"So all of Russell's e-mails go through Ian's server first? He can see everything Russell gets?" Declan asked.

"Correct."

"How on earth did he do that?" I asked.

"Probably bribed engineer at data center. Put Russell's server behind his, put his server closer to router. Everything Russell's server gets, it has to go through Ian's before it reaches router. Clear?"

Not really, but I didn't care at the moment, so I lied. "Clear. Go on."

"Once e-mails go to Ian's computer, he has choice. He can stop it, change it, let it through. Whatever he wants. So I look at ransom e-mail from kidnapper. I can see it comes from computer. It goes into Russell's server, goes to Ian's computer, then...changes. E-mail that goes to Russell is different." Parkova paused and looked at me for recognition. "You get it?"

"I-maybe," I said. "The e-mail got changed...?"

Parkova nodded impatiently. "E-mail originally sent out to Russell is not e-mail Russell got. E-mail changes after it goes to Ian's server."

"Changes how?" Bailey asked.

Parkova quickly scrolled through Russell's phone, then held it out. "Here is e-mail on Russell's phone. One you give me."

We read the ransom demand and the description of where to drop the money in Fryman Canyon-the e-mail we all knew about.

Then Parkova turned the laptop so we could see it. "But that was not original. Not e-mail that was sent. Here is original e-mail."

My heart began to pound as I read the original ransom note.

We don't want money. All we want is for you to make a DVD admitting that you stole Tommy Maher's screenplay for "Wonderland Warriors." Bring it to God's Seat on Boney Mountain at 7:30. If you do not comply within twenty-four hours, we will tell every media outlet about what you and Ian Powers did to Brittany Caren.

"Here is e-mail you have." Parkova showed us the e-mail on Russell's phone. The one we'd presented in court: One million dollars in cash in a duffel bag. Go to Fryman Canyon. Take the small path on the left for fifty yards, then turn right. Walk until you see two trees with white string tied around the trunks. Leave the bag between them. Go home and wait for the call. If you bring in the police, Hayley's dead.

Bailey and I turned from the screen and stared at each other for a long minute. The "original" e-mail had raised so many questions I didn't know which one to ask first.

"So did the original e-mail get altered before it reached Russell?" I asked.

"Yes. Has to be." Parkova pointed to Ian's laptop. "E-mail you see on this computer"-she then pointed to Russell's phone-"is not e-mail received here on this phone."

"So Ian Powers altered the e-mail before it got to Russell?" I asked.

"I cannot tell you who did it. I can say only someone who has access to Ian's server, or his computer. But correct-it was changed before Russell got it."

Someone with access to Ian's computer. Who besides Ian himself? No one we knew of. We'd found it locked in his desk drawer. And who else would've had the opportunity? Or, more important, the motive? No one. I said as much to Bailey.

"No, you're right. It's gotta be Ian," Bailey said. "So, at least now we know why everyone wound up on Boney Mountain-"

"Yeah, but Brittany Caren?" Declan asked. "How does she fit in?"

I said, "Well, Ian obviously knows-"

"And so would Russell," Bailey said. "The original ransom note says 'you and Ian'-meaning Russell-"

"Right," I said. "Something both Russell and Ian did 'to' Brittany."

"What the hell would they have done to her?" Bailey said.

"That is the question. But whatever they did, it's got to be ugly, or Hayley and Brian wouldn't have used it. We need to find Brittany, like, yesterday. You said she was MIA?"

Bailey nodded. "She had that big blowout on the set and took off before Hayley turned up dead. Problem is, if she's at the heart of this thing, then Ian Powers may've had something to do with her vanishing act."

"And if so, any move we make in her direction is only going to cue his people to push her further away," I said.

"Assuming she's still alive," Declan said.

We all fell silent. I turned the question over in my mind, looking at it from all the angles.

"I'd bet she's alive," I said. "Ian can't afford to have any more bodies land on his doorstep. Not this soon. Besides, whatever it is she knows, she's kept it quiet this long. So there's no pressing reason to make a move that risky at a time like this. But the question is, how do we find Brittany?"

We didn't have much time to hunt her down. And I couldn't think of anyone we could tap to help us. I remembered how cagey and uncooperative Brittany's mother had been. Was she in on whatever this was? Or was she just being an obnoxiously jealous gatekeeper? One thing was certain, though: she was tight with Russell, and that meant she was tight with Ian. We couldn't take a chance on asking her for help. We had to find Brittany, but we had only seventy-two hours left and no leads. I stood up and began to pace. For a change, Bailey was too distracted to give me any grief.

There was an old desktop computer in the office they'd requisitioned for Parkova, and while we'd been talking, she'd started it up. The home page had a banner that flashed the news of the day, and the story on the top right was a wrap-up of the trial. I stopped to look at it.

"Kind of amazing how much coverage-" Declan began.

The news story...I had an idea. I quickly pulled out my cell phone, found the number I was looking for, and made the call. This had to work. It had to. I crossed my fingers. "Please pick up," I silently prayed.

"Well! Ms. Knight. What an unexpected pleasure." The British accent of tabloid reporter Andrew Chatham was music to my ears.

"As I recall, you said you could be useful," I said.

"And I was, was I not?"

"You were. But this time is for the big money." I took a deep breath. "I need to find Brittany Caren, ASAP."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you that. Can you find her within the next seventy-two hours?"

"Well...yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite."

Success. I couldn't believe it. My heart soared. But the calm, absolute certainty in his voice made me curious. "How? No one's that good."

"First of all, I am that good, and second of all, because I already know where she is. So, as your people say, 'What's in it for me?'"

"I'll owe you one?"

Andrew was silent for a moment. "Very well. I believe you're honorable."

Wow. I just got called honorable by a tabloid reporter. What a great day.

82.

The next three days were the most hectic I'd ever had. Declan and Bailey and I worked nonstop. But on Tuesday morning, as I drove up Broadway to the courthouse in the already warm early morning sunshine, I was energized and ready for battle.

The minute I got to my office, I called Tricia and told her we'd need to see the judge in chambers before we began. Then I went to Declan's office.

He was reviewing his notes from our past three days. "Got a minute?" I asked.

When he looked up, I saw there were dark circles under his eyes-which were red. But he looked pumped. That pretty much summed us all up at this point, I thought.

"Of course. What's up?"

I stepped in and closed the door. "I didn't want to do it, but I have no choice. I have to put Parkova on the stand, and if we lose, I'll be fired for it. If you're sitting next to me when she takes the stand, you'll get blamed for being in on it. You'll be fired too, or at the very least, you'll get stuck out in the hinterlands trying misdemeanors for the rest of your career. I can't let you take that risk. It's not fair. So I don't want you to come to court with me this morning. If you're not there, I can claim you didn't know anything about it-"

Declan held up his hand. "Save your breath, Rachel. I'm not hiding in my office. I totally agree with everything you've done and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. I just hope that if I get to keep my job, I'll have the smarts to do the same thing under the circumstances." He paused and gave me a little smile. "Though I can't say I ever want to be in the same circumstances."

I smiled briefly. "I can't say I blame you." I looked him in the eye. "Are you sure?"

"Very sure."

This kid had the heart of a lion. It'd kill me if he had to pay the price just because I'd put my own neck on the line. But I couldn't stop him. It was his choice to make and I had to honor it. I went back to my office and sat down to finish my cup of coffee-not that I needed the caffeine-but Bailey called and told me to meet her in front of the courtroom right away. "I can't handle any bad news-" I began.

"Just get here."

I hurried out, and when I approached the courtroom, I saw a familiar figure seated on the bench near the doors. "Janice!" Brian's aunt was clutching the arm of a nice-looking man in glasses and a well-cut beige suit with one hand and a colorful-looking book with the other. We exchanged greetings, and though hers was warm, her strained expression told me what this trip was costing her.

"I...want to apologize for not being able to get here sooner," she said. "Bailey tells me it's too late for me to testify."

I confirmed that it was. Rebuttal is confined to the points raised by the defense. Terry hadn't made a big issue of the screenplay theft or gone into anything about Brian that Janice might've been able to speak to, so I couldn't justify putting her on the stand. "It is, but I'm glad you're here. I'll go arrange for you to get a seat." Especially now, at the end of the case, there was heavy competition for space in the gallery. I looked at the man she was holding on to and introduced myself. "Would you like a seat also?" I had a feeling Janice wouldn't be going anywhere without him.

"I'm so sorry," Janice said. "Rachel, this is my agent, Elden Brademeyer."

We shook, and he confirmed that he'd very much appreciate it if I could find him a seat. I saw Terry march toward the courtroom and glance at us as she opened the door.

"I'd better get inside-"

"I'll take care of the seating," Bailey said. "You go ahead."

I set up at counsel table, and two minutes later the judge called us all into chambers. Wagmeister was running late, so it was just me and Terry. I told the judge about the new information we'd obtained over the weekend and intended to present in rebuttal. The battle in chambers was heated. Terry fought hard to keep it out. But Judge Osterman shut her down. "No, the evidence is relevant and admissible. And it's very clear that the prosecution had no way of finding it any sooner. Motion to exclude is denied. And I assume you're also moving for mistrial?" Terry confirmed she was. "That will be denied as well. If you need time to prepare for cross, let me know and I'll consider it." Before we left chambers, Terry asked for time to speak to Ian in lockup. The judge frowned. "You may, but make it fast. I'm taking the bench in fifteen minutes."

Terry emerged after ten minutes. I expected to see her go and talk to Russell. But as I watched her out of the corner of my eye, she didn't so much as glance in his direction. I huddled with Bailey.

"Notice she didn't say a word to Russell?" I asked. "I have to believe he already knows what we've got. Otherwise, she'd be over there telling him about it."

Bailey nodded. "If only to warn him. So I guess you were right. Russell knew. He's been covering for that asshole the whole time." She shook her head. "But somehow...I don't know."

I nodded. I didn't want to believe it either.

When the door to lockup opened, Terry stood and noticed me looking at her. A very slight, almost imperceptible smile crossed her face. It was so brief, I wasn't entirely sure I'd seen it.

It was a very different Ian Powers who emerged this time. No more bright smiles, no more waves to his loyal fans. White-faced, eyes hooded, he walked stiffly to his seat and kept his back to the crowded gallery.

When the judge took the bench, Declan declared he had no further questions for Barry Feinstein after all, and Terry declined further cross. The jury looked tired and unhappy about having to come back after a three-day weekend. I'd have to cut to the chase fast.

I started with Parkova. When Tricia asked her to state her name, she said, "M. Parkova." Tricia raised an eyebrow but recorded the name without further comment. Parkova sat, scowled at the packed gallery, took one glance at the jury, then pushed her glasses up her nose and turned to me, stone-faced.

I started with her federal hacking conviction, established that she'd served her time, then quickly got to the point. I had her describe how she'd located the original e-mail and how it had been intercepted by Ian's computer on the way to Russell.

Then I put the original e-mail up on the monitor.

We don't want money. All we want is for you to make a DVD admitting that you stole Tommy Maher's screenplay for "Wonderland Warriors." Bring it to God's Seat on Boney Mountain at 7:30. If you do not comply within twenty-four hours, we will tell every media outlet about what you and Ian Powers did to Brittany Caren.

The jury stirred, confused but interested. A wave of whispers spread across the gallery like rustling leaves.

"This was the original e-mail that was sent to Russell, correct?"

"Yes."

Here in court, Parkova's terse style was a blessing.

"But it was intercepted along the way by Ian's computer, correct?"

"By his server, yes."

"And did that original e-mail go through to Russell Antonovich's e-mail?"

"No."

"What happened to it?"

"E-mail was altered before it reached Antonovich."

"Can you tell who may have done that?"

"I cannot, no. Someone with access to Ian Powers's server, or computer."

Parkova explained about the man in the middle attack, and how Ian's server was placed in a position to intercept all of Russell's e-mail.

"So when the e-mails intended for Mr. Antonovich passed through Ian Powers's server, did that give Ian Powers the chance to alter them before they got to Mr. Antonovich?"