Loren fought to keep her voice steady. "You wouldn't even know about Olivia Hunter being Candace Potter if it wasn't for me."

"Oh, I see. Is that what this is about, Muse? Your ego? You want the credit? Fine, it's yours. I'll put a gold star next to your name on the board, if you like."

"That's not what I meant."

"That's sure as hell how it sounded to me. Naïve and a glory hound. Quite a winning combination."

"That's not fair."

"That's not…" Yates laughed. "Are you kidding me? Fair? How old are you, Muse, twelve? This is a federal investigation into murder and racketeering and you're worried about my playing fair with a lowly county investigator? You'll drive me back to your office immediately and"- enough stick, a little carrot-"if you want to participate in this investigation, your current assignment will be to find out anything you can on that other whore, the black one she roomed with."

"Kimmy Dale."

"Yes. Find out exactly where she is, what her story is, everything you can. You will not talk to her, however, without talking to me first. If you don't like it, I'll have you removed from the case. Understood?"

She responded as if there were nails in her mouth: "Understood."

He knew that she would take it. Loren wanted to remain in the loop. She'd settle for marginalized, hoping she'd make it back onto the center stage. Truth was, she was a damn fine investigator. Yates would try to steal her away when this was all over. He'd flatter her and let her have all the credit and then, good as she was, she probably wouldn't look too closely at the details.

At least that was what he hoped.

Because so far, those who had died had not been innocent- they'd been trying to hurt him. Loren Muse was different. He really didn't want her harmed. But as old a philosophy as it was, in the end, if it comes down to us or them, it is always us.

Loren Muse pulled the car into the lot and got out without a word. Yates let her huff off. He called Cal Dollinger, the only man he trusted with this sort of information. He quickly explained what he needed to. Cal did not need much detail.

Adam flashed on a painful memory- the hospital when Sam had meningitis. What he left out of the story he'd told Loren was Cal's part in the nightmare. Cal, too, had refused to leave the hospital. Adam's oldest friend had pulled up a stiff metal chair and stayed outside Sam's door for three straight days, not saying a word, just sitting there on guard, making certain that if Adam needed anything, he'd be ready.

"You want me to go alone?" Cal asked.

"No, I'll meet you at the Hunters' house," Yates said, his voice soft. "We'll get the tape. Then we end this."

Chapter 48

OLIVIA HUNTER HELD IT TOGETHER until Midlife had been able to extricate her from Detective Lance Banner. Now that she was back in her own home she let her defenses down. She cried silently. Tears ran down her cheeks. Olivia could not stop them. She did not know if they came from joy, relief, fear, what. She only knew that sitting down and trying to stop them would be a waste of time.

She had to move.

Her suitcase was still at the Howard Johnson's. She simply packed another. She knew better than to wait. The police would be back. They would want answers.

She had to get to Reno right now.

She couldn't stop crying, which was unlike her yet understandable, she guessed, under the circumstances. Olivia was physically and emotionally spent. She was pregnant, for one thing. For another, she was worried about her adopted daughter. And finally, after all this time, she had told Matt the truth about her past.

The pact was over. Olivia had broken it when she responded to that online post- more than that, she had been directly responsible for the death of Emma Lemay. It was Olivia's fault. Emma had done a lot wrong in her life. She had hurt many people. Olivia knew that she'd tried to make up for it, that she'd truly spent her last years making amends. She didn't know where that put Emma on the Great Ledger in the Sky, but if anyone earned redemption, she assumed that Emma Lemay had.

But the thing Olivia could not get over, the thing that was really making the tears waterfall down her cheeks, was the look on Matt's face when she told him the truth.

It had not been what she'd imagined at all.

He should have been upset. He probably was. How could he not be? From the first time they met in Vegas, Olivia had always loved the way he looked at her- as if God had never created anything more spectacular, more- for lack of a better word- pure. Olivia naturally expected that look to vanish or at least dim once he learned the truth. She figured that his faded-blue eyes would harden, grow cold.

But that hadn't happened.

Nothing had changed. Matt had learned that his wife was a lie, that she had done things that would make most men turn away forever in disgust. And he had reacted with unconditional love.

Over the years Olivia had gained enough distance to see that her awful upbringing made her, like so many of the girls she worked with, lean toward self-destruction. Men who grew up like that, in different foster homes and under what could best be described as poor situations, usually reacted with violence. That was how abused men showed rage- by striking out, with physical brutality.

Women were different. They used more subtle forms of cruelty or, as in most cases, directed the rage inward- they cannot hurt someone else so they hurt themselves. Kimmy had been like that. Olivia- no, Candi- had been like that too.

Until Matt.

Maybe it was because of the years he spent in jail. Maybe, like she said before, it had to do with their mutual wounds. But Matt was the finest man she had ever known. He truly didn't sweat the small stuff. He lived in the moment. He paid attention to what mattered. He didn't let the trappings get in the way. He ignored the superfluous and saw what was really there. It made her see past it too- at least, in herself.

Matt didn't see the ugly in her- still didn't see it!- ergo, it was not there.

But as Olivia packed, the cold hard truth was obvious. After all the years and all the pretending, she had not rid herself of that self-destructive bent. How else to explain her actions? How stupid had she been- searching online for Candace Potter like that?

Look at the damage she'd wrought. To Emma, of course. To herself, yes, but more to the point, to the only man she'd ever loved.

Why had she insisted on poking at the past?

Because, in truth, she couldn't help herself. You can read all the pro-choice, pro-adoption, pro-life arguments- over the years, Olivia had ad nauseam- but there was one basic truth: Getting pregnant is the ultimate fork in the road. Whatever you choose, you will always wonder about the path not taken. Even though she was very young, even though keeping the child would have been impossible, even though the decision was ultimately made by others, no day passed without Olivia wondering about that gigantic what-if.

No woman simply skates by that one.

There was a knock on the door.

Olivia waited. A second knock. There was no peephole, so she went to a nearby window, pushed the lace curtain to the side, and peered out.

There were two men at her door. One looked like he'd just walked out of an L.L. Bean catalogue. The second man was enormous. He wore a suit that didn't seem to fit him quite right, but then again, judging by his looks, no suit would. He had a military buzz cut and no neck.

The enormous man turned to the window and caught her eye. He nudged the smaller man. The smaller man turned too.

"FBI," the normal-size one said. "We'd like to speak to you for a moment."

"I have nothing to say."