"He turned in his papers and moved out of his apartment. He had two months left on his lease, left a check to cover it." At Dave's bedside, Phoebe went through the checklist. "He had two credit cards at that time. Neither have shown any activity in these three years. He's contacted no one, not his best friend, nor his former commanding officer.

He had a checking account, and a savings account totaling six thousand and change, and a safety deposit box. He cleaned everything out on the same day he quit the department. There was an oh-one Chevy pickup registered to him. He sold it, for eight thousand cash, to a Derrick Means, in the same apartment building. We're checking that out, but don't expect it to go anywhere. Also registered to him were a ninemillimeter Smith and Wesson and a thirty-two Remington semi. His friend knew him to own a hunting rifle, with scope, a thirty-thirty, and a twenty-two pistol which had been his father's."

"Likes guns."

"Yes, he does. He's a trained sniper, and had training in explosives during his time in the army. He also worked with our own bomb squad before he requested and received the transfer to SWAT. He's somewhere in or around Savannah, but as far as we know, you're the only one who's seen him."

She lifted her hands. "I don't know what to do. I negotiate, I don't investigate."

"A puzzle's a puzzle, Phoebe. It's all pieces."

"I have some of them. He blames me for Angela Brentine's death, maybe because there isn't anyone else to blame. He was on the team that day, Dave. He was on the incident where she died. His scope trained on the bank, waiting for the go. We didn't know the names of the hostages, or the injured. He didn't know she was in there, dead or dying, while he waited outside, while all those hours passed."

"Ineffective. Impotent." Dave nodded, then closed his eyes as the slight movement stirred pain in the base of his skull. "Lancelot didn't rescue Guinevere."

"That's what he can't live with. That he was there, waiting while she bled out. While I had them wait, while I talked her killers down so they walked out with their hands in the air. They lived, she died, because of decisions I made. That's what he believes. That's what he has to believe. But it doesn't help us find him."

"Why'd he go after Roy?"

Think it through, Phoebe reminded herself. Empathize. "The connection to me-we had a child together, we were married. Husband a symbol. Harder, much harder, to get to Brentine than to Roy. And Roy was mine. He wants to destroy what's mine, as I destroyed what was his."

"Not just the woman." Dave reached for the water glass, then settled back to sip through the straw as Phoebe picked it up, held it to his lips. "Thanks. Not just the woman," he repeated. "His self-image was destroyed. Didn't save the day. Followed orders, hung back with the rest instead of walking solo out into the street for the showdown."

"But this time, he is, he will. Moving up the line," she mused. "Roy, then you. Everyone knows we're close. And that I'm a negotiator because of you. Therefore, I was at the bank because of you.

"Do you want me to call the nurse?" she said when he shifted, when she saw pain tighten his face. "You should rest, you should-"

"No. Keep going. It keeps my mind busy. You call the nurse, she's going to come in here with a needle and take more blood. I swear, being in a hospital's like being in a den of vampires. They never get enough of your blood. Keep going."

Wishing she could do more, Phoebe tucked and smoothed his sheets as she spoke. "All right. The dead animals, to defile my house, to under mine my sense of security. Snake, rabbit, rat. He's probably based outside the city. Somebody's going to notice if you shoot a rabbit otherwise. Smarter to have a place outside the city, quiet, secluded. Nobody's going to bother you or notice you overmuch, not if you keep to yourself.

Get along," she said. "Like he got along with his teammates. A house, a bungalow. He'd need transportation. They're still checking on how he got to Hilton Head."

She turned to the window. Urban sprawl, she thought, so roads led to suburbs, and suburbs gave way to swamps and woods. Bridges ribboned their way to islands.

So many places to hide.

"Every cop in the city, every cop on the islands, has his picture. He has to know that. He has to know you lived, that you saw him, and that we're looking for him now. I see he's got two choices-to cut and run, or to finish. He won't cut and run."

"You need to be ready when he comes at you."

She nodded. "I'm trying to be." She turned back. "I never asked how you felt this morning."

"Glad to be alive."

"I've had to tie the rest of the family down to keep them from coming to see you. And I'm under orders to put you under orders to come to the house when they spring you from here so Mama and Ava can spoil you while you recuperate."

"Would that include peach pie?"

"I can guarantee it. When are you going to ask Ava out on a date?"

"Excuse me?"

"When are the two of you going to stop sending wistful glances at each other's backs? You're both grown-up, divorced people. I don't think she got any sleep last night."

"Well, I…"

"I don't know how many times this morning she asked me about you, or argued with me about coming to see you herself, or told me to tell you she was thinking of you."

"She's a friend, she's been a friend a long time."

"Dave, my mama is your friend." Exasperation eked through enough to have her fisting her hands on her hips. "Are you going to lie there on what might have been your deathbed and tell me you feel the same about Ava you do about my mama?"

"I don't think-"

"What do you want?" She approached the bed again. "I know how to find out what people want in emotional and stressful situations. If you're too flustered to tell me-and it's awful cute to see you blushI'll tell you. You want to ask Ava out for a romantic, candlelight dinner when you're back on your feet."

He stirred again, but this time Phoebe could see it wasn't about pain. "It happens I was thinking about her-about that-when I was walking home yesterday. Before. I was thinking the timing for doing that was lousy."

"Timing's lousy on most everything half the time." Smiling down at him, she brushed at his hair. "I asked Duncan to marry me. He said yes." Dave's mouth opened and closed. "You're full of surprises this morning."

"I surprise myself. I love him like I've been waiting to find him my whole life, just waiting for the rest of my life to start. You'll give me away again, won't you? I'm betting this one sticks."

"I'm betting it will, too." Reaching up, he gripped her hand. "I'm happy for you."

"So am I. You've been waiting, Dave, an awfully long time. Ask Ava out to dinner, so the rest of your life starts."

When Phoebe walked out of Dave's room, Liz pushed off the wall. "Thanks for giving me some alone time with him."

"No problem. How's he doing?"

"Well enough to settle my nerves on that score. I want to thank you again for pairing up with me today."

"Another no problem. This Walken tried to kill one of our own.

There isn't anyone in the department who isn't invested in this. He can't hide for long."

"And he's not going to run." She stepped outside into the swampy heat. "That storm didn't cool it off any. Just made it wetter."

"Summer in Savannah. Love it or go away. Go ahead and take it," she said when Phoebe's phone rang. "I'll drive."

"I think it's him." She held out the phone so Liz could read the display. With a nod, Liz stepped away, drew her own phone. "Phoebe MacNamara."

"How's Dave doing?"

"He's doing well, thanks. You screwed up there."

"No. Variables, Phoebe. You know about variables. Shit happens. I know you're looking for me."