As instructed, Marlena went to work untying the boat from the dock, glancing up every few seconds to survey the area. People were minding their own business, their laughter and voices mixing with the old-time jazz music coming from the Sea Ray. After she hoisted the last rubber fender onto the stern, she moved back inside the cabin, grabbed the cell and dialed the number written on the napkin.

"Don't talk, just listen," said the man on the other end of the line. His voice was deep and surprisingly calm. Must be one of the two agents she hadn't met-the ones monitoring from the house, she thought. "The keys on top of the cooler are for the boat. Drive out of the harbor. Get moving. We don't have much time."

The man on the phone told her where to find the switch for the lights. Marlena started the boat. The twin engines turned over, the floor vibrating beneath her as she increased the throttle and slowly eased the boat away from the dock with one hand on the wheel, the other pressing the phone tightly against her ear.

Something heavy landed on the stern. Marlena whipped her head around, her panic vanishing when she saw Barry Jacobs, dressed in the same dark suit as the waitstaff, step inside the cabin.

Thank God, Marlena thought. Jacobs, red-faced and sweating, yanked the phone away from her and tossed it against the floor.

Marlena stared at him, dumbfounded. She opened her mouth to speak, the words evaporating off her tongue as Jacobs shoved her up against the wall.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"You told me to take the boat out."

Jacobs dug his fingers deep into her arms. "Don't lie to me, or I swear to Christ-"

"I'm telling you the truth," Marlena said. "A waiter gave me a note written on a napkin. Your name was signed on the bottom. It said to-"

"And you just came down here?"

"Lee said if there was a problem, you'd get word to me-" "Where's this note?" "In my purse."

"Get it." Jacobs released her and took control of the wheel. He increased the throttle, and the boat lurched forward.

Glass shattered inside the cabin. When Marlena stepped inside, she saw that her wineglass had fallen to the floor. The cooler near the cabin door had moved. Drops of blood were leaking around the seams of the cooler's half-opened top. Mar-lena reached down and opened the cooler.

As a forensics specialist, she had seen her share of dead bodies, the dozens of different ways human beings could be cut, broken and bruised. But seeing the way Owen Lee had been dismembered sent a nauseous scream rising up her throat.

"Barry."

Then Jacobs was standing next to her. He slammed the cooler shut.

"Relax, take deep breaths," Jacobs said as he escorted her to the seat. "I'm going to call the command post."

Jacobs held out his cell phone. Marlena stared at him, confused.

Something hot and sharp pierced her skin. Marlena looked down at her chest and saw twin metal prongs attached to wires; Jacobs was holding a Taser. The charge swept through her body, and the next thing Marlena saw was her mother clutching her hand as they fell together through an electric-blue sky.

Marlena heard splashing. Her eyes fluttered open to moonlight.

She was still on the boat, lying across one of the padded seats set up along the stern. All the deck and interior lights had been turned off, as had the engine. A cooler lay on its side, opened. It was empty.

Something heavy bumped against the boat. Marlena had an idea what was going on and went to push herself up but couldn't move. Her hands were tied behind her back, her ankles bound together with the same coarse rope. She swung her feet off the seat and managed to sit.

She was out in open water, far away from the harbor. Zigzagging along the sides and back of the boat were several distinctively shaped dorsal fins. And those were just the sharks she could see.

"There's no need to panic, Marlena. I'm not going to feed you to the sharks."

She turned away from the water and looked up into Malcolm Fletcher's strange, black eyes.

Marlena backed away and fell, hitting her head against the side of the boat before toppling onto the floor. She lay on her stomach, about to roll onto her back-she could use her feet to kick- when Fletcher's powerful hands slid underneath her arms and lifted her into the air, toward the water. She tried to fight.

"Despite what the federal government has led you to believe, I have no intention of harming you," Fletcher said, dropping her back on the seat. "Now, I can't say the same is true about Special Agent Jacobs. Lucky for you I was on board to put a stop to it."

Fletcher's face seemed darker than in the surveillance pictures, more gaunt. He was impeccably dressed in a dark suit without a tie.

"Before I cut you free, I'd like a piece of information-and I'd appreciate some honesty," Fletcher said. "Will you promise to be honest with me? This is important."

Marlena nodded. She took in several deep breaths, trying to slow the rapid beating of her heart.

"Those postcards you purchased earlier, who were they for?"

The question took her by surprise.

"I bought them for my mother," Marlena said after a moment. "She's dead, isn't she?"

"How did-? Yes. She's dead. Why?"

"Tell me what happened."

"She died on 9/11. She was inside one of the buildings-the north tower."

"Did you have a chance to speak with her?" "Not directly. She left a message on my machine." "What did she say?"

"She said, 'I love you, and remember to take care of your brother.' There was some background noise, and then the cellphone signal cut off."

Marlena thought about the other voice on the tape, a man whispering to her mother. A friend at the FBI lab had enhanced it: "Hold my hand, Ruthie. We'll jump together." The crazy thing was how much the man sounded like her father, who died when she was twenty. Or maybe she just wanted to believe her mother hadn't been alone during her final moment.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Fletcher said, and meant it. "Excuse me for a moment."

Fletcher ducked inside the cabin. Water splashed along the back and sides of the boat. A moment later, he came back, dragging a hog-tied Jacobs across the floor. Fletcher propped Jacobs up into a kneeling position directly in front of her. A piece of duct tape was fastened across Jacobs's mouth.

"Remember what I said earlier about confession being good for the soul," Fletcher said to Jacobs, and then tore off the strip of tape.

Jacobs stared at the sharks circling the boat. He swallowed several times before speaking. "I sold you out to bounty hunters working for Jean Paul Rousseau. Stephen, his son, was a federal agent, part of a team sent to apprehend Fletcher."

"Those agents were sent to kill me," Fletcher said. "I acted purely out of self-defense, but that's a story for another time. Keep going, Special Agent Jacobs."

"Rousseau wanted Fletcher captured alive and brought back to Louisiana. That was the condition of the reward. The bounty hunters and people working for Rousseau, they wanted us to disappear. Everyone would assume you were responsible because you have a track record of making federal agents disappear. That way, it would keep the heat off Rousseau."

"I'm afraid Jacobs is telling the truth about the bounty hunters," Fletcher said. "I've been following Lee for the past week. Naturally, I wanted to see what he was up to, so I took the liberty of tapping into his phone conversations-the FBI's encryption technology is woefully out of date. After Lee and Jacobs left your hotel, I followed them back to the house they've been using as a base of operations. You can imagine my surprise when, two hours later, five rather disturbing-looking men emerged from the back doors and carried three oversize coolers to the fishing boat Lee used to transport all his surveillance equipment. I recognized one of these gentlemen from a previous entangle-ment-a professional tracker, or bounty hunter, who works for Daddy Rousseau. Now tell Marlena about what you had planned for her."