"Thanks," she said, giving his arm a squeeze.

They went down together, and he walked her to the front door. The hallway and the front courtyard were empty, except for a couple of police officers and the janitor, who was notorious for being a talker. Jake saw him stop Jenna on the front steps and turned quickly back toward the elevator.

It had gone back to the second floor, so he poked the b.u.t.ton and waited for it to slowly creep back down. When the bell sounded and the doors opened, Jake was startled to see his neighbor and her green-eyed daughter inside. Judging by the redhead's face, she remembered their last encounter and was embarra.s.sed. He graciously moved aside to let them pa.s.s; they did so without a word.

But when he stepped into the elevator and turned, the little girl was standing in the hallway looking at him. "Can you do something for me?" she asked, her eyes sad, and her expression weary.

Jake blinked. "Um, I can try."

"Please tell my mommy I forgive her."

Jake remembered the child standing drunk with her mother in the elevator the night before, and his heart broke. What was that poor little girl going through that would cause her to say such a thing? And why couldn't she tell her mother herself?

The doors began to close.

"Please, promise you will," she said, earnestly.

"Now?" he said.

"No. When I'm gone."

He let the doors shut and put his palm against the cold metal. What was that supposed to mean?

He rested his head against the door. How was this his problem? He immediately felt disappointed in himself for the thought, but that didn't stop it from blossoming in his mind. It saddened him to think of the little girl and her troubles, but if he allowed himself to be stretched any thinner, he would reach his breaking point-if he hadn't already pa.s.sed it. Abby didn't appear to be in any immediate danger, at least, nothing irreparable, so Jake tabled it, to be addressed at a later date, and turned his attention to the more immediate problem of fixing his relationship with his inner demon.

Aiyana sat crying on the wide windowsill at the end of the hall, her knees tucked up to her chest. How odd she seemed to him now, transformed by the realization that these children were capable of such emotion. It did make sense though. He remembered the anger the Cabbage Patch child had displayed when she thought he was ignoring her. They were the emotions of a real little girl who was incapable of masking frustration.

Jake leaned slightly to get Aiyana's attention.

But she stared out the window with sullen disinterest.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you."

She offered a deaf ear.

"Do you know what it's like to love someone? Well-I love Gabe, and right now my heart is breaking because I want him home safe, and I don't know what to do."

She sniffed.

"When Gabe was born, my sister brought him home in the blankets the hospital had given her. She put the blankets in a drawer in her dresser and laid him in the drawer, because we didn't have money for a crib. That boy cried and cried until my sister couldn't bear it any more. She made a place for him on her bed, but he cried there too. He wouldn't stop crying. She tried feeding him. She tried changing him. She tried rocking him to sleep."

Aiyana seemed to tilt her head to listen.

"Finally my sister stomped out of her bedroom and shoved Gabe at me. She said she couldn't take it anymore, and went outside to smoke a cigarette. I held him in my arms for the first time, and you know what happened? He stopped crying. For as long as I had him in my arms, he never made a peep. That little guy loved me from the first moment he met me. How could I possibly not love him in return?"

A tear streaked down Aiyana's cheek, but he imagined is was a different kind of tear, similar to the one now trickling down the side of his own face.

"So you see, I want him back so badly it hurts. That's why I got angry with you. I thought maybe you'd been sent to me so that I could find him."

She sniffed again and looked up at him with pleading eyes. "I wish it was true. I wish I could help you. I wish it with my whole heart."

The neighbor's door opened, and Jake turned away from it to wipe the tears from his face. G.o.d only knew how much the neighbor had already seen through the peephole.

"Oh," said a female voice, "h.e.l.lo there." There was an inflection of surprise in her voice. Was it possible she hadn't seen or heard him talking to himself in the hallway? Jake dared to hope. He turned to see his pregnant neighbor in the doorway, her little boy holding onto her leg.

He offered a pathetic smile. "Hi. I live across the hall. I'm Jake."

She noticed his watery eyes, but didn't draw attention to them. "I'm Pamela Thomas." She looked down. "And this is my son Alan." As she spoke, she rubbed her pregnant belly with her hands.

Jake tried not to stare, but how could he not? In a whole year he had not seen as many pregnant women as he had in the last twenty-four hours. Was there a baby boom going on that he was unaware of? Before he could stop himself the words were out of his mouth. "You're pregnant."

She looked puzzled, and responded with a "Yes..." that was elongated, and had a distinct question in it.

"I mean, obviously you're pregnant. H- how long before you have the baby?"

"Actually, I'm a week overdue. The doctor says we should induce labor, so we were just about to mosey on over to the hospital to meet my husband." She started down the hall. "Sorry I can't chat, but it was very nice to meet you, Jake."

The little boy turned back and waved. "Bye!"

Jake thought it would have been appropriate to respond with her name to possibly minimize the damage his first impression had caused, but in the excitement, he had forgotten part of it-the most important part. He remembered her last name, Thomas. But if he called her Mrs. Thomas, she would know he'd forgotten her first name. He decided it was best to just be obligatory, and cut his losses. "It was nice meeting you, too," he called after her. "Hope everything comes out okay."

Pamela laughed. "Thank you for that wonderful sentiment. I hope everything comes out okay, too."

He wished he could retract the statement, but she and her son had gone far enough away that it would just make things even more awkward than they already were. And that was saying something.

Chapter 28.

Angela Grant stood in the living room of Carter's apartment talking to the agents from the SBI, the Maine State Bureau of Investigations. This was a federal case, but with Gary Carter being a Maine resident and prime suspect, it was partly their jurisdiction.

As it turned out, Gary Carter was squeaky clean; no criminal record of any kind, not even a parking ticket. The only suspicious evidence a thorough search of his apartment had turned up was four images on his computer, screen grabs from news sites on the web. For whatever reason, he was saving digital clippings of the Cape murderer's exploits. Researching a murderer, however, was not a crime. They would have to keep digging.

Perez tapped her on the arm. "Sorry to interrupt, but we spoke with the suspect's sister, and she says her brother's been acting weird lately. She doesn't think he's capable of murder, but she's worried he might be mixed up in something."

"Does she have any evidence?"

"No. She said he used to visit their mother every weekend, but about two years ago he stopped going. She says he's always agitated, and always watching the news."

"Well that doesn't sound like the behavior of a serial killer, that sounds like a man being terrorized. I wonder what happened two years ago that made him go into hiding."

"We're speaking to the rest of his immediate family. Maybe something will turn up."

"Yes, he's all we have at the moment; turn over every rock you can find."

"When do you want to stop by the clinic and check his office?"

"We'll go when we're done here."

Chapter 29.

The Doris Boardman Woman's Health Center was part of a well manicured commercial complex. The buildings looked more like houses than business offices. It was tucked away in a small pine forest on the edge of Sunbury where specialty doctors held their practices. Beautiful stone paths lead up from the main sidewalk to each business door, with inviting rows of potted plants between.

Holly parked her '96 Sunbird in a parking s.p.a.ce out front, and turned to Dan with a threatening finger. "Okay. I let you come, but you're staying in the car. Don't come in no matter what."

"I'm here for moral support."

She looked at the time on her phone, and nervousness twisted in her gut. She wanted to go get this over with, but she also wanted to stay in the safety of the car as long as possible. She looked at the building. "This place just freaks me out."

"Well, I'm not going to add to your stress. I'll be right here in the car, waiting. I won't go anywhere, even if I have to go to the bathroom. I can always clean these pants later when I get home."

Her face soured. "Ew..."

"I'm kidding." He deflected a smack. "I'm kidding. Unless you take a really really long time, then I'm not kidding at all."

She swung at him again.

"I'm kidding!"

"Why'd I let you come?"

"Hey, you can't be serious all your life."

"How can you joke about everything? Life isn't a joke."

"Life is only serious when you let it be."

"This is serious. Right now it's serious, Dan!"

"Okay. I get it. I'll put on my serious face." His face went blank and he stared at her with the most unusual expression. There was an intensity to it, yet it was devoid of any recognizable emotion, almost as if he was applying an excruciating effort to not be happy or smile. The absurdity of it brought a bubble of laugher to the surface, but she immediately stifled it. This was not a time to laugh, and Dan was a moron for not realizing that fact.

She pushed him again.

"What? I'm being serious."

"You're like a child who never grew up."

"Growing up is for grown-ups and people who are afraid to get bubble gum in their nose hairs."

She rolled her eyes. "Just stay here." She exited the vehicle and nervously approached the front door, her fist tightly squeezing the strap of her purse. It would be over soon. All she had to do was drop the package, and get out without being seen.

A horrible thought entered her mind. What if there were more jobs like this one? What would he ask her to do? And would she be willing to do them? She pushed the thought away like a diseased thing. There was no time to consider what came next. She needed to stay in the moment, and hold it together.

The entrance room was small but cozy. Maine themed paintings of lobstermen, pine trees, and moose hung on two of the walls, and to the right was a metal door. Beside the door was a microphone with a red push b.u.t.ton, and above the microphone, a long thin surveillance camera dangled from the ceiling.

Holly pressed a nervous finger to the b.u.t.ton.

"State your name," said the impersonal voice on the speaker.

She leaned into the microphone. "Holly Paris."

"Reason for your visit?"

She fought a shiver in her belly. He hadn't given her a reason. What was she supposed to say? If she didn't give a reason for the visit, this whole thing would be over before it started. He'd said exam room B. Was this an appointment for a health exam? A pregnancy test? Something else?

She leaned in and said simply, "Exam." The door lock buzzed, and she pulled it open. Beyond the metal door was a large waiting room off to the left. Straight ahead was an open doorway to a tiny room. The plaque to the side of the doorway said reception. Holly shuffled into that room.

On the left wall and part of the wall across from her was a thick gla.s.s, bullet proof, the kidnapper had said. There were two receptionists. One was speaking on the phone; the other waved her in to a seat in front of her reception station.

Holly spoke into the microphone that rose out of the counter like a metal snake. "I'm Holly."

The receptionist looked at her screen. "We have you set for a nine o'clock gynecological exam."

Holly held back a look of shock. There was no way that was ever going to happen! She would make sure her task was complete before the nurse or doctor came in, then she'd come up with an excuse to leave quickly.

"Have a seat in the waiting room. The nurse will be with you shortly."

Though it was difficult to stand; her legs felt like jello, and she thought she was going to be sick-Holly managed to get up and go into the lobby.

The waiting room was as plush and inviting as the initial entry room. Padded seats lined the walls, and in one of them sat a red-haired woman Holly thought she recognized.

"Hi." Holly took a seat across from her.

The young woman looked up sheepishly, as if the last thing she expected in this place was to have someone talk to her.

"Hey," she said.

Holly looked at the coffee table covered with magazines and informational trifolds, then peeked back up at the woman across from her. "I'm sorry," she said sitting back. "I think I know you from somewhere."

The woman looked up, slightly embarra.s.sed. "I- I don't think so."

"Did you go to Sunbury High?"

"No. Foxcroft Academy."

"Oh," said Holly, "I know some guys from up that way."

She pressed a polite smile, but her eyes said, leave me alone. Holly took the hint. It was evident from the woman's posture and the tightness in her brow that she was not here for a routine exam. It was probably something much more troubling. The Doris Boardman Center was the only clinic in central Maine where a woman could get an abortion, and Holly couldn't help but wonder if that was what this pretty redhead had come here to do. It would explain her discomfort. After all, this visit was supposed to be quick and discreet-and running into someone who recognized her was hardly discreet.