Her brow furrowed, but she didn't let go of her theory. "He'd make it look like an innocent call. The guy's not stupid, Sterling. He'd figure out a way."

He sat on a chair at a diagonal from her. "You're jumping way ahead of yourself."

"No, I'm not. What more do the police need? Why don't they arrest him?" She fought back a fresh, sudden wave of tears, sobbing hoarsely at the ceiling. "I can't stand it! I can't!"

"Jodie…dear God…" What if she were losing it, having a nervous breakdown? Sterling couldn't make himself move toward her. "Jodie-please. Pull yourself together. You're not doing either of us any good."

"Louis used me, and now Manny Carrera and his friends are using both of us." Her voice was angry, bitter, belying the tears that spilled down her cheeks. "We'refairgamebecausewehavemoney.Nobodycares what happens to us. We don't mean anything to them."

"Don't say things like that," he said softly.

"Why not? It's true. You know it is. They resent us." She dropped her feet to the floor and jumped up, fire in her eyes as she sniffled and brushed the sleeve of her robe across her tears. "That idiot Turner-how could he not know about Louis? He'll try to shift the blame. Don't let him."

"Jodie, listen to me. It'll take time. It'll take patience and perseverance." He got to his feet and held her by the elbows, feeling how bony she was under her silky robe. "But I promise you, I'll get to the bottom of what's happened. Who failed us. Why. All of it."

All the heat and anger went out of her. She looked scared, he thought. Old and scared. "Sterling? What are you saying?"

"I think you're right, Jodie. I think we've been used. By everyone."

He saw her in thirty years, a whining old woman, and couldn't stand it anymore. He had to get away from her. He ran downstairs, out through the front door, not bothering with a coat or hat. The night air was cold, clouds blocking the stars, and even in the darkness, he could see fog swirling in valley pockets.

He'd loved this place. If someone had asked him a month ago if he had to give up one, this house or the one on Commonwealth Avenue, which would it be, he wouldn't have hesitated. The Boston house. No question.

But now he wished he'd never stepped foot in Cold Ridge.

He'd never felt so damn inadequate in his life as the night he and Jodie were rescued by Tyler North, Manny Carrera and Hank Callahan, something he'd never acknowledge to anyone. It wasn't their fault. He admired them.

He was fascinated by their training, their incredible range of skills, everything from emergency trauma medicine to combat maneuvers, scuba diving, parachuting, high-altitude mountain climbing-and he couldn't even do a challenging but popular ridge trail in the White Mountains without getting into trouble.

The cold air drove him back inside.

He and Jodie would pack up and leave Cold Ridge in the morning. Once the police made an arrest for Louis Sanborn's murder, he'd put this place on the market. Then, after a decent interval that gave people time to forget the horror and scandal of what happened in the library, he'd sell the house on Commonwealth Avenue.

He and Jodie might even leave Boston altogether. People moved all the time. So did companies.

In the meantime, he'd soak in the Jacuzzi for twenty minutes and go to bed early. Without Jodie. Until he decided otherwise, she was sleeping in the guest room.

Twenty-One

When the phone rang, Val pounced, hoping it was Manny, or Tyler, someone-anyone-with news. It'd been a long damn day, and she could feel herself creeping past the point of rationality, past her capability to resist her impulses to get off her butt and do something. Act. Waiting. Damn, she'd never been good at it.

"Do you want to help your husband?"

She sat up straight on the couch. The voice on the other end was toneless, dispassionate, not one she recognized. "Of course I do. Who is this?"

"The police are about to arrest your husband."

The voice didn't change-there was no emotion, no way, even, of telling for sure whether it was male or female. Male, Val thought. "How do you know?"

"I know.Trust me. The evidence against him is stacking up. The police can't continue to ignore it. He'll be convicted of murder-"

"No, he won't, because he's innocent."

There was a wry laugh. "Ah. True love. I know he is innocent, Mrs. Carrera-Val. But I also know what will happen if you don't act. I can help him."

"How?"

"I can't do it without your help. You must do exactly as I say. Remember, I know more than you do, and I'm on your side. It won't be easy, but you must follow my instructions."

"This is nuts."

"Don't hang up." The intonation didn't change. "I understand your skepticism. You've seen it all, haven't you, Mrs. Carrera? The wife of a career military man, the mother of a sick son-"

"What do you know about my son? You leave him out of it!"

Again, there was no obvious change in the voice of the other end of the phone. "Listen to me. I'm a friend. I can help."

"The police were here today with a search warrant. Maybe they bugged my phone while they were at it. I hope they're out on the street in some van, listening to you, tracing this stupid-ass call-"

"Quit the tough-girl act, Val. Or is it always Valerie?" This time, she thought she sensed a smile, a touch of kindness. "Here is what you need to do. It's simple, but it's not easy. I need you to bring Hank Callahan to Cold Ridge. Tonight."

"What? Are you out of your goddamn mind? He's a senator. I can't just-"

"You can. You have to. Senator Callahan is the key to proving your husband's innocence. He likes you, Val. He believes in your husband. He'll want to help you. Talk him into driving to Cold Ridge with you tonight."

"Then what?"

"Everything will be fine. Trust me."

She licked her lips, squeezing her eyes shut as if that might help her figure out what to do. "I don't even know where he is. I can't-"

"You have one chance to help your family. Don't squander it. It's time to trust someone. Trust me, Val."

"But who are you?"

"I told you. A friend."

She shook her head. "No way. I know all of Manny's friends."

"No, you don't."

She took a breath, unable to speak. Was it possible this call was legitimate? At this point,was anything possible?

"Hank and your husband performed dangerous combat search-and-rescue missions when they were in the military together. Play on Senator Callahan's sympathies, his sense of loyalty."

"Nothing will happen to him? You won't hurt him?"

"Val, I'm a friend. I'm not going to hurt anyone. I just have to be very careful. The forces against your husband are-let's just say the deck is stacked in their favor."

"The Rancourts, you mean?"

Silence.

"The police? Do they have the police in their pockets?"

"I'll call back when you're on the road and give you further instructions. You can do it."

"If I don't?"

"Then I can't help you."

Click.

Shaking, sobbing, Val dialed 911, then slammed down the phone. What if the caller wasn't screwing around? What if powerful people wanted Manny to take the fall for murder?

And how could she just call 911? She needed to call the FBI or something.

She tried Manny's cell phone, but didn't let it connect. Then Nate Winter's number and Tyler North's number, neither time letting the call connect.

She dialed Eric on his cell phone. He answered on the third ring, sounding sleepy. "Eric-it's Mom. Did I wake you?"

"Yes."

"Everything all right?"

He coughed. "Yes, ma'am."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

It was a conversation they'd had dozens of times. She'd tiptoe onto his room at night and stand over his bed, check to see that he was breathing. Sometimes he'd wake up, and she'd scare the hell out of him, standing there like some ghoul.