Walt removed the handgun first.

It was a Ruger P-85 he had bought from one of the detectives down at the station. The frame was a lightweight aluminum alloy, matte black finish. He held it in his right hand, the trigger finger straight along the frame, the gun tilted to the side. He popped in the magazine. With the heel of his left hand, he slammed the magazine home, and retracted the slide to check the chamber. It was empty. He tucked the gun under his belt, against his back where he could feel it.

Next were the credit cards. There were five altogether: two Visa, two MasterCard, and one American Express. Each card had been issued under the name of a different cardholder. Further back was a stack of driver's licenses. Walt removed the rubber band and thumbed through the phony I.D.s. Good enough to get him through this mess.

He pocketed the cards and I.D.s, closed the safe and weaved his way through the clutter of clothing and books and sheets on the floor. You still don't know what the hell went on here, my friend. No, he didn't. He could take a guess or two, though.

He was halfway down the hall on his way out when something else occurred to him. The files. He backtracked to the living room, where he had set up a small office area in one corner. It no longer resembled anything remotely like an office. The filing cabinet was lying on its side, one end braced against the footrest of a stool at the counter. All four drawers were open. One drawer was empty. The empty drawer was where he had always kept his case files.

On the floor, sticking out from beneath the corner of a yellow file folder, the message button on his phone was flashing. Walt, hoping Teri had called, flipped the folder off with the toe of his shoe, and pressed the play button.

"Things a little messy there, Travis?"

Richard Boyle.

It had to be.

"Missing a file or two, maybe? Listen, you quit snooping around in my life, you son of a bitch. I know more about you than you do about me, and I'll make things fucking miserable for you if I have to. You understand, Travis? You better. You damn well better understand."

Walt leaned back against the wall and swept a hand through his hair. Okay, so at least he knew who was responsible now. And he knew something else. He knew that what had happened hadn't involved Teri or the boy.

But where the hell were they?

He kicked at a file folder on the floor and started back out of the apartment, running a possible scenario through his mind. They had come back from being out and had found the place ransacked. Teri would have assumed whoever had done it had been after her and the kid, so they wouldn't have stayed around long, they would have left and...

... and what?

She would have tried to reach him. She would have called the motel and if he wasn't there, she would have left a message for him. That was a place to start, at least. He might be able to talk someone down at the station into tracking any credit card uses as well. And there was always the outside chance that she might have returned home, even though he had warned her against it.

"But she won't be back here," he muttered to himself. He closed the door and locked it. It wasn't likely Boyle would be back, either. Between him and whatever was going on with Teri, things were getting a little too crowded around here. He jiggled the doorknob to make sure it was locked, then picked up his suitcase and started toward the stairway.

Richard Boyle could wait.

The big question now was how Walt was going to reconnect with Teri.

[41].

Teri wrapped her arms around the boy, and he settled back into her fold while he talked to his father. It felt to her as if a lost breath had been found. She was whole again. Complete. Every breath he took went into her and out again, every heartbeat struck a chord. Absently, she combed the hair back from his forehead.

"Mom..." He pushed her hand away, a little boy's impetuousness, then squirmed a bit and finally settled back into her fold.

"Nothing," he said to Michael. "She's just being a pain."

"Don't talk about your mother like that," Teri said lightly.

"Well you are."

She mussed his hair again, and yes, she supposed she was being a bit of a pain. But that was a mother's prerogative, wasn't it? Life didn't offer so many opportune moments that you could afford to throw one away. And God, how nice it was to have him with her again. She did not want to lose another moment with him. Not one. Not ever.

"Mom." The boy waved the receiver in the air. "He wants to talk to you again."

More than half-an-hour had passed since she had put him on the phone with Michael. The maid, a woman who spoke almost no English, had come by and Teri had managed, through a hodgepodge of English, Spanish and arm waving, to convince the woman that it would be better if she came back later. Now it was getting close to check out time.

Teri cupped her hand over the receiver. "How fast can you take a bath?"

"Mom..."

"Go on."

"I just took one."

"When?"

He started to say something, and paused as they both realized it at the same time. He hadn't taken a bath last night. Nor had he taken one at Walt's the night before. And that left him with a horrible gap. When had he taken his last bath? Ten years ago?

"All right."

He climbed off the bed, not in the least bit thrilled, and she gave him a playful swat on the behind before he disappeared into the bathroom.

She took her hand off the receiver. "Michael?"

"He really looks like Gabe, huh?"

"What do you think?"

"And you're convinced? I mean really convinced? Not a doubt in your mind?"

"No, I can't say that. But I am getting there."

Michael had always been a man who liked to keep himself under control, a think-before-you-act kind of man. If you hand someone a piece of paper, ninety-nine out of a hundred people will reach out and take it, sight unseen, contents unknown. Michael, though, would catch himself and pause to think about it first. That was his caution, and if she were honest, Teri would have to admit that at times she found herself envious of it.

"What if I came out to see him? I mean... that would be all right with you, wouldn't it?"

"Well... things are a little crazy right now," she said.

"No, I understand. They're a little crazy out here, too. I was thinking maybe in a week or two, after things settle down a bit."

"Let me think about it, Michael."

"Sure." He paused, and finally added, "You always kept the faith, didn't you?"

Not always, she thought. The shower in the bathroom went on, and though she didn't recognize the tune, she heard the boy begin to sing. There was happiness in his voice that she had once thought she might never hear again.

"I did my best," she said.

"Wish I could have been as strong."

"We both did the best we could under the circumstances."

"I don't know," Michael said regretfully. There was an unmistakable tone of guilt coming through. No doubt there had been enough guilt for the both of them.

The conversation lay dormant for a moment. He took a breath that was clearly audible, and said, "You know this isn't possible. I mean, Gabe coming home after all this time and not being any older or anything."

"I don't know what's possible and what isn't anymore."

"It just seems so bizarre."

"Would it make it any less bizarre for you if aliens had brought him back?"

Michael chuckled. "I see you haven't lost your taste for sarcasm."

"Missed it?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Sorry. It keeps me from going insane when things start getting crazy." She switched the phone from one ear to the other, feeling strangely disconnected and uncertain. There was a part of her that didn't want to end the conversation, a part of her that wondered if maybe there was a chance they could be a whole family again, the way it used to be. But another part didn't like that idea at all. That part of her didn't think she would ever be able to forgive him for walking out on her when she had needed him most.

"Teri... what else has been going on out there? Anything?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. I think someone's been watching the house." His voice fell into something just above a whisper, and she remembered that voice. It was the voice of a man who was frightened. It was the voice of a man who wasn't sure what was going on or how to deal with it. It was a voice she had heard often after Gabe had disappeared.

"How long?" she asked.

"Just the last day or two, I think. At least that's when I first noticed it. I woke up late last night, not feeling quite right, and I noticed this van parked across the street. There were two men sitting in it, just sitting there, doing nothing. And then this morning, they were still sitting there, like they were waiting for something to happen."

"Call the cops, Michael."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Tell them that out in California your wife and son had someone stalking them the last couple of days and now there's someone watching your house." Teri rubbed her eyes, suddenly reminded of how complicated everything had become lately. "Christ, that won't do any good. Not if they check it out."

"What the hell's going on, Teri?"

"I'm not sure, but whatever it is, I think it's dangerous." She let out a breath that seemed to take away some of the pressure, at least momentarily. "Can you sneak out through a back door?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Then do it."

"Jesus, Teri, is it that bad?"

"Stay in a motel for a few days. Move around. Call in sick at work."

"What are you saying? What the hell's going on?"

"I'm not sure, Michael. I think it has something to do with the boy, but right now I'm not sure of anything. Just play it safe for awhile, okay? Will you do that?"

"Sure," he said. There was a touch of unease in his voice now, and she was glad to hear it, because that meant he was going to take her seriously. "Where can I reach you? At the house?"

"No, I think they're watching the house."

"Are you sure you and Gabe are all right?"

"We're fine."

"I can take a flight out and be there tonight."

"No, that'll only make things worse." In the background, the boy's singing fell silent. She heard the shower go off in the bathroom and the curtain drawn back. He would be toweled off and ready to go in a matter of minutes. "Look, leave a message with Uncle Henry and let me know where you're staying. I'll do the same, and maybe we can get back together over the phone in another day or two."

"You sure you don't want me out there?"

"Not right now, Michael." Absently, she had wound the telephone cord several times around her index finger, and like Chinese handcuffs, the cord began to tighten as she struggled to free herself. In some ways, she thought she hadn't been free in a good many years now. Not from her nightmares. Not from her loneliness. And surprisingly, not even from Michael. "Uncle Henry's, all right?"

"Sure."

"Gotta go, Michael. You be careful."

"You, too."

[42].

Any luck?"

"Don't know yet."

The man, who was tapping a pencil against the edge of the countertop, sat back in his chair and waited. They had been waiting for three days now, two men crammed into the back of a van, listening, watching, coming up empty until Mrs. Knight had finally made the mistake of calling her estranged husband.

"How long does it take, man?"

"It takes as long as it takes. Just hold your water."

Fifteen seconds ticked by.

"They didn't get it, did they?"

Twenty seconds.

"I don't know."

Twenty-five seconds.

"Jesus."

"At least we have a lead to the uncle."

Thirty seconds.