"Here's what you can do." Straker started for the door, feeling a sense of certainty he hadn't in days. And a sense of urgency. He glanced back at Richard St. Joe.

"Call the police. Tell them to pick up Henry Armistead. Tell them I said so. Throw in that I'm a damned FBI agent if you need to get their attention."

St. Joe paled.

"John? What the hell" -- "Just do it. I don't have time to explain. I have to find your damned father-in-law." And his daughter. Riley.

She'd be right with Emile, barreling in because she was an optimist, because she believed in her grandfather.

"Go," Richard croaked.

"I'll call the police."

When Straker reached his car. Matt Granger was struggling not to let his pain get away from him. Straker understood. He'd fought pain on every level for months. For a while he'd let it get away.

But he couldn't let empathy affect his need to act.

"You've been hanging on to the last shreds of hope that this thing could still be laid at Emile's feet. Better your wife's crazy grandfather than your sister. But you know better, don't you?"

Granger sank against the seat, nodded. His skin had a gray cast; his one good eye was bloodshot, almost vibrating with pain.

Straker shoved the car into gear, released the emergency brake.

"You should have told me you suspected your sister. That's why you snuck into her house, isn't it?"

"I hope I'm wrong." "You are wrong. She wanted a dramatic gesture to galvanize support for the center and the Encounter II." Straker pulled out in front of a car, ignored the angry blare of its horn.

"But it's Henry Armistead who gave it to her."

Seventeen -AS y^~ Oig raced up Pinckney Street and turned onto Louis- burg Square, her head spinning, throbbing with tension. She'd hated to leave Matt in the ER, but she'd had no other choice. She couldn't stand by while her family destroyed itself.

She'd pelted him with questions. How had the Encounter engine ended up at his family house in Maine? Why would Emile be at Abigail's to push him down the stairs? Where was his sister?

He hadn't responded. Had refused to answer. His injuries weren't stopping him. He was closemouthed, stubborn, maddening.

Overprotective. She was Sig, the free spirit, not Sig, the fighter.

Not this time. She knew her husband, knew how to read his silences, his fears. She trusted her intuition, relied on it in her work as a painter--she didn't need to be a damned scientist to know that Matt was terrified his sister somehow had gotten herself involved in Sam Cassain's death, the fires, perhaps even the attack on him.

Sig was as positive, as certain, as she'd ever been about anything.

And it was ridiculous. Absurd. Matt had lost all perspective or he'd know. Of course Abigail wasn't involved. Of course she hadn't sabotaged the Encounter or murdered Sam Cassain. The idea was insane.

Sig felt the strain in her lower back, knew she needed to slow down and stay calm. She simply wanted to allay Matt's fears, then tackle the police and all their questions.

Louisburg Square was quiet, bathed in sunshine, as if to remind her of the life she used to lead. She slowed her pace, tried to consider her actions. Was she being like her sister, like Emile? Acting first, thinking later?

No. She'd thought this through, if rapidly.

"Sig!" Riley jumped out from the private park and landed at her sister's side.

"What are you doing here?"

Sig put her hand on her heart.

"Scare me to death, why don't you?"

"Sorry. I was lying in wait for Emile, hoping he'd walk by and I could nail him. How's Matt?"

"I left him in the ER." "What? Why? Did you sneak out or did he let you go? Forget it, you snuck out. He'd never voluntarily let you come up here."

Sig inhaled through her nose.

"I make my own decisions."

"Just as well he's in no condition to come after you," Riley said.

"You're exasperating. Did Emile give you the slip?"

"I never picked up his trail. He must be ex-CIA or something, I swear."

"What about Straker?" Sig asked.

"He went after you--he looked ready to throttle you."

But John Straker, Sig could see, had her sister in knots.

"He drove past me once. I thought about flagging him down." Riley glanced sideways at Sig.

"I didn't trust him not to run me over and call it a day."

"Anyone in his place would." "Look who just abandoned her beaten and battered husband in the ER.

You're worried about the same things I am. " Riley frowned, a bundle of pent-up energy and frustration. She pointed at an expensive car parked in the square.

"Look, there's Abigail's car. I rang her doorbell a little while ago, but she didn't answer."

"Maybe she's indisposed."

But Riley clearly didn't believe it.

"And maybe she was there when Matt got helped down the stairs."

Sig licked her lips, which were dry and parched, and her babies gave a fluttering little kick; the skin on her lower abdomen felt tight, stretched. She cleared her throat and focused on the mission at hand.

"I have a key."

"Good. Let's let ourselves in and hope we're just catching her in the tub."

"Do you suspect Abigail?" Sig asked bluntly.

Her sister seemed surprised.

"No, of course not. She wouldn't know how to sabotage a ship engine or dip a rag in linseed oil and set Emile's cottage on fire, never mind want to do something like that."

"Then why are you here?"

"Emile." Riley marched up to Abigail's front door.

"Matt followed him here, says Emile pushed him down the stairs and beat him up. So what was Emile doing here? What did he see that he didn't mention to us?

And if he didn't attack Matt--which he didn't--then who did? "

"Abigail?"

Riley groaned in exasperation.

"Sig. I just said she's not on my list any more than Emile is. If you apply the process of elimination and a little common sense, you come up with" -- A stab of pain nearly brought Sig to her knees. She almost couldn't speak. Her head pounded.

"Henry. He was here yesterday. He and Abigail are having an affair... damn."

"The only problem is he doesn't strike me as someone who'd know how to commit arson and blow up ships, either. He's an administrator. He studied oceanography, but he hasn't really been in the field in years and" -She stopped, stared at her sister.

"What is it?"

"But he would. Riley, remember?" They stopped at Abigail's brass-trimmed front door, and Sig swallowed, her throat tight and dry.

"Henry was one of those volunteer wildfire fighters out west. That's how he and Bennett met."

"No, I didn't know. I didn't pay much attention when he was hired. We were revamping the recovery and rehab program."

Sig smiled feebly.

"You and your one-track mind."

"But fighting wildfires isn't the same as committing arson." "Who knows what all those firefighters sat around talking about during breaks? The fires at Sam's house and Emile's cottage were both caused by crude time- delayed devices. Henry could have chosen his timing."

"And he was desperate," Riley said.

"Yes. If he sabotaged the Encounter, he's responsible for the deaths of five people. He'd lose everything, including Abigail."

"I hate this. Explosions, fires, assaults and murder--they aren't exactly my area of expertise."

"Maybe we should find Straker," Sig said.

"I don't see Henry's car. He's probably still at the center. Maybe he and Abigail rode together and no one's here." She gave Sig an encouraging smile.

"This could be our best chance to look around her house and settle our minds. Maybe we're way off the deep end here."

"Do you think so?"

Riley shook her head.

"No."

Sig wasn't sure. All the threads and pieces seemed to float past her, and she couldn't put anything together. She fumbled with her keys, too nervous to single out her copy of the key to the Granger house.

Riley, ever impatient, grabbed them from her.

"Which one?"

Sig pointed, her hand shaking.

"That one."

Riley grasped the key, stuck it in the door, pushed it open.

"It's not really breaking and entering," she whispered as they slipped into the cool, elegant home.

"We're just taking a look around."

Sig called out, "Abigail? You home? It's me, Sig."

Total silence. Given her mood, it seemed eerie. On another day, it would be refreshing, soothing to encounter such a place of peace and elegance in the heart of the city.

"I'll check the kitchen," Sig said.

"You look around here and upstairs."

Riley nodded.

Sig stifled a surge of guilt. Her sister-in-law had never faltered in the past year. She'd been strong, capable, determined. Without her energy and focus, the center might never have survived Emile's downfall and Bennett's death.

Thinking of her husband's battered body, Sig started down the kitchen stairs. She looked behind her after every step, not wanting someone to shove her from behind, then give her a few kicks while she was down.

She shuddered, pushed the images out of her mind. Matt was in good hands now. He'd be okay.

She peered down the stairs, balanced herself with one hand on the wall.

She could see something at the foot of the stairs. She leaned forward to get a better look.

Abigail.

She was sprawled on the floor at the foot of the stairs. Sig jumped back, shrieked. Her breath went out of her. She lost her footing and grabbed the railing, caught herself before she could tumble down the stairs.

"Sig!" It was Emile, down in the kitchen.

"Run! Get out!"