"You were lucky you had the presence of mind to load the gun at all."

She gave Burns a wan smile. "You could say I'm used to performing under pressure." He merely nodded. "If we recreate those last moments outside, when you turned and fired, can you hazard an opinion as to whether he realized you were armed? Did he make any move to reach for one of the guns he carried?"

"It happened very quickly."

It hadn't seemed so. It had seemed as though she'd been running through syrup. It didn't take any effort to rerun the scene, that slow-motion film of nightmares and dark fantasies. The wall of heat that made you fight for every gasping breath. The terrifying feeling that the grass had gone boggy and was sucking you down. The silver glint of the knife under the merciless sun. And that grin, that wide, hungry grin.

"I…" She pressed her lips together and bore down on the last, nasty remnants of fear. "I tried to shoot, but nothing happened. He just kept coming, holding the knife and smiling at me. Just smiling. I think I was crying or screaming or praying, I don't know, but he kept coming, and kept smiling. I had the gun out in front of me, and he was saying that I was the lamb of God, a sacrifice. That it was going to be like Edda Lou. That it had to be like Edda Lou."

"You're sure of that." Burns held his cup two inches above the saucer. "You're sure he said it had to be like Edda Lou?"

"Yes." She gave in to a shudder, then pushed her uneaten breakfast aside. "I'm not likely to forget anything he said."

"Wait a minute." Tucker put a hand on Caroline's arm, his fingers taut as wire. He'd been doing more than listening, he'd been watching. Burns looked like a man who'd just drawn to an inside straight. "You're not here getting a statement about the shooting of some escaped lunatic. That's small shit, the kind of local dirt that wouldn't interest a federal agent. You sonofabitch."

"Tucker, please."

"No." His eyes were fierce as he turned to Caroline. "Don't you see? It's about Edda Lou, about Edda Lou and the others. It doesn't have diddly to do with you, except you managed not to be the next victim."

"The next?" she began, then stopped. The blood drained from her face. "Oh, God, the knife. He didn't shoot me because-because it had to be like Edda Lou. It had to be the knife."

"Yeah, the knife." Tucker's hand slid down her arm so that she could grip it. "There are users and users, aren't there, Burns?" Tucker's voice had lost its lazy drawl, sharpening to an icy point. "You're using Caroline to help you gather evidence on Hatinger. Using her to solve your case, but you don't bother to let her know."

Burns set his cup meticulously back in the saucer. "I'm conducting a federal investigation on a series of murders. I'm not required to make my views known to the public."

"Fuck that. You know what she's been through. Easing her mind by telling her this might be over wouldn't have cost you."

"Regulations and procedure," Burns said.

Caroline squeezed Tucker's hand before he could speak again. "I can talk for myself." She inhaled and exhaled twice, slowly. "I didn't even know Edda Lou, but I'll see her floating in the pond for the rest of my life. I've never performed a violent act in my life. Oh, I threw a champagne glass at someone once, but I missed, so it hardly counts. Yesterday I killed a man." Her hand fluttered to her stomach to press against the slow, familiar burn. "That may not seem so terrible to you, Matthew, considering your line of work and taking into account that I was saving my own life. But I killed a man. Now you come in here and ask me to bring it all back. And you don't even grant me the courtesy of the truth."

"It's simply speculation, Caroline, and for your own good…" He fumbled to a stop when her head snapped up.

"Do you know," she said slowly, "I once threatened to kill a man if he ever, ever used that particular phrase to me again. I didn't mean it literally at the time. It was just one of those typical statements people make before they realize what it's like to kill. But I should warn you not to use that phrase. It tends to set me off."

Delighted, Tucker kicked back in his chair and grinned. "She's got a hot streak. It's a pure pleasure seeing it aimed at somebody else for a change."

"I apologize if I've upset you," Burns said stiffly. "But I'm doing my job as I think best. It is not a foregone conclusion that Austin Hatinger was responsible for the three deaths in this community or the one in Nashville. However, given yesterday's incident, we are focusing our investigation on him."

"Will you be able to tell if it was his knife?" Caroline asked.

"After certain tests are completed, we should be able to determine if it was that style of knife. Off the record," Burns continued grudgingly, "I can say that Hatinger fit certain psychological points in this kind of killing. He had a deep-seated anger toward women, as evidenced by his frequent abuse of his wife. A religious mania which he may have figured absolved him of guilt, or accorded him a mission. We could speculate that his use of water to dispose of the bodies was more than an attempt to wash away evidence, but a kind of baptism.

Unfortunately, he can't be questioned about his motives. As it stands, I'll be backtracking, trying to place his whereabouts at the time of all three murders. And while he is my focus, I'll continue along other avenues of investigation."

His gaze lighted on Tucker, and Tucker merely smiled.

"Then you've got your work cut out for you, don't you, son? We wouldn't want to hold you up."

"I'll want to talk to the boy. Cy Hatinger."

Tucker's smile faded. "He's at Sweetwater."

"Well then." He rose, but couldn't resist a parting shot. "Odd how Hatinger went from gunning for you straight to Caroline, isn't it? Some people have a knack for turning bad luck onto others." He was an expert at recognizing guilt. It gave him pleasure to watch it shadow Tucker's face. "If you think of anything else that might help, Caroline, you know where to reach me. Thanks for the coffee. I can see myself out."

"Tucker," Caroline began the moment they were alone, but he shook his head and rose.

"I've got some thinking to do." He ran a hand through his hair. It was dry now, but he caught a whiff of her shampoo. Even so small a thing had his gut tightening. "Will you be all right? Want me to call Josie, or Susie, or someone?"

"No, no, I'll be fine." But she wondered if he would. "Matthew's a rigid sort of man, Tucker. That kind always sees the logic of placing blame."

"There's blame enough. Listen, I need to get back. I don't want Cy having to talk to him on his own." His hands dug into his pockets again. "He's just a kid."

"Go ahead." It would be better, she thought, to be alone. To put off talking about what had happened between them that morning. "I'll be fine, really." She lifted their plates, thinking Useless was going to breakfast like a king.

He put a hand on her shoulder as she turned to the sink. "I'm coming back."

"I know." She waited until he was at the doorway before speaking again. "Tucker. Thanks for telling Matthew I wasn't helpless. When you're used to people seeing you that way, it means a lot."

Her back was to him, her shoulders straight. He knew she was looking out to where the blood had dried on the grass.

"We're going to have to talk, you and me. About a lot of things."

When she didn't answer, he left her alone.