing her into the pa.s.sengers seat, looking over his shoulder at the cabin as though someone is going to come after them.

Brynn follows his apprehensive gaze. The porch is empty.

Then she shifts her eyes toward the woods where, she now senses, Quincys men lie among the wet, fallen leaves like the discarded prey of a still-circling vulture.

Ashley forgot her backpack in Aunt Dees car.

She probably should have said something when they came out of the restaurant after breakfast and Aunt Dee casually tossed it from the floor of the front seat into the backseat.

Mom never would have done that. She would have known Ashley would forget it if she couldnt see it.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Oh, well, she thinks, heading toward the cafeteria. Sister Mary Joseph gave her money so sh.e.l.l be able to buy lunch, and the other teachers told her not to worry about not having her folders, notes, or textbooks.

Everyone is being so nice to Ashley today.

They feel sorry for me,she knows, and wonders how long its going to last.

Will anyone ever treat her like a regular person again?

All this coddling kindness is making her miss her mother all the more.

What Ashley wouldnt give to hear her say, Pull your hair forward a little, Ash. And stand up straight.

But, she keeps reminding herself, sh.e.l.l never hear Moms voice again.

Pat speeds away from the cabin as though theyre being chased, keeping one eye on the rearview mirror. The tires catapult gravel along the sides of the road; the wipers beat a steady rhythm on the windshield to keep the downpour at bay.

Huddled in the pa.s.sengers seat, still reeling, still clutching her stomach, Brynn realizes she left her purse behind. And no way is she going back for it.

Do you have a phone? she asks Pat, who shakes his head.

Dammit. Hers was in her purse.

We have to stop somewhere and call Quincy.

Who?

The police, she clarifies. That person the one in the closet He was a cop.

What? Pat shakes his head. No, he wasnt.

How do you know?