Fear snaked its way into her gut. “Where did he get it, Daniel?”

His arm tightened around her protectively. “I don’t know yet. But I’ll find out.”

Thursday, February 1, 2:30 a.m.

“Bailey,” Beardsley whispered. “Are you alive?”

Bailey drew in a shallow breath, testing. “Yes.”

“Did you tell him anything more?”

“I don’t know anything more,” she said, her voice breaking on a sob.

“Sshh. Don’t cry. Maybe Alex just hid it.”

Bailey tried to make her brain think. “I told her to, in the letter.”

“Letter? You mean you mailed it?” he murmured. “To Ohio? When?”

“The day they took me. Thursday.”

“She might not have gotten it then. She got here on Saturday.”

Bailey drew in another, faster breath. “Then she might not know about the key.”

“We need to buy some time. If you have to tell him, say you sent it to her in Ohio. She’s not there if they look, so she and Hope will be safe. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Dutton, Thursday, February 1, 5:30 a.m.

He rolled by Alex Fallon’s little bungalow, his eyes narrowing. Crime scene tape was stretched across her front door. He wondered if the assholes who’d tried to run her down two days before had finally been successful at snuffing her out. They better not have. He needed her alive so he could kill her himself. Otherwise his circle would not be complete, and that would be a damn shame.

He kept rolling along at his snail’s pace, doing what he’d been paid to do. A few doors down, old Violet Drummond hobbled out to the street and he handed her a paper through the window. “Mornin’, Miz Drummond.”

“Mor-nin’,” she said auspiciously.

“What happened at the bungalow?” he asked nonchalantly.

Her lips pursed as if she’d sucked a lemon. “Break-in. Somebody ransacked that Tremaine girl’s things and poisoned her dog. Tore up the house, too. I knew she was trouble the minute she walked back into town. She should have just stayed away.”

He looked back at the bungalow through his side mirror. Somebody had been sloppy. Somebody was getting scared. Inside he grinned. Outside he made his face frown. “Yes’m. Have a nice day, Miz Drummond.”

He rolled away, relieved Alex Fallon still lived, but annoyed that now she’d be more on her guard than ever-and no longer conveniently located on Main Street. But he knew where she’d be staying. She and Vartanian were practically joined at the hip. But he and Vartanian would meet soon and he’d grab Alex then.

For now, he’d finish his job, then go get some sleep. He’d had a very busy night.

Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 5:55 a.m.

The phone woke her and groggily Alex answered it. “Fallon. What is it, Letta?”

“Um, I’m not Letta and I want to talk to Daniel. Is he there?”

Alex sat up, awake now. “I’m sorry. Wait.” She poked Daniel’s arm. “I think it’s Chase. I was so sleepy I thought I was at home and my charge nurse was calling.”

Daniel lifted his head, his eyes still heavy with sleep. “Oh, hell. Give it here.”

She handed it over, wondering if they would have any trouble over their… sleeping arrangements. She glanced at the clock with a wince. They hadn’t done much sleeping.

“I’m sorry. I did call you about her mother.” Daniel sat up and hunched over, his free hand massaging his temples. He had a headache already. “I should have called you about the break-in at the bungalow, but I had to take Riley to the vet.” He looked up at her with a hopeful grimace, then rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, there was that, too.”

Alex scooted over so that she knelt next to his hip and lifted his chin. His eyes were shadowed with pain. She pressed her thumbs to his temples and her lips to his brow until she felt him relax. She leaned back and he nodded, but his lips didn’t smile.

“When?” he said. “Who?… Never heard of him. Why didn’t APD call us? I thought we had a picture of that kid on the visor of every patrol car in the city.” He sighed. “I guess that would make it hard to see his face. All right.” He sat up straighter and looked at his clock. “Again? Then there’s another one. Who’s his tail?… Good. Have him call me when Woolf stops. I’ll be there as fast as I can.” He started to hang up, then paused, looking at Alex. “I’ll tell her. Thanks, Chase.” He handed her the phone and she hung it up, her stomach already starting to churn.

“Who did APD have a picture of on their visors?”

“A kid we’ve been looking for. They found him dead in an alley, a few blocks from his car.” He scrubbed his palms over his face. “Shot in the head with his face covered in blood. Nobody recognized him until they’d gotten him to the morgue and cleaned up his face. They found his car, ran the plates. But I’ve never heard of him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Sean Romney.”

“I’ve never heard of him either.” She made herself ask the harder question. “Woolf’s on the move again?” she asked, and he nodded.

“I’ve gotta get out there and you can’t stay here alone.”

“I can be ready in ten minutes,” she said, and he looked impressed. “When you work level one trauma, you have to be ready to go in whenever there’s a major crisis. We get all the chopper cases in a seventy-mile radius. So I can move when I need to.” She rolled out of bed, but he stayed for a moment, watching her. “What?”

His eyes were that piercing blue that made her shiver. “You’re beautiful.”

“So are you. I hope I didn’t get you into any trouble, answering the phone like that.”

He got out of bed, stretching his shoulders one way and then the other while she watched for the simple pleasure of doing so. “No,” he drawled. “Chase already knew.”

Her eyes widened. “You told him? Daniel!”

“No,” he drawled again. “I’m a guy, Alex. When we have head- banging sex on a sofa, it’s written all over our faces. Everybody knows.”

“Oh. Well, okay.” She felt her cheeks heat. “So what did Chase tell you to tell me?”

Daniel sobered abruptly. “That he’s sorry about your mother. Hurry. We need to go.”

Chapter Nineteen

Tuliptree Hollow , Georgia , Thursday, February 1, 7:00 a.m.

Daniel walked to the ditch, the Review tucked under his arm. Ed was already down in it, watching as Malcolm and Trey lifted the newest body to a stretcher.

“Ed, come on up,” Daniel called. “I need to show you something.”

Ed scrambled up the wooden ramp they’d placed against the side of the ditch. “You know I’m fucking tired of finding bodies in blankets,” he said. He looked over at Daniel’s car where Alex sat huddled in one of Daniel’s overcoats. “How is she?”

Daniel looked over his shoulder. “She’ll be okay.” He handed Ed the paper. “Look.”

Ed’s eyes immediately widened. “Dammit. It’s the kid who bought the blankets.”

“And picked up Janet’s Z.” Daniel tapped the page. “Byline is you know who.”

Ed glared. “He’s up in that tree. I thought you might want to yank him down again.”

“That’ll be a pleasure. Take a look at the kid’s name.”

“Sean Romney, of Atlanta. So?”

“So… Woolf says here that Sean Romney is the grandson of Rob Davis of Dutton, who owns the damn Bank of Dutton. That makes Romney a second cousin to Garth Davis, the mayor of Dutton. That enough Duttons for you yet? I don’t want to make any accusations,” Daniel added in a whisper, “but Garth Davis graduated a year before Simon and Wade, but from Bryson Academy.”

Ed puffed out his cheeks. “The mayor? That’s going to be fun to prove.”

“We’ll talk more back at the office. Now I’m going to pull Woolf out of his tree.”

Woolf was climbing down when Daniel approached. “Goddammit, Jim. What’s gotten into you? Climbing trees like you’re twelve years old.”

Woolf shrugged. “I’m on public property, so you can’t make me leave. This is a fascinating story, Daniel. It needs to be told.”