"And you're helping him? Isn't that illegal? SEC violation or something?"

"How the hell should I know? I don't own any of the stock-the price is too rich for me now with Colleton Landing going online. Besides, my job is simply to clarify the Church's message to the community and buy Vincent some free publicity. Nothing illegal about that."

I snorted. Yancey's definition of "legal" was vague to say the least. I'd learned that firsthand when I met him five months ago.

"So I guess I'm the competition," I said. "Since my job is to clarify Grandel's message to the community and discredit the Church."

"In my experience once you bring religion into the mix, the more you try to discredit anything the more firmly and vocally people believe. Just remember that, AJ."

"But that's the problem, isn't it? What's between Vincent and Grandel has nothing to do with religion-they're both just manipulating the public to get what they want."

"Doesn't matter. The true believers will never give up. Vincent has stirred up a rattlesnake nest and not even you will be able to calm it down." He turned and grinned at me. "Not alone, anyway."

"You think we should work together." He'd mentioned that before.

"Why not?"

"Maybe because your boss wants my client brought to his knees."

"But not really. Both of them want the company to succeed and the foreign investors to buy in, big time. It's just that Vincent wants a bigger piece of the pie than Grandel is willing to share with him."

"So, if I talk to Grandel about Vincent, will you get the protestors to tone things down? At least until the deal with the foreign investors is signed?"

"You first." His grin reminded me of a rattlesnake I'd once met on a trail. Same beady eyes as well.

What choice did I have? There was no way I could do my job with Vincent manipulating his congregation-like I'd told Grandel earlier, we had no power with them. Fastest way for me to finish the job, make everyone happy, and get the hell home would be to work with Yancey.

Not only that, but after hearing about the potential good Colleton Landing could do, I realized that as despicable as Grandel was on a personal basis, fighting to save the plant was the right thing to do. Not just for him-for the community, for the people Colleton Landing could help in the future.

We turned into the motel parking lot. I left the car, shouting a hurried goodnight over my shoulder before Yancey could try to take advantage of our forced partnership. As I entered my room-now cooled from broiling to mere sweat-lodge-I felt like I'd just made a deal with the devil.

For the second time today.

Hutton waited until he was sure Masterson would be in bed for the night before calling him with a report. Petty, he knew, but he liked to keep Masterson off balance.

"Good work," Masterson told him when he'd finished. "Nice touch, framing the faggot."

"We aim to please."

"Too bad you didn't kill him, though."

Hutton changed the subject. He figured what two consenting adults did behind closed doors was their own business-live and let live, so to speak. Not that Masterson would ever agree, especially not with the welfare of his grandson at stake. "Have you decided on the other matter? The long distance one?"

"It depends on the outcome tomorrow. But in the meantime, I might need you here for a little touch of arson."

"Arson? Not my area of expertise." Which was a lie. Hutton had completed several successful jobs using fire-all ruled as accidental. But it wouldn't pay to have Masterson knowing that.

"It won't be anything difficult. Believe me, this place is a fire trap; one spark in the wrong place and it will go up on its own."

"Collateral damage?"

"Doesn't matter one way or the other. Either way, I'll get what I want."

It offended Hutton the way Masterson acted as if lives lost were meaningless.

Masterson treated Hutton like Hutton was still the twenty-three-year-old kid he'd hired to "take care of some business." All these years and Masterson still didn't understand the power of finesse. No shades of gray for Masterson, just black and white.

"It'll cost you extra," Hutton replied, not because he really did charge extra but because his pride demanded some form of compensation for having his talents underappreciated.

"Just be ready for my call." Masterson hung up.

Hutton made a mental list of the ways he might consider killing the man. Better than counting sheep, in his experience.

SIXTEEN.

It was too damn hot to sleep-and the AC's spitting and sputtering only made things worse. By morning I wondered if I should borrow a shotgun and put the damn thing out of its misery.

It wasn't just the heat. I was too worried about Gram Flora and too busy trying to unravel Grandel's and Vincent's motives to sleep.

Instead, I spent the time memorizing the layout of the plant and skimming through the DOE investigation summaries. They put the three Colleton Landing incidents into perspective-all three were clearly minor nuisances that were barely a blip on the radar compared to other plants' radiation leaks.

The more I read, the more I realized that nuclear plants and the risks of exposure from them could happen anywhere. Some of the more recent accidents had taken place in the heart of highly populated areas. Like the meltdowns in Japan, or the problems at Indian Point, only twenty-four miles from Manhattan, where several pipes had been found with large holes in them leaking hundreds of thousands of gallons of coolant water. And there was another nuclear facility on Long Island that had leaked tritium.

After reading about the horrors elsewhere, I wasn't surprised when in the end, both the DOE and NRC praised Colleton Landing's unique design for mitigating any potential exposure to the public and commended the plant's personnel for their actions.

Should have made my job easy. But if things were that simple, Grandel wouldn't have needed to hire me in the first place. He was right, in this day of instant Internet information, the court of public opinion would save or crucify Colleton Landing, not the government's rulings.

Despite its poor cell coverage, the motel did have Wi-Fi, so I browsed the web offerings on Colleton Landing. Several particularly vicious blogs and Twitter feeds seemed aimed directly at Grandel and his plant. Their tone ranged from far political right to liberal, covering all the bases, but I couldn't help noticing that the language in all of them sounded similar. Even the ones spewing apocalyptic religious rants had the same syntax and rhythm as the others-something I'm sensitive to since the easiest way for me to read is to have my computer read things out loud using text-to-voice software.

I had the feeling the man behind the Internet vitriol was Vincent. And that it would all magically disappear once Grandel capitulated.

Now I knew how the rope in a tug-o-war felt, only I wasn't sure that I wanted either man to win.

I decided to concentrate on the reason why Grandel said he'd hired me: to educate the public. That was a battle I could fight with passion.

My cell phone was still down to one miniscule flickering bar, so I called home on the landline. No answer at the summerhouse or Flora's, the hospital wouldn't let me talk to her-said she couldn't be disturbed and I'd have to call back later-and Elizabeth's cell went straight to voice mail.

Finally, desperate for news, any news, not to mention a friendly voice, I called Ty, even though I knew he'd just finished his overnight shift.

"It's me," I said when he answered. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"I'm at the courthouse. Waiting on Jeremy so I can give him a ride home."

That explained why Elizabeth wasn't answering. She was bailing Jeremy out of jail.

"They're still pressing charges?" One thing about having all night to stew-I'd begun to doubt everything, even my initial instincts about Jeremy.

"The DA's got this thing about Flora being a 'vulnerable segment of the population-'"

"He's up for reelection."

"Jeremy's case makes for great publicity-sympathetic victim, gay, black man supposedly drunk, taking advantage of her. So yeah, he's out for bear."

"Was Jeremy actually drunk?"

"His BAC was point-oh-three. Nowhere close to the limit." Blood alcohol concentration, I translated-when Ty was in cop-mode he tended to use all sorts of words and abbreviations he never used at home. "But that doesn't rule out other substances. They did a tox screen but it's not back yet."

"If he wasn't drunk how did this happen?" I wanted to believe in Jeremy-after all, I'd trusted him with Flora's life and David's-but I'd seen too many people in D.C. lead seemingly normal lives until their addictions spiraled out of control. Was he using drugs and I never noticed?

Ty read my mind. "No signs of drug use-we searched his truck and room and he's got no tracks, of course he could be snorting or popping pills." He lowered his voice. Suddenly he was Ty again instead of Deputy Stillwater. "Honestly, AJ, I'm not sure what happened. Not even Flora knows-"

"She's okay?"

"Elizabeth said she was awake and talking. Doesn't remember anything but falling asleep in her chair. Swears up and down that Jeremy didn't give her any extra insulin. Not that anyone's believing her. Jeremy's real torn up over it, though."

I didn't have an answer for that. Nothing made sense. "What about those guys from Beckley who were harassing Jeremy?"

"Alibi-they were in a pool tournament all night long. Dozens of witnesses."

"Did Jeremy think of anyone else?"

"Elizabeth is the only one who's talked to him. I'll ask him on the ride home."

That left me with more questions than answers for now. And nothing to do except worry. "How's David doing?"

"Just dropped him off at my mom's place." David loved visiting Ty's mom-the Stillwater clan was large enough that there were always other kids over there. "He seemed okay-a bit quieter than usual. Except for asking me all kinds of questions about Jeremy's case and forensics and stuff I couldn't answer. I think I pissed him off-he accused me of treating him like a kid."

"Join the club." Still, my long-distance maternal instincts were abuzz with anxiety. "Ty. Do me a favor, will you?"

"Sure. Whatcha need?"

"After you get Jeremy home, would you stay with David? Until Elizabeth gets there?"

"What are you worried about, AJ?"

"I can't help but think it's a pretty damn convenient coincidence that both Flora and Jeremy are incapacitated the same night I leave David in their care."

There was a long pause. "Who would do that? And why?"

I had to admit it sounded far-fetched. Ten years living in some not-so-nice neighborhoods in D.C. had honed my paranoia to a sharp edge-maybe too sharp. Or it could just be a long night spent without sleep and with plenty of crazy scenarios swirling around my brain. Finally I gave in and decided I'd let Ty judge for himself. "Masterson. He's fighting me for official visitation rights."

It sounded preposterous as soon as I said it. Ty's doubt vibrated through the line, but at least he didn't scoff out loud.

"I'll watch out for him," he finally said. "You've got my word on that. But, AJ, I really think you're wrong about all this. Besides, I know for a fact that Kyle Masterson was in Charleston last night-addressing the Kiwanis at a fundraiser."

"Still, I feel better knowing you're watching David. I'm going to wrap things up here and get home as soon as possible." I doubted I could fully swing the community in Grandel's favor, not with only today and tomorrow to work with, but I could get things kick-started and come back after David's birthday.

"Okay. I gotta go. You take care, now."

"Thanks, Ty." He hung up before I could say anything more-I'm not sure why, but "be careful" was on the tip of my tongue.

The sky was clear, the air heavy as I walked over to the cafe. Several Hispanic day laborers were waiting-looked like they were picking up packed lunches. Nice to know the place did some business. The counter was staffed by an older gentleman who had coffee poured for me before I slid into my seat.

"Hope you like it black, we've got no cream."

"Black is perfect, thank you."

He nodded, his eyes drawn to the TV behind him. On it the weatherman was showing a map of the predicted route of Hurricane Hermes, which had grown to a Category Three but was still not predicted to make landfall as it churned its way up the Atlantic coast. Colleton Landing sat just beyond the range of computer predictions painted on the map like a wide swath of red. Good. I didn't want any stupid hurricane keeping me here any longer than I had to be.

"Fools," the old man snorted, dragging a dishrag along the countertop. "Anyone can see it's hurricane weather."

Worried, I glanced outside the window where the sunshine was blinding. "Really? There's no signs of any clouds."

"Mark my words. By noon, they'll be changing their story."

A woman poked her head in from the kitchen. "Shut up, Henry, you'll scare off the trade." She bustled in, wiping her hands on her apron. "Don't mind him, sweetheart, he says that every time there's a storm within a thousand miles. Last time we got hit was almost sixty years ago. Now, what can I get you?"

She held a small notepad and pencil handy. I didn't look at the menu. Since I wasn't sure when I'd get lunch, I ordered a protein-heavy meal worthy of a long morning's work: two eggs, sausage, hash browns. She gave me a brusque nod, seemed disappointed in my mundane selection, pocketed her notebook without writing down my order, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

"You all lived around here for long?" I asked as I waited.

The counterman tore his attention from the TV. "Yep."

The woman brought a stack of Styrofoam containers out to the waiting workers, handed them out, then rejoined him.

"How do you like it?" I tried again.

The man stared at me like I was a dolt for asking. The woman answered, "Raised three kids here." She nodded to the photos arrayed on a corkboard below the TV. "Did them just fine."

"Nice looking family." I smiled at a picture of the man, a decade or two younger, pushing a little girl in a swing. Two gangly but handsome boys wrestled off to the side. "They work here, too?"

The man shut the TV off in disgust. "What work? Ain't been no work'round here since they put in the new highway."

"Guess that hasn't helped business much."

The woman was silent, appraising me. "I know your name sounded familiar. I seen you on TV. You're that lawyer-"

"No. I'm no lawyer," I was quick to correct her. "I used to work for some." I extended my hand. "AJ Palladino. I'm down here looking into the troubles out at the Colleton Landing nuclear plant."

They both shook my hand-a little hesitantly, but I get that a lot.

"Floyd and Noreen Smalls," she introduced them. "What troubles out at the plant? Something new happen?"