"I'll get the nurse-"

"I'll be okay."

She still looked like death warmed over, her hair damp around her face, but she was no longer shaking.

"I talked to the cop who arrested Lowe back then," Claire said. "I planned on talking to the judge who arraigned him, because Abrahamson thought he'd be most likely to have been privy to a plea agreement with the D.A.'s office. But the biggest puzzle so far is the missing coroner's reports."

"What missing coroner's reports?"

"Taverton and my mom. They're gone. No hard copies, no electronic copies. They were replaced by blank pages. And the tech who headed up the autopsy left right after the trial for another jurisdiction. I have a friend at Rogan-Caruso tracking him down."

"He's not going to confront him-"

"No. She isn't a PI or a cop. She's going to call me, and then-"

"You're not-"

Claire interrupted. "I'm giving you this information because I know my father's innocent, and if you're actually telling me the truth, and you also believe he's innocent, then you can help prove it. But don't tell me what I can or can't do, and don't pretend that you care."

His chest tightened. "Claire, you need to listen to me. Believe me. Befriending you started out as a job, but it became more than that. You know it. The way I feel-"

"I don't care how you feel, Mitch. You lied to me. I don't love you. I loved who I thought you were."

The nurse came in with a doctor. "Agent Bianchi, you'll have to leave for a while," the doctor said. "I need to examine my patient."

"I'm not staying here all night," Claire stated emphatically.

"Let's see what we have here before we decide that."

"You can't keep me against my will," she said. "I'm feeling much better."

Mitch reluctantly left. He leaned against the corridor wall and rubbed his eyes.

"Well, that was interesting," a familiar female voice said only feet away from him.

He looked at Meg. It was rare for him to see her like this, silky blond hair hanging loose down her back, devoid of makeup, looking young and beautiful and like the woman he'd fallen in love with all those years ago.

"You heard."

"Oh boy, I heard."

Mitch didn't even try to explain. "Can you fire me tomorrow? I'm really beat tonight."

"I'll take it under advis.e.m.e.nt. It's hard to fire someone whose instincts are dead-on ninety-nine percent of the time. Still, even you surprised me this time. Unless . . ."

"Just say it." He really was tired. Physically and emotionally. He felt like he could sleep for a week.

"You really did fall for her."

Mitch didn't answer. What could he say? He wasn't going to talk to his ex-wife about the woman he'd fallen in love with.

"Where's...o...b..ien?"

"Getting prepped for surgery. As soon as the doctor clears Claire, I'm bringing her up to see him."

"Did he say anything?"

"Pretty much everything you told me. He also filled us in on what the fugitives were doing after the earthquake, how they evaded authorities. He could teach a master's cla.s.s on stupid law enforcement stunts, particularly in the twenty-four hours after the disaster."

"What do you think?"

"About?"

"His innocence."

"I don't think anything right now. Matt's trying to figure out what Taverton had been working on. He's on his way to meet Steve at headquarters to interview Frank Lowe. You think he drugged Claire?"

"He denied it. I honestly don't know. He sounded sincere, and he's not hiding the fact that he knows exactly why Taverton was killed. He just refuses to talk about it until he has something from us in writing."

"Why don't you head to headquarters and sit in?"

Mitch glanced at Claire's closed door. "What about a guard on Claire? Someone tried to kill her tonight."

"I'll call someone in."

"Until then-Steve and Matt are perfectly capable of handling Lowe."

The doctor opened the door. "I'm running tests to confirm, but I think I know what Ms. O'Brien was drugged with. Rohypnol."

Steve realized he had a tail as soon as he exited the Capital City Freeway at Auburn. He was less than two miles from headquarters.

"What's wrong?" Lowe asked from the back.

"Sit tight."

Steve floored the gas as he merged onto the bypa.s.s exit ramp, but it was too late. The tail swerved into the breakdown lane and drew parallel with them.

"Down!" Steve yelled at the same time as he saw the gun in the driver's hand.

The killer didn't hesitate, fired three shots into the back of Steve's car. Heart racing, Steve slammed on the brakes while turning the wheel. The killer fired at him through the windshield.

Steve ducked before the blast, but a bullet hit him in the upper shoulder. He overcompensated and went into a tailspin, stalling the car on the opposite side of the road.

"Frank!"

There was no answer from the backseat. Steve spared a glance in the rearview mirror. There was a lot of blood against the rear pa.s.senger side window.

"s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t!"

The killer did a 180 at the T-intersection and pa.s.sed Steve as he escaped back onto the freeway.

Steve leapt from the car, gun out, blood pouring from his wound. Traffic had stopped on the major thorough-fare, and a scream pierced the air. From this angle, he couldn't see which of three possible directions the killer went.

The entire hit took seventy seconds.

Steve could smell gas leaking from his car. He crawled over to the door, opened it. Frank Lowe fell out, blood pouring from his chest and a head wound. Steve unlocked the handcuffs, pulled him away from the car. He stripped off Frank's shirt, a.s.sessed the damage. Two holes, one next to the other, in Frank's upper chest. The bullet to his head had taken off one ear and a chunk of his scalp.

"Come on, Frank!"

Frank was breathing too rapidly, his pulse racing. Steve applied pressure to the wounds, but blood seeped through his fingers. Frank was trying to talk, but couldn't. Then his body convulsed and he was gone.

Steve stared at the dead witness. No, no, no!

A car skidded behind his. Steve held his gun on the driver.

It was Matt Elliott, the county's district attorney.

"Donovan!" Elliott ran to the b.l.o.o.d.y scene and felt for Frank's pulse. His lips tightened, and he turned to Steve. "You need to lie down."

"He came out of nowhere."

"You've been shot."

"He's dead."

"Did you see the shooter?"

Steve ran through those seconds. "He wore a mask. Ski mask in the middle of May. Late-model Ford Tempo. Black. 5THH. I didn't catch the numbers. There was an 8, but I don't know in which spot."

"That's good. We'll find the car. Lie down."

Matt forced Steve to the pavement and applied pressure on his shoulder wound. Steve was fading. The last thing he heard was the D.A. calling for an ambulance and backup.

The last thing he thought was I f.u.c.ked up big time. I got a witness killed.

THIRTY-FOUR.

Tom looked at Nelia. "Is she coming?"

"She said she would be here."

He needed to see Claire. He might die tonight, and he wanted to see his little girl one more time.

"Nelia?"

"I'm right here."

"I love you."

"I know. I love you too, Tom. You're going to be fine."

"I don't know."

He'd been in more pain than he'd told her. He hadn't wanted her to worry, but this morning he couldn't walk. His right leg was nearly paralyzed. He could feel everything, but he couldn't move it. She'd been indignant that the FBI had interviewed him while he was being poked and prodded and subjected to X-rays and a mult.i.tude of tests. But Tom didn't mind. They were listening to him. Really listening, and that meant everything. Someone cared about the truth.

The doctor said the bullet had been lodged in muscle near the spine. It had slowly moved over the past few months until it impinged on the nerves to his right leg. If he didn't have surgery immediately, he'd be partially paralyzed, and in the coming weeks he'd be dead since, as the bullet shifted, it had moved precariously close to his liver.

"Tom."

He turned to Nelia. She stared down at him with love and compa.s.sion and worry.

"They believed you," she said.

A weight lifted off his chest. "You think so?" he whispered.

She nodded, ran a hand over his forehead as if he were a child. "They know you're innocent. Be strong in there. I need you."

He clasped her hand. "I love you. If-if it doesn't work, tell Claire I've never blamed her for any of this, that I love her."

Nelia's voice cracked. "I will."

"Mr. O'Brien?" The doctor came in. "We're ready."

"Five more minutes?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not."

"I'll be here when you're done," Nelia said.

The nurse injected something into his IV, shifted the bed he was on, and started rolling it out of the room, down the hall . . .

"Wait!"

That sounded like Agent Elliott, whom he'd spoken to for more than an hour earlier.

The gurney stopped. A moment later, Tom heard, "Daddy."

Claire.

Tom was fading as the drugs began to do their work.

"Daddy, oh G.o.d."