"See the change in color at the base of the curl?"

Marcus nodded.

"Your shooter doesn't have thick, dark hair. He has a very good hairpiece."

"Our sketch is wrong."

"Distorted. A hairpiece suggests he might actually be bald. This was found lying on a blood splatter, so it's not a historical fiber to the room."

Marcus rubbed his eyes. He did not want to have to tell Shari this news. They had begun to suspect something like this as the hours and then days went by without the sketch producing the leads they expected. "Anything else?"

"The shell casings don't match anything in the national databases. But the firing pin impressions on the shell casings do show a unique off-center flaw. We'll be able to get a definite match if we ever get the gun, even if they try to destroy the barrel riflings."

"What about the shoes?"

"He's a size nine and a half. We don't have enough to generate a brand. We do have a wear pattern that we might be able to match if we get the shoes."

"No fingerprints?"

"Actually, forty-three distinct prints, but they are all tracing to people who work in the hotel or who stayed in that room in the past. Dave has the list."

Marcus knew how hard she had been working to get them this much inside of a week. He needed more. The threat to Shari, rather than lessening with time, had only intensified. The shooter was out there, thinking, planning, knowing he had made only one real mistake. Shari. Marcus could feel the danger, and Quinn was coiled tight with the frustration of having nothing but one dead end after another to chase. "What next, Lisa?"

"The scuff mark on the thirteenth floor stairwell door. I want permission to take crime technicians through all those hotel rooms. We never found a trace of where he went once he reached that floor. Maybe he never left it."

Marcus absorbed that observation. "He had one of those hotel rooms." "He had to dump the disguise somewhere, and if he had yanked it off in the hallway, the search should have found fibers similar to this one. We didn't."

"Thirty-seven rooms? It will take some significant crime technician work and time."

"I'm more worried about the hotel having a fit."

"I can take care of that," Dave said from the doorway, Marcus swiveled around.

Dave smiled. "Hotels rent rooms. We'll just rent the entire floor. That should keep them happy,"

"Your own pocketbook?"

"Consider it a cheap solution to the fact I would like to see Kate this month. A few more weeks of these kind of hours, and she'll forget why she's dating me."

Dave didn't make a big deal about his family's wealth, but he did use it on occasion to move obstacles out of the way, That family wealth had led to the kidnapping and death of Dave's sister Kim. What other people saw as only good, Dave knew for both its good and bad. And having grown up in Britain, he had a cool practicality to his sense of the family fortune. It wasn't something he owned as much as something his family for generations would have. Marcus knew Kate was still struggling to get used to the idea she was going out with a guy who could spend whatever he liked whenever he chose to. Marcus thought about Dave's offer for a moment, accepted the practicality of it, and nodded. "Thanks. Arrange it."

"What are you hoping for, Lisa?" Dave asked.

"That he used a room to change his suit. There should be gunpowder residue on that suit, and very probably blood splatters. If he set it down on the bed, dropped it on the floor, we'll find traces. And we can match fibers. Find the room he used, and maybe we get the grand jewel-that he took off his gloves and left us a few prints."

Marcus trusted her hunches. "Sweep the rooms, Lisa."

It was after 11:00 P.M. Monday; the hospital floor was quiet. Shari took a handful ofjellybeans from the dish at the nurses' station and ate them as she walked back to meet Marcus. Over the last nine days, life had fallen into a routine, if it could be called that.

Waiting for leads on the shooterl waiting for Joshua to get back his strength. Adjusting to having security with her at all times...she would be so relieved when this was over. All the family but mom's sister Margaret had returned to Virginia. The funerals were scheduled tentatively for Friday depending on Josh's ability to travel.

She found the extra time on her hands hard to cope with. The two deaths had ripped a void in her life. The hole in her heart regarding God ached. She no longer tried to pray. She was simply too tired to want to risk getting hurt again.

Left unspoken was the fear of what would happen if the shooter was not found soon. Life couldn't go on like this indefinitely. And she didn't want to leave the protection of having Marcus around. He was a strong shelter against the danger.

He was sitting in what she had come to think of as his seat, one of the cushioned chairs in the open area just across from the elevators where he noticed everyone who came and went on the floor. The television was off. She had noticed he preferred not to watch the news, while she was feeling the withdrawal from its absence.

Craig normally had the day shift, but at about 10 P.M. Marcus took over after having spent his day working the case. Shari had to admit she looked forward to the evenings. They talked about the investigation, but they also talked about family, both his and hers. Marcus had been intentionally drawing her out about her dad, Carl, and that helped. He was being the one thing she most needed right now. A friend.

He was reading a book while he waited for her, taking a moment to relax. It was a different one than last night she realized when she saw the spine. She'd read it last month. She was restless. She glanced at the page he was on: 69. "Do you know who did it yet?"

"Davidson, the brother-in-law."

She settled on the arm of the chair near him, hearing the certainty "You're sure?'"

"Yes." He looked over at her, settled the open book on his chest. "lead it?"

She nodded.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

His slow smile caught her attention and she wished she could say no. "Yes, you are."

"The only author I've found that consistently stumps me is H. Q. Victor, but since she's soon to be extended family that's okay"

The thick crime novels by the British writer were some of her favorite reads. They were so real: stories about children who disappeared, were found murdered, and the hunt to find those responsible. "H. Q. Victor is a lady? You're kidding me, right?"

"Dave's sister, Sara."

She had met Dave a couple days ago, found the man Marcus called a friend charming. He'd kissed her hand while Marcus glared and she'd laughed at that. Shari couldn't decide now if Marcus was serious or not. But H. Q. Victor was British, and the first thing she had noticed about Dave was his delightful accent. "You're joking."

"It's a small world."

"l can't believe you know her. l love reading her mysteries."

"I'll mention she's got another fan when I see her. leady to go?"

"Yes."

She gathered together her bag and briefcase. He escorted her through corridors the hospital security staff had established as safe corridors, taking her eventually out through the basement to the parking garage, where a car was brought around to meet them.

The press presence around the hospital was intense. So far Shari had chosen not to speak directly with the reporters, encouraged in that action by Joshua and Marcus. Anne released statements on her behalf and handled the press inquiries. Marcus wanted to keep the reporters and cameras a far distance away and Shari had to agree. He did it for security reasons; she did it for privacy reasons. She didn't have much privacy left. What she did have she wanted to protect.

The formal press briefings were held at 2 P.M. at the FBI regional office, and she had been watching them on television, knowing in advance from Marcus what would be discussed but always hoping against hope there would be breaking news to report. This had become an intense, slow, grinding investigation that would eventually find the man who killed Carl and her father, of that she was certain.

She had been in fights like this before in a political sense, when moving legislation required tenacity and hours of hard work in the face of no apparent movement. Then it would suddenly break free and everything would happen swiftly. It took a husbanding of ener to endure events like this. She was slowly accepting that.

They crossed the street to the hotel, using the private underground entrance. The day she could walk across the street was over, Shari realized with grim humor. She wished she could have a moment of normalcy back. She hadn't appreciated it nearly enough until it was stripped away.

She paused with Marcus as he stopped to talk with Luke, confirming security arrangements for the night. Shari had gotten to know most of the security detail by first name, and she was impressed with their focus. They were professionals, but she had also picked up on the fact this particular case was also personal. No one wanted to let Marcus down.

Her mom had come back to the hotel with Aunt Margaret earlier in the evening. Shari unlocked the door to the suite, found a solitary light on and the rooms quiet. They had apparently already turned in for the night.

Marcus crossed over and closed the drapes against the night. "What would you like from room service?"

Shari was getting accustomed to Marcus and his late night snacks. Ever since she had blown off dinner one evening, he had been unobtrusively ensuring she would have to be rude not to eat something. "How about some supreme nachos?"

"Sounds good." He picked up the phone and placed the order. "Ten minutes," he commented, replacing the phone.

She settled on the couch, pushed off her tennis shoes and flexed her stiff knee, relieved to be back at the hotel. "Josh managed to do reps lifting the five-pound dumbbell with his good hand."

"Excellent."

"Yeah. Only then he dropped it on his foot. I laughed and he tossed me out of the room," she added ruefully.

"I would say he about ready to travel."

"What time is our flight back to Virginia Wednesday?"

"We'll be taking a private flight, so it's at our discretion. We'll probably leave the hotel around 9 A.M."

"It will be good to be home. Being executor of Dad's estate is a lot more complex than I realized. I thought I knew what to expect until I started wading through all the logistics. And since Dad was executor of Carl's estate, both have fallen to me like a tidal wave."

"Take your time. You'll do fine. I'm sure your dad chose you because he knew you would do an excellent job."

She looked over, surprised at the comment. It was nice to hear that confidence expressed.

The food arrived, and Marcus positioned the plate between them.

Shari tugged one tortilla chip free. "I like this quiet time of night. I always used to be a morning lark, but I'm becoming a night owl."

"I figured it was the bad dreams causing you to avoid bed until sleep forced you there," Marcus countered.

He'd noticed, but his response had been to simply adjust his own schedule to spend late evenings with her until she was willing to turn in.

She should have realized it. "Some of that is happening too." "Try reading at night. It will distract you." "Can I borrow a book?"

"Sure. As long as you don't choose a mystery or suspense."

"You've got something else?"

"I think there's a biography in my briefcase."

His pager went off. Accustomed to the interruptions that were a frequent part of his life, she was surprised at his reaction when he saw the number. Pages related to work often resulted in a look of distance, occasionally she could pick up subtle tenseness, but this-before he even took the call he looked worried. "Excuse me, Shari."

He retrieved his phone and dialed, crossing the room to the windows. Shari tried not to eavesdrop, but since he hadn't left the room she couldn't help but hear. His words startled her.

"Kate, what's happening? What did the doctors say? How is Jennifer doing?" He had been expecting the call hours ago. Kate had been good about calling after each scheduled treatment.

"I walked in on Jennifer crying today, not that soft it-hurts kind, but the bone-wrenching crying that makes you ache because there is nothing you can do. Between the pain of the spreading cancer pressing against her spine and the affects of the radiation that makes her so sick she can't eat- she is being pushed to the literal breaking point."

Marcus closed his eyes, feeling his heart wrench. Jennifer had been lying to him, keeping her voice steady and confident when they talked when she had to be so scared. The distress and tension in Kate's voice was obvious. He needed to be in Baltimore, needed to see them. He was letting them down. His family needed him and he wasn't there.

Just as soon as Shari and her family were back in Virginia and security had been figured out there, he was going to get to Baltimore. "Please tell her I'm thinking about her. I'll call her again in the morning. How's Rachel holding up?"

"Much better than I am," Kate admitted. "She's good in these situations, Marcus. I never realized how good. When Jennifer is resting, I've often found Rachel down one flight on the pediatrics ward, lending her special touch there, bringing smiles to children with not much to smile about. Then she comes back and joins Jennifer and tells her about each one. Rachel knew without being asked the best distraction she could offer was the pediatric patients Jennifer loves."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Your latest gift of pink roses arrived this afternoon. Jen wouldn't let me read the card, but whatever you wrote, it made her day,"

"I intended it to," Marcus replied. "And no, I am not going to tell you what was in the card," he told Kate with a smile. He and Jen were making arrangements for Rugsby to reappear. It was at least one laughter-filled distraction he could offer Jennifer. "I talked to Stephen last night. He said he was flying out in the morning with Jack."

"They get in at ten. Tom is going to meet them at the airport."

"You haven't said how he's doing."

"He's a guy I would have fallen in love with had Jennifer not found him first. You can see it in his eyes, Marcus, the knowledge he has as a doctor of just how grim things are, but he's never beside Jennifer with anything less than optimism."

"He sticks, no matter what the cost. We both knew that the day we met him."

"He loves her so much you can feel it when you see the two of them together. When they are quiet and simply holding hands...I've left the room a few times rather than intrude."

"I'm glad you are there. I'll be out as soon as I can get it arranged." "Jennifer knows that."

"Please, call me if there is any change." "Day or night, I'll page." "Thanks, Kate."

He slowly closed the phone. Jen. He felt tears moisten his eyes. Life wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all.

"Jennifer is sick?" Shari didn't want to interrupt his thoughts, but she did desperately want to take that look of hopelessness from his face.

Marcus turned, pulled from his thoughts. "Cancer," he replied heavily Shari felt shocked. Jennifer had been so nice to her the evening of the shooting; there had been no indication anything was wrong. "She never said anything."

"She just told the family And it hit like a bombshell. She's at Johns Hopkins, undergoing radiation and chemotherapy" "It's bad." "Ve"

She ached for him. She thought about commenting on Jennifer's faith, but it would sound like a religious Band-Aid. She had faith and she still felt angry at the platitudes people said as they made their condolences. She missed her dad and Carl so bad it ached. And Marcus was in a harder position, being asked to accept months of knowing the worst might happen. "Marcus, I am so sorry Please, come sit down. Can you go see her?"

"Once you and your family are back in Virginia and the security is tight, I'll cut away for a day and fly up to see her." "Is there anything I can do?" "Pray"

She heard the skepticism, the faint trace of irony.., and the agony He needed hope. She wanted to comfort, not debate, but she simply didn't know what to say She wrapped her arms around her knees, leaned her chin against the fabric of her jeans.

It's not like I've got a great track record, Lord. You and I are barely talking right now. I prayed intensely for Carl to make the short list, and he ended up dead because that prayer got answered. I prayed with every bit of emotion in my body for Dad to make it, and he died. What am I supposed to tell Marcus?.

"Why don't you believe?" she finally asked, not sure if he would answer her.

He sat down heavily "I did once, as a child, before the orphanage. My mother believed. But her prayers didn't seem to make a difference, and after a while it became easier simply not to hope."

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick," she murmured. "The Bible says that in Proverbs."