Rob’s pale face mottled with angry color. “You have the nerve to threaten me?”

“I have the nerve to do anything I need to do,” he said calmly.

His wife covered her mouth with her hand. “I don’t believe this. This is a nightmare.”

He nodded. “True. But if you keep your mouth shut and your head down, we just might live to wake up when it’s over.”

Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 9:15 a.m.

The little room with the two-way mirror was quiet as they sat waiting for Dr. McCrady. Alex propped her elbow on the table, leaned her cheek on her fist, and watched Hope color. “At least she’s using other colors now,” she murmured.

Meredith looked up, a sad smile on her face. “Black and blue. We make progress.”

Something in Alex snapped. “But not enough. We have to push her, Mer.”

“Alex,” Meredith warned.

“You didn’t see them pull that woman from the ditch this morning,” Alex shot back, her voice shaking with fury. “I did. My God. Including Sheila, five women are dead. This has to stop. Hope, I need to talk to you and I need you to listen.” She tugged at Hope’s chin until the child’s hand stilled and wide gray eyes looked up at her. “Hope, did you see who hurt your mommy? Please. Sweetheart, I need to know.”

Hope looked away and Alex tugged her face back, desperation clawing at her throat. “Hope, Sister Anne told me how smart you are, how many words you know, and how well you talk. I need you to talk to me now. You’re smart enough to know your mommy’s gone. I can’t find her.” Alex’s voice broke. “You have to talk to me so I can find her. Did you see the man who took your mommy away?”

Slowly Hope nodded. “It was dark,” she whispered, her voice tiny.

“Were you in bed?”

Hope wagged her head no, misery filling her eyes. “I snuck out.”

“Why?”

“I heard the man.”

“The man that hurt her?”

“He left and she cried.”

“Did he hit her?”

“He left and she cried,” she said again. “And played.”

“With toys?” Alex asked.

“The flute.” The words were only a breath.

Alex frowned. “Your mom played a big shiny horn. That’s different than a flute.”

Hope’s mouth set stubbornly. “The flute.”

Meredith put a blank piece of paper in front of Hope. “Draw it for me, baby.”

Hope picked up her black crayon and drew a round face in a childish style. She added eyes, nose, and a thin rectangle that went sideways from where the mouth would have gone. She then chose a silver crayon from the box and colored the thin rectangle.

She looked up at Alex. “Flute,” she said.

“It is indeed a flute,” Meredith said. “That’s a good picture, Hope.”

Alex hugged Hope. “It’s a wonderful picture. What happened to the flute?”

Hope’s eyes dropped again. “She played the song.”

“Your pa-paw’s song. Then what happened?”

“We runned.” Her words were barely audible.

Alex’s heart was thumping hard. “Where did you run?”

“The woods.” Hope whispered it, then scrunched into the smallest space she could.

Alex lifted Hope to her lap and rocked her. “In the woods, were you with Mommy?”

Hope began to cry, with a low mewling sound that tore at Alex’s heart. “I’m here, Hope. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Why did you run to the woods?”

“The man.”

“Where did you hide?”

“The tree.”

“Up a tree?”

“Under the leaves.”

Alex drew a breath. “Mommy covered you with leaves?”

“Mama.” It was a frightened little plea.

“He hurt your mama?” Alex whispered. “The man hurt your mama?”

“She runned.” Hope’s hands clutched Alex’s blouse frantically. “He was coming, so she runned. He g-g-got her and he hit her and hit her and-” Hope was rocking as she chanted the words. Now that she was talking she seemed unable to stop.

Unable to listen to any more, Alex cupped the back of Hope’s head and pressed Hope’s mouth into her shoulder while the child sobbed. Meredith’s arms came around her and they sat, listening to Hope’s choked sobs. “Bailey hid Hope so he wouldn’t find her,” Alex whispered. “I wonder how long you stayed under those leaves, baby.”

Hope said nothing, just rocked and sobbed until finally she quieted, breathing hard, her little forehead covered in sweat, her cheeks drenched. The front of Alex’s blouse was soaking wet and Hope still clutched the fabric in her hands. Alex shifted her, prying her fists away, cradling her.

The door behind them opened and Daniel and Mary McCrady came in, looking sober. “You heard?” Alex said, and Daniel nodded.

“I came into the back room when she started drawing the flute. I called Mary.”

“I was already on my way for our session.” Mary brushed her hand over Hope’s hair. “That was hard, Hope, but I’m so proud of you. So’s your aunt Alex.”

Hope burrowed her face into Alex’s chest and Alex’s arms tightened around her protectively. “Can she be done for now?”

“Yes,” Mary said, sympathy on her face. “You hold her for a while. But let’s not wait too long, okay? I think we might be able to get somewhere with the artist now.”

“A little longer,” Alex insisted. She looked up at Daniel, whose eyes were resting on her in an almost palpable caress. Then he spread his big hand over Hope’s thin back in a gesture so tender it stole her breath.

“You did well, Hope,” he said softly. “But, honey, can I ask you one more question? It’s important,” he added, more for her own benefit, Alex thought, than for Hope’s.

Hope nodded, her face still pressed against Alex’s chest.

“What happened to your mommy’s flute?”

Hope shuddered. “In the leaves,” she said, her voice muffled.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Daniel said. “That’s all I needed to know. I’m going to have Ed go over that area in the woods again. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 9:15 a.m.

Daniel had barely hung up after talking to Ed when Leigh appeared in his doorway.

“Daniel, you have a visitor. Michael Bowie, Janet’s brother. He’s not happy.”

“Where is Chase? He’s supposed to be handling communications.”

“Chase is in a meeting with the captain. You want me to tell Bowie you’re not here?”

Daniel shook his head. “No. I’ll come talk to him.”

Michael Bowie looked like exactly what he was-a man whose sister had been viciously murdered days before. He stopped pacing when Daniel stopped at the counter. “Daniel.”

“Michael. What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me you’ve found the man who killed my sister.”

Daniel steeled his spine. “No, I can’t. We’re following leads.”

“You’ve been saying that for days,” Michael gritted.

“I’m sorry. Have you thought of anyone who hated Janet enough to do this?”

Michael’s ferocity seemed to wilt. “No. At times Janet was selfish and arrogant. Sometimes she could be devious and just plain mean. But nobody hated her. She and Claudia and Gemma… They were just girls. They didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

“I’m not saying they deserved this, Michael,” Daniel said gently. “But someone has targeted Janet and the girls she knew.” To be pawns in a bigger game. “Anything you can remember. Any person she’d annoyed.”

Michael made a frustrated noise. “You want a list? The girls were spoiled and probably pissed people off every day of their lives. But this. They did nothing to deserve this.”

Michael was grieving, Daniel knew. That the girls hadn’t deserved their fate was a break in logic he couldn’t yet absorb. He would, in time. Victims’ families usually did.

“I can’t tell you what you want to hear, Michael. Not yet. But we will catch him.”

Michael nodded stiffly. “You’ll call me?”

“As soon as I have news to share. I promise you that.”