He crossed the room, then stopped. Her body language was unlike any he'd seen from her. She was truly angry with him.

"You don't know any boundaries, do you?" she snapped.

"Are you upset about the video you found? I'm sorry, Lucy, I didn't know that was there. I should have; I should have thought twice about asking for your help-"

She stared at him and shook her head. "No, I'm not upset about the video."

"Please tell me what's wrong. I didn't do anything, did I?" Maybe he'd hurt her and didn't know it. "Talk to me, please."

She let out a long sigh and closed her eyes. At first he didn't understand what she was doing with her hand, but then he realized she was pointing at her desk.

He went over and saw a notebook full of detailed information in her small, clear block printing. He looked at the pictures of her family, some framed and some loose on the desk. There was a series of four black-and-white pictures of her and Sean from a booth at the mall when he'd taken her window-shopping so he could figure out what she wanted for her birthday without directly asking her. That had been a fun afternoon, and the smile on her face was proof.

And then there was a letter, facedown.

He picked it up. It was from the FBI. He didn't need to read it to know that it contained bad news.

"Lucy-"

"Now you know," she said, cutting him off, "and you can leave."

"No-"

"Sean, can't you just leave me alone? For tonight? You don't understand. I have nothing left. I need to figure out a bunch of stuff, and I need to do it by myself."

"You're in no condition to make decisions tonight." He walked over to her and knelt in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She was so tense and rigid, her eyes red from her anguish. "I don't know what was going on with that panel, but they're a bunch of incompetent jerks who don't know what the h.e.l.l they're doing."

She didn't say anything, but her body began shaking.

He kissed her on the top of her head, holding her face against his chest, wishing he could draw all her pain into him. He didn't know what to say or do to fix it. And that hurt nearly as much-that he couldn't solve this.

"We'll work this out," he said.

"This isn't your problem," she whispered.

"Your problems are mine." What did he need to do to prove to her that he was committed to her, through thick and thin, the good and the bad?

"No, Sean."

He ignored her comment. He wasn't going to get into an argument, not when Lucy felt so miserable. "We have a lot of work to do over the next couple days; maybe by the weekend you'll have a different perspective."

She pushed him away. He tried not to take it personally, but it was hard. "I can't help you anymore," she said.

"Of course you can-"

"Don't you get it? I'm done. I'm not going to be an FBI agent. I'm not going to be a cop. I'm not going to be working in cybercrime. It's over."

"I never thought you were a quitter."

"Leave me alone." She turned away.

He stood. "Does your family know?"

She shook her head. "I'll tell them, but not now."

"I won't say anything."

"Thanks," she mumbled without emotion.

He walked toward the door, then stopped in front of her desk. "I need your help on this case. You're smart, you understand these teenagers, and you understand these websites. I could have found all this, but it would have taken me a lot more time because I don't know exactly what to look for. You saved us hours of work, bringing us many steps closer to finding Kirsten."

"And what if I get something wrong?" Lucy countered. "What if I miss something completely?" She shook her head. "I don't want that kind of pressure. I don't know what I'm doing."

"That's a lie, and you d.a.m.n well know it. Go ahead and feel sorry for yourself tonight." Sean wanted to say something rea.s.suring, but he realized that the last thing Lucy needed right now was someone telling her everything was going to be all right. Self-pity and Lucy didn't go together, and she'd see it herself soon enough. "I'll be here at eight o'clock in the morning and I expect you to come to Woodbridge with me. I need your help or I wouldn't have asked in the first place."

He reached into his pocket and took out the present he'd picked out that night, after they'd taken the pictures in the booth. He had wanted to see Lucy's face when she opened it, but maybe now it was better that she opened it alone.

He put it on top of her notes and left.

Lucy stared at the door. She wanted to be angry at Sean, she tried to make herself angry at him, but she wasn't. She was too emotionally drained. The only thing she felt was suffocating waves of despair and failure.

She slowly rose, her limbs stiff from sitting in the chair for hours, and walked to her desk. She picked up the watch-sized box that Sean had left. It was tied with a blue ribbon.

It figured that he would do something like this. She hadn't wanted to open presents today. She hadn't wanted to face anyone and pretend everything was just fine. But she couldn't resist opening it, not knowing what to expect. With Sean, it could be anything.

She untied the ribbon and took off the lid. Inside was a necklace. The pendant was a single daisy made of six amethyst gems, a small diamond in the center. The jewels were set in gold.

She'd never seen anything like it. It was seven stones in a simple design, but the delicacy and complexity of how they were held together was exquisite.

Inside the box was a small card declaring that the necklace was from a local antiques shop she'd been in many times, though she rarely bought anything for herself. A couple of weeks ago they'd gone shopping at the mall, and while walking to a nearby restaurant they'd pa.s.sed the store. She hadn't seen the daisy, but she had commented to him how she enjoyed browsing and bought most of her Christmas presents there.

Sean had not only remembered, but he'd picked out a piece that she loved, that symbolized his declaration when they first met that he would give her only colorful daisies because they made her smile.

Putting on the necklace, Lucy wept.

Lucy was understandably upset over the idiotic panel's decision, but Sean was downright furious about it and remained so for hours. He continued to work, following up on requests for phone records and ISP information in the Kirsten Benton case. But he couldn't stop thinking about Lucy's denied application.

The FBI had proven to him, yet again, that they had their collective heads up their collective a.s.ses. Not so much the investigating agents-he had a grudging respect for them after working a few cases with them in the field-but the mindless bureaucrats who ran the agency. Sean knew there was no other applicant out there better qualified or more dedicated than Lucy.

Sean almost called FBI agent Noah Armstrong, who'd recently befriended the Kincaids when he and Kate worked on a case together, but he stopped himself. He and Noah didn't see eye to eye on most things, and Sean didn't want to ask him for any favors. Instead, he went higher up and called a.s.sistant Director Hans Vigo, whom Sean greatly admired.

"Hans Vigo," the agent answered his cell phone.

"It's Sean Rogan." He glanced at the clock and winced. It was after eleven. "I hope it's not too late to call."

"I was awake."

Sean sat down at his desk. "The FBI denied Lucy's application."

When Hans didn't respond, Sean asked, "Did you know?"

"No, but I thought she might have an uphill battle."

"Uphill? It's done. She's out."

"She can appeal."

"Appeal? How?"

"She gets one shot to request a different panel. But Lucy knows that."

Why hadn't she said anything to Sean about appealing? "She's really torn up about this. I don't think she's considered her options."

"Did she tell you anything about the interview? If she felt that someone was unduly biased, or if there were questions that seemed odd to her?"

"No-she thought it went well. She was jazzed afterward. Can you find out who was on the panel? Find out what their problem with her is?"

"I don't know that you, or Lucy, would like the answers."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing you don't already know. Lucy isn't a typical recruit. The Bureau looks closely at anyone they think may have a hidden agenda."

"They can't blame her for what happened with WCF! Dammit-"

"They can look at anything and everything. WCF is only one factor. There is also the fact that she killed two people."

Sean's blood ran cold. "Was she supposed to die instead?"

"Look at the bigger picture, Sean. They probably a.s.sessed that she was too high profile. That's my guess, not because I know anything specific. I don't even know who's on the hiring panel right now, but it's not secret and I'll find out."

Sean latched on to Hans's first statement. "What do you mean Lucy's too 'high profile.' Is it because she was raped? That is just f.u.c.ked."

"Sean, that's not what I meant," Hans said, his voice calm but firm. "However, it might play a part of the big picture. Not that she was attacked, but everything that happened after that. Any one thing probably wouldn't have alarmed the panel, but she's been involved in several police and FBI investigations from the outside, and she has high-ranking connections."

"That should help her!"

"Sometimes it does. And sometimes connections can hurt a candidate's chances."

That Sean understood. His brother Liam was always a wild card, and had caused their brother Duke and RCK plenty of headaches. And Sean wasn't a Boy Scout, either. He knew he'd cost RCK business in the past, nearly as much as he had gained them.

But Lucy was different, and becoming an FBI agent meant more to her than anything else. Sean didn't want to accept defeat, but listening to Hans it sounded like there were no options.

"Then she's screwed? Why didn't you tell her before she spent the last seven years of her life planning for a career in the FBI?"

"Sean, I understand that you're upset, and I can just imagine how Lucy is feeling about now. But neither of you are naive. Lucy would be a controversial hire; that's the simple truth."

"Are you going to help or not?"

"Sean, there is no one I know more deserving of a commission from the Bureau than Lucy." Hans sounded irritated. "I personally like and admire her greatly, and know she'd make a top agent. Moreover, we need more people like her. But the FBI is a large government agency, and individuals who stand out before they are recruited are red flags. Give me the weekend to find out what I can about the panel. I need to be discreet, because if someone suspects that I'm trying to manipulate the process then Lucy will have even more problems when she appeals. I'll call you next week."

Sean took a deep breath. "I really appreciate this, Hans."

"If it doesn't work out, a talented woman like Lucy still has many options available to her. Naturally, I'll help her in any way I can."

"Thanks, Hans. We both know that, but Lucy wouldn't ask."

"She doesn't have to."

SIX.

Girls like you ...

Kirsten woke up well before dawn Thursday morning, for the first time in days feeling like she wasn't going to die. Still, remnants of a nightmare clawed out from her subconscious. She was still shaking from the bad dream, but she willed herself to stop.

The voice wasn't real. It was your drug-induced imagination.

As much as she wanted to, she didn't believe that.

Sore and weak from being unable to keep anything solid down for three days, she finally felt like eating something more than chicken broth. It still hurt to walk. Who was she kidding? The pain was unbearable, and she crawled to the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the small tub, she stared at her sorry reflection in the mirror.

Her blond hair was filthy, even though she'd made a feeble attempt to wash it yesterday. She suspected that she didn't get all the shampoo out, because it felt greasy. A faint bruise covered her cheek, light gray against skin already far too pale. She looked like a corpse, and didn't feel much livelier than one.

"You're lucky you're not dead," she whispered. Her mouth was parched and she rose from the tub's edge to reach for the faucet. Excruciating pain shot from her damaged feet up her legs, and she fell to her knees. One of her scabs broke, leaving a bloodstain on the white bathroom carpet.

"Great," she said, then burst into tears.

She pulled herself up and sat back on the edge of the tub. Through the blur of her tears, she looked at the bottoms of her feet. They were bandaged, but blood had seeped through the gauze. She carefully removed it, wincing at the tenderness. Then she took a long look at the damage. It was as if someone had hit her foot repeatedly with a serrated knife. Some cuts were shallow and healing, others deep and bright red. She had only two more pills left in the antibiotic prescription she'd found in the medicine cabinet.

What was she going to do?

She could call her mom. She'd be mad, for sure, but she'd come and get her, and then Kirsten could go home to her own bed.

But she still wouldn't be safe.

What would she tell the police? That Jessie had asked her to come to New York even though it wasn't Kirsten's scheduled weekend to play escort? Right, she was going to admit to her mom that she was an online call girl.

Better to get in trouble for selling s.e.x over the Internet than be dead.

She bit her lip and thought about calling her dad. She had a love/hate relationship with him. Though her mother was a bitter divorcee, her father had started it by having all those affairs. Maybe she should just call him and say, "Well, you like to sleep around. So do I, but at least I get paid for it."

That would go over so well. And Kirsten wasn't exactly proud of what she did, though it gave her some control over her life. She finally felt as though she had power, for the first time in three years since she became a p.a.w.n in her parents' divorce. When she first joined Party Girl, it had been so freeing and exciting she had jumped in with both feet. A part of her knew she did it to get back at her parents, but another part thrilled at being in full command. The power Kirsten had over her clients was intoxicating.