Nathan took her extended hand. It was small and soft. "You're welcome. Listen to the police. It's the best way for you to stay safe."

"Take care." She withdrew her hand.

He grinned at her clear dismissal. "You too. Don't forget what I said."

Emilie gave a curt nod and then hopped into her car. Nathan watched as she sped out of the parking lot, tires squealing. She couldn't leave fast enough.

The drive home was a blur. Emilie just wanted sanctuary-to curl up with Otis and hide under the covers. She swerved in and out of traffic, cutting off cars and ignoring honking horns.

Reality was too much to handle right now: the Taker, her mother's nasty words, the embarra.s.sing experience in the police station. And Nathan Madigan.

He was too perceptive. Too kind. Emilie's carefully constructed guard slipped in his presence, making her forget her rule of maintaining a safe distance.

She'd babbled on about her mother. Why had she said so much? And then when he mentioned the paper, Emilie had wanted to crawl into a hole. But there had been no judgment on Nathan's face, just genuine concern. Maybe he was a good guy.

Didn't matter. She would never see him again, and that was a good thing. Enough of her secrets had already been laid bare for the world to see.

In her apartment, she stripped to her tank top and got into bed. Otis joined her, pawing at the blanket until he'd tunneled his way underneath, snuggling against her arm. Emilie would sleep now and deal with life tomorrow.

Chapter Ten.

Twenty-three years ago.

An early morning fog bathed the landscape in an eerie mist. In a nearby cotton field, strange figures moved through the vapor like long-dead slaves returning to tend the crops. He knew the wandering forms were likely the neighbor and his hired man examining the cotton, but reality lacked imagination.

To the east, a faint pink glow merged with the fog. Still sleepy, he scrambled out of his narrow bed. He wanted to see the sun break through the mist from a favorite place in the swamp where the cypress trees ruled and the vapor would be at its thickest.

The fog was not as thick in the village, but it still gave the old homes a sad, haunting quality. The old Kate Chopin house stood over them all, still grand despite its age.

As he walked, a strange sensation crept over his skin. Something was different-a rare change in the village's everyday routine. At first glance, the community was still mostly quiet. A few lights were on, and there was little traffic. A rusted, white and green Ford F100 lumbered by. Henri Coulon waved, a Marlboro dangling from his lips.

But at the southern end of Main Street, the new addition emerged out of the dim cover of fog like an angelic spirit. A girl sat alone on the front steps of a weather-beaten cottage. She was about his age, the frayed hem of her white dress scarcely reaching her bare knees. A cl.u.s.ter of white lilies, probably picked from the Chopin yard, lay beside her. Her black hair lay draped over her shoulders, her toffee-colored skin glowing in the sun-tinged fog.

She stared as he approached. Chill b.u.mps erupted across his arms. His insides began to churn, and his legs grew wobbly.

In her delicate hands she held an empty Mason jar.

"What'chu gon' to put in that thing?" He could barely get the words out.

"Don't know yet. Maybe a frog, or even a dragonfly if I can catch it."

His body quivered at the melodious sound of her voice. "How you gon' catch a dragon fly?"

"Run faster than him, I reckon." Her eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, were a brilliant green scattered with tiny flecks of gold.

"You gon' to keep it for a pet?"

"'Course not. I jus' wanna watch him for a bit. Then I'll let him go."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why let him go? Jus' keep him until he's done for."

"What's your name?" She c.o.c.ked her head and leaned back on the cracked step.

"Julian."

"Well, Julian, you can't keep somethin' trapped forever. Living things is meant to be free, jumping or flying or whatever else they was made for. And my mama says killin' another living thing is the worst sin there is, so I'm gonna make sure whatever I catch lives. G.o.d don't want killers in heaven."

Julian didn't understand. His father and brothers hunted in the swamps all the time.

"What 'bout eatin' what you kill?"

"Like huntin'? That's different. You're makin' use out of it. G.o.d understands that. Just don't be hurtin' or killin' animals for fun, you hear?"

Julian nodded. He would have done anything she asked at that point. She was the most beautiful and fascinating creature he'd ever laid eyes on.

"How old are you?" she asked, her eyes once again boring into him.

"Eleven."

A small smile flickered across her face. "I'm twelve, jus' last week. We just moved here."

Julian paced the floor of his large study, his footsteps m.u.f.fled by the Persian rug covering the Brazilian hardwood floor. Thick drapes were drawn over the picture window, blocking out the sun and the rest of the world. One wall of the study was devoted entirely to books while the other exhibited his favorite works of art, including a commissioned oil painting that displayed a place forever frozen in his mind, a place where the oak trees were swathed in Spanish moss and the spirits still ran wild. The piece was a reminder of a dark past he didn't want to think about today.

His mind raced with the need to see Emilie. He needed to smell the scent of jasmine drifting from her neck-to be with her. She'd ruined everything. Her rejection burned hotter than the Nevada sun.

One replacement had already failed. She now rested in the earth not far from the place that had ruined his life. He wasn't going to make the same mistakes with Emilie.

Alongside the paintings, Miss Emilie's face adorned the walls of his study-sketches he had drawn from memory. Every picture was different, but each was perfection.

He had to be free once again to observe her life and figure out a new way for them to be together.

But that would require a carefully thought out plan. Police were undoubtedly watching her apartment, hoping he would make a mistake. Common sense said to pack up and move on as he'd done before. There were plenty of warm places to go, and he could adapt anywhere. The past few years had proven that. But he just couldn't leave her, not after spending those blissful hours together.

He had to send her a message. She had to know he would find another way for them to be together. And perhaps her memory could be tweaked. If Miss Emilie could only recall their first connection, she would understand. Maybe even come to him on her own.

Chapter Eleven.

Nathan laid the fragrant white roses at the base of the graying stone and brushed away dried leaves and gra.s.s. The flowers would soon wither and die. But for now, they were beautiful.

"I miss you, Jimmy." A hot breeze rustled the bright yellow flowers of the Palo Verde trees. "Not a day goes by that I don't think about what happened to you. About what I did to you."

Guilt had consumed Nathan for the past fourteen years. His life was literally a gift-that's why he'd become a cop. Atonement, his sister called it. Maybe it was. Nathan figured saving others was the least he could do.

While Nathan negotiated for the hostages' lives yesterday, his family had gathered here for Jimmy's anniversary. Kelsi left yellow daisies like she did every year. Nathan always chose roses. The flowers on Jimmy's casket had been roses.

The wind blew one of the delicate roses away from the rest. Nathan caught the flower before it was damaged. Turning it over in his hand, he thought of the Taker and his fixation on the color white.

White meant innocence. Purity. Was that how the Taker saw Emilie? Did he see himself as some sort of savior or protector?

"Not my problem anymore." Nathan traced the words etched across the granite: Loving son, brother, and uncle. Beneath this simple stone that marks his resting place, our precious darling sleeps alone in the Lord's long embrace.

Knees aching, Nathan stood. He dropped the escaped rose to the ground. "I'm sorry, Jimmy. It should have been me."

Nathan whipped his Toyota Camry into a vacant spot two blocks away from Chicago Joe's. He and Kelsi had been having their weekly lunch dates at the popular Italian restaurant since Nathan joined the police force.

He wasn't looking forward to today's meeting. The story of the bank and the partner's astonishing escape had been all over the news, and Kelsi would no doubt have a thousand questions. Questions he had no idea how to answer.

His mind was also preoccupied with Emilie Davis. The torment from her past and present bubbled just underneath the surface of her bravado, and she teetered on the edge of a breakdown.

Kelsi lounged in a booth, impatiently tapping her foot. Nathan kissed the top of her head. "I see you got new highlights. Purple, huh?"

"You're color blind. They're dark red. And you're late, as usual."

"Only a couple of minutes, so that doesn't count."

Kelsi huffed and flagged down the waitress, ordering the usual for both of them.

"Read the paper." She cut right to the chase. "Sounds like things got messy."

Nathan scowled. No one pushed him harder than Kelsi. She was only eleven months older than he, and they'd always been close. When Nathan skipped third grade and joined her in the cla.s.sroom, she'd helped him to fit in. Kelsi encouraged him to step outside of his comfort zone and to appreciate his gifts. If it weren't for his sister, he never would have had the guts to do anything but bury his nose in books.

"We couldn't believe it, Kels. A bootlegging room with an escape route into the storm drains. I've never seen anything like it."

"Why'd he try to take the branch manager? You think he was after her all along?"

"Yep."

"At least he didn't manage to kidnap her."

"But that's what I can't figure out," Nathan said. "Why didn't he just go ahead and take her? The guys were preoccupied with Adam. The partner had the time."

"If you want me to a.n.a.lyze the guy without speaking to him, I'd guess he was a control freak. Sounds like his planning was meticulous, and something didn't go his way. People like that don't react well to sudden change."

Kelsi was no stranger to violent criminals. She'd worked in the psychiatric ward at Nevada State Prison for her required internship before getting her doctorate in clinical psychology and going into private practice.

"And we know absolutely nothing about him."

"Good thing he's no longer your concern," she reminded him. "How's Adam? You know Aunt Kay's freaking out someone got shot, right?"

"Fine. He's probably out for a month or more." He glared at her. "Why'd you tell Kay?

"I didn't, jacka.s.s. She does read the paper, you know."

Nathan grunted and poured extra sugar in his coffee. He hated the black goop, but his body was begging for caffeine.

Kelsi took a sip of her tea. "Any leads?"

"You know I can't discuss specifics with you, Kels."

"He could be anywhere by now," she said. "Remember the Weber case in 2002? He escaped into the tunnels with no prior knowledge of them and eluded cops for three weeks. The partner obviously had prior knowledge."

A group of laughing tourists wearing sun visors and carrying bags stuffed with souvenirs entered the cafe. They sat down at the table next to Nathan and Kesli and chatted about all the amazing things they'd enjoyed in Las Vegas.

"What were they like?" Kelsi asked.

"What?"

"The tunnels. How far did you guys go?"

"Few hundred feet at most. They stunk."

"Did you see any of the camps?"

"Nah, they're much farther in," Nathan said. "The drains are a giant maze, and cops don't know them very well."

"Any idea who helped him? His dead buddy, maybe?"

"Couldn't have been him. He had help from someone with inside knowledge of the bank."

"What about the branch manager? Paper said she was taken to the hospital. How's she handling it? Did anyone refer her to counseling?"

"Yeah, me," Nathan said. "I ran into her today at the station. She had a flashback and was really shaken up."

"Poor thing. What do you think he wanted with her? Did she know the guy? Any dangerous exes in her past?"

"Stop asking questions I can't answer."

Kelsi smirked, making the family resemblance even more p.r.o.nounced. The Madigan siblings had fair complexions, blue eyes, and black hair-Irish traits inherited from their father. "In your opinion, then."