The physician in her noted with clinical detachment her clammy skin, shaking hands, her sick sense of nausea and racing heart rate, and diagnosed post-trauma stress. Instinctively she made the decisions that would slow her heart rate down and ease her other symptoms.

She said hoa.r.s.ely, "I can't talk right now."

"Why not?" His gaze was sword sharp.

"I need some time to process what's happened."

He stepped around Astra and moved in close to her. He moved in too close, and she knew he did it deliberately. He was crowding her, trying to get her to look up at him. "Mary, look at me."

It was too much. She dropped her hand and looked up. "Michael, I shot a gun at two people," she said between her teeth. "I swore once that I would never shoot a gun. Sometimes I don't know who I am, so I need you to give me a little bit of s.p.a.ce."

His expression went cold and still. His fingers loosened and slid away from her arms. "I understand," he said. "I'll be down at the boat if either of you need me." He stepped around them and disappeared down the path.

She stared down the path where he had disappeared. "I didn't mean it that way."

"Of course you did," Astra said in exasperation. "What you didn't mean to do was hurt him. Well, his feelings are hurt and that's his choice. He didn't have to take it that way."

She said, "I need to go after him."

"No, you don't. Both of you are stressed, overtired and overwrought, which magnifies everything. Just leave things be for a while." Astra paused, then snapped, "G.o.ddammit, listen to me. I don't have time to mother-hen you two. While you're busy playing soap opera, we have real problems."

Mary remembered the sick man in the cabin, and she turned back to Astra. "I'm sorry," she said. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right." The other woman snorted as if any other possibility were inconceivable.

Mary took several deep breaths until she felt steadier. "I've been talking to you for under an hour, and I've already lost count of how many times I've apologized."

"Some people might take that as a sign that they need to shut up for a while," Astra said as she stomped off toward the cabin.

Mary started to laugh. The sound seemed somewhat lost and forlorn. It earned her a glare, so she struggled to contain herself.

As she followed Astra, she looked over the well-tended scene that spanned several acres. Fruit trees dotted the clipped lawn. An extensive herb bed curved around the cabin. A large vegetable garden covered the south end of the clearing. On the far side of the building she saw a corner of a greenhouse, and beyond that a tangle of what appeared to be black raspberry bushes. A couple of other small buildings dotted the sunlit s.p.a.ce.

It was an idyllic place. She imagined what it would be like to winter here in profound isolation, with the thunderous grays and gorgeous icy whites of the Lake, and the sound of the wind as it sliced through the trees while snow blanketed the clearing. She couldn't know for sure without experiencing it, but she thought she might love it.

The cabin was more s.p.a.cious and well appointed than she expected, with a large communal s.p.a.ce that contained the kitchen, dining and living room area. Several doorways led off from the main area. A thin staircase, so steep it was almost a ladder, led to an overhead loft.

Later, she would find out the doorways led to a couple of bedrooms, a bathroom, a mud and laundry room and a locked room that held an office with the latest electronics and a compact lethal armory.

As she and Astra stepped inside, a tall, dark-haired teenage boy appeared in one of the doorways. He was large and gangly like a colt, with a hint of more growth in the width of his shoulders. The utter misery in his reddened eyes made Mary wince with sympathy.

He's a good boy, but watch what you say around him, Astra said to her. Unlike his grandfather and his uncle, he doesn't have a clue about what is really going on.

Mary nodded.

Astra said aloud, "Jamie, Mary's a doctor. She's going to take a look at your grandpa."

Sudden hope flared to life in his young, dark eyes. "Good." His mouth trembled. "He's not doing so well."

Mary set aside everything else to deal with later. She smiled at Jamie as she walked over. "It's nice to meet you. Why don't you take a break right now? Eat something if you can, go outside and get a breath of fresh air, while I talk to your grandpa."

"You'll come get me if you need me?" the boy asked, his gaze clinging to hers. "If-if anything happens?"

"Of course I will." She touched his shoulder and walked into the bedroom, and closed the door firmly in the boy's anxious face.

THE MAN ASLEEP on the bed had been handsome once. The remnant of it lingered in his strong, haggard features, and in the gray and black hair that fell to the pillow. She thought she saw a shadow of what his son had looked like, and a hint of what his grandson might achieve one day.

She could sense Nicholas's presence in the room, but he didn't take visible form. Then she put all thought of him aside. It was time to focus on the reason why she was here.

She sat in the chair that had been pulled close to the bed. It was still warm from Jamie's body. She leaned forward, took one of the sick man's big weathered hands and cradled it between both of hers.

It was a strange, quiet examination. Not only was Jerry a complete stranger, but she realized that he was also the first human-not counting the drones-that she might use her newly recovered skills on.

She sent her awareness over the surface of his cool skin, then sank deep into his body. She explored his rangy, musculoskeletal frame and ran along pathways of his circulatory system with a reflexive pleasure even as she observed his symptoms, noted the lung damage from years of smoking and diagnosed severe pulmonary heart disease.

She sent small pulses of energy in targeted bursts to clear out the worst of the blockage she found in his pulmonary artery, and worked to strengthen the right ventricle even as she discovered answers to questions she had not thought to ask.

She sensed the difference between this man, who was purely human, and the forcefulness of spirit radiated by Michael, Astra and the Deceiver. The difference was like stepping out of a well-lit room into a sunny day. Both were powered with light, but the sun's illumination was so much stronger.

Twenty minutes later, she finished what would have taken several hours of risky open-heart surgery. When she pulled her awareness out of his body, she discovered a shimmering, transparent presence kneeling at her side.

He needs to take things easy and eat a careful diet, but he is going to be fine now, she said to Nicholas. She smiled at him. And if he doesn't stop smoking, I'm going to kick his a.s.s.

The ghost turned to her. If there is anything I can ever do for you, call me and I will come.

She shook her head. You already came once without asking. And that's not why I did this.

The blur of his strong, hawkish features seemed to flash with a smile. That is why I will come.

She felt enveloped in warm male energy and felt something against her skin, as if lips brushed across her cheek. She caught her breath and held it, raising a hand in wonder.

The presence melted away.

Smiling and tearful, she stood. She held on to the back of the chair as the room whirled. The psychic surgery had been relatively brief and controlled, but it had taken concentrated effort to manipulate the energy in such a way that it would promote healing without damaging an already faltering, delicate system.

After the fact, she felt distant from everything, as if she were surrounded by bullet-riddled gla.s.s. She was lightheaded from too many powerful, unresolved emotions. All she wanted to do was to lay her head down on something dry and stationary.

Astra was wiping off the kitchen counters when she walked out of the bedroom. The old woman's face was grim, her wrinkled mouth pursed tight. "How'd it go?"

She said, "I am a G.o.ddess without compare. Nubile young men should lay flowers and chocolates and large monetary contributions at my feet."

A startled smile broke over Astra's face. "Really?"

"He was dying, but I'm sure you already knew that. He needs more rest and a careful diet. I want to examine him again to see if he needs more work, but for now he'll do." She staggered, and Astra hurried over to put an arm around her waist. Her breath hitched. "Okay, I need to lie down now."

"Come on, you'll rest more comfortably if we get you clean first."

Her mind shut down and she let herself be bullied by Astra, who ran her a hot, deep bath, sprinkled with rose-scented bubble bath, and made her strip off the poncho and her underwear and climb into the tub.

Then Astra knelt by the tub, unraveled her tangled braid and helped wash her hair. Afterward Astra brushed out the unruly tangles while Mary rested in the liquid warmth.

Tears p.r.i.c.kled at the back of her eyes at the old woman's gentle touch. The kindness touched all the raw places in her soul. She was so bone weary. She had been beyond terrified too many times over the last couple of days, and she had seen good people die, and she mourned Justin, and she wished Nicholas hadn't been murdered, and she had hurt Michael's feelings.

She said, "I need to talk to Michael."

"Not until after you've both had a chance to rest."

She opened her eyes and looked at Astra, who sighed. "I will tell him that you wanted to talk, but I put my foot down. How's that?"

"Okay," she whispered.

When Astra was through with her hair, she wrapped it in a towel and left the bathroom so Mary could finish washing in privacy, returning a few minutes later with a simple cotton nightgown, a new toothbrush still in its wrapper and a clean pair of cotton socks.

"I used to get visitors like Jerry and Jamie from all over," Astra said when Mary asked about the toothbrush. "I've had friends among the Potawatomi, the Shawnee and the Ojibwa nations. I don't have your spectacular gift for healing, but I do have some small talent. Those visitors have fallen off in this generation, but sometimes Jerry will still bring someone by who needs help, so I've learned to keep a few things handy."

"Whatever the reason, I'm grateful," she said when her teeth were clean.

"I'm going to tuck you in the loft, I think," Astra told her.

They made their way up the narrow stairs to a bedroom simply furnished with a double bed, a dresser, a battered armchair and a bookcase half-filled with paperbacks.

Astra drew back the covers and Mary fell onto the bed. She didn't move as the covers were tucked around her.

She realized another truth. She whispered, "I have missed you."

Astra echoed softly, "I have missed you."

With a great effort, she managed to ask another question. "Is it safe?"

"It is safe, and you can rest," the old woman told her, then added a warning. "But you need to count this safe time in days, not weeks."

She couldn't think ahead. She turned her face away. She had the impulse to say something else, but a small frail hand came down on her forehead. Something quick and deft and slippery happened. She lost what she was going to say. As she tried to pay attention to that slippery something, she fell asleep.

Chapter Fourteen.

THERE WERE TWO ways to react to what had happened the previous evening. Was the gla.s.s half empty, or was it half full?

The half-empty gla.s.s held rage and frustration. Yes, he went there, but after a few hours, he calmed down and started to think.

The half-full gla.s.s was absolutely frothing with sharp interest. Why did Mary and Michael push so hard to get to water? They could have changed direction. They could have avoided all the major highways and gone to ground, so to speak. Instead they chose a risky, difficult path that had, by all accounts, cost them a great deal, and they did it just as a major storm broke.

What did these new puzzle pieces tell him?

He didn't know yet. They could have gotten on the boat to go anywhere. They could even have used it as a convoluted feint. Maybe they doubled back to sh.o.r.e at another location on the Lower Peninsula, although that didn't feel right. Not when his people told him that they had sustained multiple injuries and risked death to do it.

No, he thought they were heading somewhere else. The problem was, if they survived their injuries, and the storm didn't sink them, there were so many choices open to them once they got on that boat-the Upper Peninsula, Wisconsin, even Illinois.

He needed to scare up a few more puzzle pieces and see how they all fit together. And by d.a.m.n, he hoped they hadn't yet met up with Astra.

As he mulled over the different possible reasons for Michael and Mary's actions, he gazed out the window of a black SUV and Martin drove them to their destination.

Jerry Crow lived within walking distance of the Lake, in an older rural neighborhood with smallish ranch houses and acre-large yards. Newer housing developments with large, expensive homes bordered the neighborhood. Dawn had broken. Gold arced across the sky, and rosy pink topped the green trees in the distance.

He studied the elder Crow's property with a critical eye as Martin drove up the gravel drive. The house was well kept but modest, with light blue aluminum siding and white shutters. The land itself was probably worth twice as much as the house, if the surrounding developments were anything to go by. A 2005 Ford truck sat in the driveway, along with a 1994 Chevrolet Impala. Both vehicles looked well maintained too.

Despite the early hour, he could tell that n.o.body was home before they even reached the end of the drive.

He murmured, "Where have you gone this early in the morning, Jerry? And why did you go there?"

A second black SUV followed theirs. It parked when they parked, and his two new FBI drones, Ryan and Alison, climbed out of the car to meet him and Martin.

"Canva.s.s the neighbors," he told the pair. "See if anybody knows where Crow has gone, or when he'll be back." He paused. "If anyone asks, tell them you're investigating his son's death and have a few questions to ask him. We want the right story to get back to him, in case any of his neighbors think to give him a call."

They nodded and took off. He walked up the path to the front door, while Martin followed.

How did he want to play this? Stealthy or straightforward?

Sometimes he wished he had Michael's apt.i.tude for stealth. Someone might see him if he broke a pane of gla.s.s to get in the house. If they contacted Jerry, he might be scared off from coming home. This was the kind of neighborhood where folks looked out for one another.

He didn't even know why he tried the k.n.o.b.

The door was unlocked.

He chuckled. Guess it was that kind of neighborhood too.

"Keep watch," he said to Martin after they stepped inside. Martin stayed obediently by the front door, looking out.

He strolled through the quiet, empty house. It was modestly decorated with older furniture, and neat without being fussy. The faint odor of cigarette smoke tinged the air, but he did not find it unpleasant. American Indian artwork hung on the walls. Good pieces too, not flea market cast-off stuff. Out the back, a round sweat lodge was tucked into a corner of the yard, covered with tarps.

There were three bedrooms, which was more than he would have guessed. One bedroom had been turned into an office. Clothes were strewn all over another bedroom.

He eyed that room with interest. They were clothes that a young male might wear, mostly jeans and T-shirts. The third bedroom was simple and tidy, with a double bed that was neatly made, two nightstands and a dresser.

An opened letter rested on top of the dresser. He recognized the official seal. It was Nicholas's death notification.

This was Jerry's bedroom.

He sat at the foot of the bed and contemplated the dresser.