awkwardness of a prude.

"Which he says Jillian gave to him."

"That's preposterous."

"He tells a very interesting story. One that includes you and a payoff,

by the way."

Fear flashed cold in the lawyer's eyes. Just for an instant. "That's absurd. He's a liar."

"He hasn't exactly cornered the market there," Quinn said. "I want to

speak with Peter. I have some questions for him regarding Jillian's

state of mind that night and in general."

The lawyer cast a nervous glance at the stairs. "Peter isn't seeing anyone this morning. He isn't feeling well."

"He'll see me." Quinn started up the stairs on his own, as if he knew

where he was going. n.o.ble hurried after him.

"I don't think you understand, Agent Quinn. This business has taken a terrible toll on his nerves."

"Are you trying to tell me he's what? Drunk? Sedated? Catatonic?"

n.o.ble's long face had a mulish look when Quinn glanced over his shoulder.

"Lucas Brandt is with him."

"That's even better. I'll kill two birds."

He stepped aside at the top of the stairs and motioned for n.o.ble to leadthe way.

THE ANTECHAMBER OF Peter Bondurant's bedroom suite was the showcase of a decorator who likely knew more about the house than about Peter. It wasa room fit for an eighteenth-century English lord, all mahogany andbrocade with dark oil hunting scenes in gilt frames on the walls. Thegold damask wing chairs looked as if no one had ever sat in them.

n.o.ble knocked softly on the bedroom door and let himself in, leavingQuinn to wait. A moment later, n.o.ble and Brandt came out together.Brandt had his game face on-even, carefully neutral. Probably the facehe wore in the courtroom when he testified for whoever was paying himthe most money that day.

"Agent Quinn," he said in the hushed tones of a hospital ward. "Iunderstand you have a suspect."

"Possibly. I have a couple of questions for Peter."

"Peter isn't himself this morning."

Quinn lifted his brows. "Really? Who is he?"

n.o.ble frowned at him. "I think Sergeant Kovac has been a bad influenceon you. This is hardly the time to be glib."

"Nor is it the time for you to play games with me, Mr. n.o.ble," Quinnsaid. He turned to Brandt. "I need to speak with him about Jillian. Ifyou want to be in the room, that's fine by me. Even better if you wantto offer your opinion as to her mental and emotional state."

"We've been over that issue."

Quinn ducked his head, using a sheepish look to cover the anger.

"Fine, then don't say anything."

He started toward the door as if he would just knock Brandt on his a.s.sand walk over him.

"He's sedated," Brandt said, standing his ground. "I'll answer what Ican."

Quinn studied him with narrowed eyes, then cut a glance to the lawyer.

"Just curious," he said. "Are you protecting him for his own good, orfor yours?"

Neither batted an eye.

Quinn shook his head. "It doesn't matter-not to me anyway. All I'minterested in is getting the whole truth."

He told the story Vanlees had given him about the window-peepingincident.

Edwyn n.o.ble rejected the tale with every part of him-intellectually,emotionally, physically-reiterating his opinion of Vanlees as a liar. Hepaced and clucked and shook his head, denying every bit of it except theidea that Vanlees had been looking in Jillian's window.

Brandt, on the other hand, stood with his back to the bedroom door, eyes downcast, hands clasped in front of him, listening carefully.

"What I want to know, Dr. Brandt, is whether or not Jillian was capable of that kind of behavior."

"And you would have told Peter this story and asked Peter this question?

About his child?" Brandt said with affront.

"No. I would have asked Peter something else entirely." He cut a look at

n.o.ble. "Like what he was doing at Jillian's apartment before dawn on Sunday that was worth paying off a witness."

n.o.ble drew his head back, offended, and started to open his mouth.

"Save it, Edwyn," Quinn advised, turning back to Brandt.

"I told you before, Jillian had a lot of conflicted emotions and confusion regarding her s.e.xuality because of her relationship with her stepfather."

"So the answer is yes."

Brandt held his silence. Quinn waited.

"She sometimes behaved inappropriately."

"Promiscuously."

"I wouldn't call it that, no. She would .. . provoke reactions.

Deliberately."

"Manipulative."

"Yes."

"Cruel?"

That one brought his head up. Brandt stared at him. "Why would you ask

that?"

"Because if Jillian isn't dead, Dr. Brandt, then there's only one logical thing she can be: a suspect."

CHAPTER 31.

THE KID LOOKED LIKE h.e.l.l, Kate thought-pale as death, her eyes gla.s.sy

and bloodshot, her hair greasy. But she was alive, and the relief Katefelt at that was enormous. She didn't have to bear the weight of Angie'sdeath. The girl was alive, if not well.

And sitting in my kitchen.

"Angie, G.o.d, you seared the h.e.l.l out of me!" Kate said. "How did you getin? The door was locked. How'd you even know where I live?" The girlsaid nothing. Kate edged a little closer, trying to a.s.sess hercondition. Bruises marred her face. Her full lower lip was split andcrusted with blood.

"Hey, kiddo, where've you been?" she asked. "People were worried aboutyou."

"I saw your address on an envelope in your office," the girl said, stillstaring, her voice a flat hoa.r.s.e rasp.

"Very resourceful." Kate moved closer. "Now if only we could get you touse your talents for the good of humankind. Where've you been, Angie?Who hurt you?"

Kate was at the doorway now. The girl hadn't moved on the chair.

She wore the same ratty jeans she'd worn from day one, now with darkstains that looked like blood on the thighs, the same dirty jean jacketthat couldn't have been warm enough in this weather, and a dingy bluesweater Kate had seen before. Around her throat she wore a set of choke marks-purple bruises where fingers had pressed hard enough to cut offher wind and the blood supply to her brain.

A ghost of a bitter smile twisted Angie's mouth. "I've had worse."

"I know you have, sweetie," Kate said softly. It wasn't until shestarted to crouch down to take a closer look that Kate saw the utilityknife in the girl's lap-a razor-blade nose on a sleek, thick, gray metalhandle.

She straightened away slowly and took a half step back. "Who did this toyou? Where've you been, Angie?"

"In the Devil's bas.e.m.e.nt," she said, finding some kind of sour amus.e.m.e.ntin that.

"Angie, I'm going to call an ambulance for you, okay?" Kate said, takinganother step back toward the phone.

Instantly, tears filled the girl's eyes. "No. I don't need anambulance," she said, nearly frantic at the prospect.

"Someone's done a number on you, kiddo." Kate wondered where thatsomeone might be. Had Angie escaped and come here on her own, or had shebeen brought here? Was her abductor in the next room, watching, waiting?

If she could get on the phone, she could dial 911 and the cops would behere in a matter of minutes.

"No. Please," Angie begged. "Can't I just stay here? Can't I just behere with you? Just for a while?"

"Honey, you need a doctor."

"No. No. No." The girl shook her head. Her fingers curled around thehandle of the utility knife. She held the blade against the palm ofherleft hand.

Blood beaded where the tip of the blade bit her skin.