"It was… I don't have a word for what it was." He drank deep.

"It's evil's what it is. People toss that word off so it loses the darkness of it. But that's what it is. Are you having trouble sleeping? I can make you up some herb tea would help some."

"No, I'm all right. It's bad business, Ma. This guy, he says he killed that kid. The one over on the east side who had those people in the liquor store. Shot him after Phoebe talked him into surrendering. So yeah, I'm worried about her. She knows what she's doing, b u't…"

"When somebody matters, you've got to worry."

"She's got her family pretty much locked up in her house on Jones while she's out there knowing what she's doing. Her mother… Well, she's had some hard knocks."

He began to tell her, found himself going through all of it. What he knew, what he'd deduced, what he'd observed.

"Girl's got a lot on her plate. 'Course any woman raising a child without its father's got an extra serving right there. And her mother having that condition." Thoughtful, Ma looked out over her yard. "I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't go where I wanted when I wanted. Walk down to the neighbor's, or drive to the market. Fear's a hard burden to carry. Responsibility's a heavy one. That's a complicated business, Duncan, even without this awful, ugly business heaped on it."

"They seem to have a system, and it mostly works for them. But Phoebe-she's the glue, you know? She knows what to do. That's what I saw in her the minute she walked into Suicide Joe's apartment that day. It's… magnetic."

"You got the moon on for her, do you?"

He smiled a little as he lifted his glass. "I guess I do. Bad timing, as it turns out. Hard to romance a woman under these particular circumstances." He shrugged. "That can wait. Finding the son of a bitch who's after her, that can't."

"It's her job to find him." Fanning her face with her hat, she studied him. "Hard for you to sit back and let her do her job."

"Yeah. Okay, yeah. In this particular situation anyway. I mean Jesus-sorry-jeez," he corrected when she narrowed her eyes. "This guy wants her dead. More, he wants her to suffer first. If somebody matters, are you supposed to sit back while somebody else wants to hurt them?"

Ma broke a cookie in half, passed a share to him. "Is that what you're here for? You want me to tell you what to do?"

"No. Not exactly. She's a lot like you. She does what has to be done, she takes care of her family. And she sure as hell doesn't like to be told what to do-or what she can't do. I guess I'm trying to work out a way to help her without putting her back up-got a temper on her-so she gives me the boot out of pride or mad."

"Mmm-hmm. Like you coming here, and thinking: Ma Bee's probably been out in the sun long enough for now. She should sit down and have a cold drink. So you fix that all up so you don't have to tell me to stop and sit, and don't get an argument."

He grinned as he bit into his cookie. "Something like that."

"You've got a sly mind in there, boy. I always admired it. You'll figure it out. Now, go yank those weeds while I have another glass of tea."

"Yes'm."

His phone signaled as he rose. "It's Phoebe," he said as he read the display. "Hey. I was just…"

As she poured more tea, Ma watched Duncan's face. She knew her boy and saw the flash of irritation in his eyes. Phoebe, she thought, wasn't the only one with a temper.

"I've got a couple things going today. No, I'm not rescheduling.

For… Phoebe, stop. Hold it. Let's remember, first off, you don't outrank me because I don't work for you. No, you be quiet for a damn minute. I'm not rescheduling because some psycho might try to track me down somewhere in the city of Savannah and then decide maybe to try to do me some harm, and I'm sure as hell not running home to lock myself in like some hysterical girl. In case you failed to notice, I've got a pair."

Ma lowered her head, shook it and sighed.

"Sexist, my ass. Protective custody? Your ass. You go ahead and try it and yeah, you're right. We'll see who's got the biggest pair. You want to talk about this, we damn well will. Face-to-face. Later. Right now, Lieutenant MacNamara, I'm busy. I'll see you later."

He shut the phone, shoved it into his pocket. "Wants me to shut everything down, go home and hide like some dickless coward. Threatens to sic cops on me to haul me in, for my own safety. Screw that."

"Who're you calling?" Ma demanded when he yanked the phone out again.

"Your son, my lawyer. We'll just see how she likes-"

"Hang that up, you fool. Just close that up. You go yank those weeds till you cool off a little."

"I'm not having-"

"You're not having, she's not having. Fine, fine, fine. Talk about it later, in person, like you said. Meanwhile, there's no use stinking up the pot by calling lawyers. You find cops on your doorstep, that's the time to call Phineas. Right now, that bed needs weeding."

Children, Ma thought as Duncan strode grumbling over to do what he was told. People in love were like squabbling children half the time. She sure missed that part of having a man.

Chapter 26

In the squadroom, Phoebe used a large whiteboard to create a chart. As she built the diagrams, added names, she struggled to keep her conversation with Duncan from playing back in her head. Stubborn, macho idiot. Going off on a tangent about his precious balls because she expected him to take proper and reasonable precautions. She'd never have thought it of him. It just went to show how wrong you could be about someone.

If he got his head, or his damn balls, blown off, it was his own fault. She had to stop, shut her eyes and order herself to calm down.

That wasn't going to happen. If she didn't know just where to find Duncan, how the hell would Roy's killer? And why would he waste his time and energy cruising around the city looking for Duncan, and then risk exposure by trying something stupid?

He was too smart for that.

He had a plan, of that she was certain. And he wouldn't have tipped his hand to her if Duncan was his primary and immediate target. Duncan might very well be one, but there was time.

She'd let herself panic, and she knew better.

Calm, rational thinking was the way to find the answers.

She'd pulled another detective and an experienced uniformed officer into the case.

"We believe," she began as she continued to write on the board, "that the UNSUB is connected to one of the female victims of a previous hostage situation, suicide or crisis in which I sat as negotiator. What we know is he targeted, abducted and killed Roy Squire, specifically because of the victim's connection to me. We know he has knowledge of explosives. We know he traveled to Hilton Head, and returned to Savannah with Roy in Roy's car, which was found abandoned and wiped clean in the long-term lot at the airport, where we can assume he had his own car parked or took a cab. We do not know, yet, how he got to Hilton Head." She turned around. "Detective Peters, I need you to check on oneway car rentals that were picked up in Savannah, dropped off in Hilton Head. One-way railway and bus tickets, air tickets. Or any round-trips purchased that were used only one way. He may have chartered private. We don't know how deep his pockets are. Find out what you can from private planes, destination Hilton Head, within the last week."

"Why didn't he use his own car, coming and going?" Sykes wondered. "If he has one. Drive's not that far from here to there. Why use the victim's to transport?"

"We don't know that either. It's possible he doesn't own a car."

"Or," the new team member, Nably, began, "the one he owns, or has access to, isn't geared for hauling a full-grown man, bound and gagged, forty, fifty miles."