As they neared the lake, the houses became more modest. Built in the last half of the century, they sported more modern features like brick facades and split levels, but, like their older counterparts they were meticulously kept up. It was apparent that the families living here took pride in their homes and their town.

They passed a deserted baseball field, continued west, past a Phillips 66 filling station, through a pair of rough timber posts and into the park.

"This place is crammed with kids from the college in the spring and in the fall. The local high school kids take it over in the summer."

Nick rolled down his window. The earthy smell of the humus from the pine needles and the oak and birch leaves matted against the ground filled the air. They reached a fork in the road, and straight ahead was a clear lake. Shadows from the towering trees rippled on top of the glistening water with every faint breeze.

The cabin was tucked in between the trees. Nick pulled into the gravel driveway and turned off the motor.

"It doesn’t look like anyone’s home."

Laurant had just made the comment when the front door opened. Through the screen she could see a man with thick, black-rimmed glasses peering out at them.

Nick made her stay in the car until he came around and opened her door. His eyes were never still. He was constantly searching the area around them, barely paying her any attention at all as he offered her his hand.

"Is that man Jules Wesson?" Laurant asked.

"No, that’s Matt Feinberg. He’s our electronic nerd. He’s a nice guy too. You’ll like him."

The agent under discussion waited until they’d reached the porch, then opened the door and stepped back. He was average in appearance, medium height, brown hair and eyes, and he wore braces. He had a wonderful, sincere smile. He was holding a wad of wires in both hands, but he dropped them on the entry table so he could shake her hand.

After the preliminaries were exchanged, he asked, "Did Nick tell you that Farley and I went through your house?"

"Yes," she answered. "You’re the one who found the camera."

"That’s right. While we were inside, your neighbor called the sheriff, and he came running. He’s something else," he said, and then he filled her in on what they had told the sheriff about doing some repair work on her house. Then he turned to Nick. "As soon as Seaton puts in another phone line, we’ll be good to go. He’s working on it now."

"How many agents are here?"

Feinberg glanced up at the balcony before he answered. "Wesson isn’t sharing that information. I honestly don’t know how many are here, and if and when more are coming."

"Where is Wesson?"

"In the bedroom getting some papers. This is a nice place, isn’t it? If the circumstances were different, I’d want to camp out here. The lake reminds me of Walden Pond."

Nick nodded. "This is the cabin you ought to buy, Laurant," he said.

She agreed. The light was wonderful. Two-story picture windows brought the view of the lake inside. The living room and dining area had been combined into one large rectangle. The atmosphere was rustic, yet airy. It was cluttered now though. Computer boxes and other equipment were scattered about. The dining room table had been pushed against the far wall, and on top were two computers. It didn’t look like either one had been plugged in yet.

She heard a door open and looked up to the balcony just as Jules Wesson stepped out. He was talking on his mobile phone and was carrying a stack of papers.

Wesson was tall, wiry, and partially bald. He had piercing eyes, but after giving her and Nick only a brief glance, he ignored them and continued with his phone conversation. She watched him go to the table and put the papers down. Then Feinberg drew her attention again.

He handed her a gold watch. It looked like an old-fashioned Timex with a stretch band. "We’d like you to wear this, and we don’t ever want you to take it off, not even in the shower. It’s water repellent, of course. You could even go swimming with it. There’s a tracking device inside, and I’ll be monitoring your every move on that screen behind me. We want to know where you are at all times."

Laurant removed her own watch and slipped on the new one. She’d left her purse in the car and didn’t have any pockets, so she handed it to Nick, and he tucked it in the pocket of his shirt.

Wesson hung up the phone. He nodded to Laurant as Nick introduced her, but he didn’t waste any time on pleasantries. "I’m ready for him," he announced briskly. "But I don’t like surprises. You don’t leave Holy Oaks without getting my permission first. Understand?"

"Yes," she replied.

Wesson finally got around to acknowledging Nick. The commander was establishing a pecking order, letting Nick and Laurant know he was the man in charge. Even in a crisis, games were still played. What bullshit, Nick thought. He knew Wesson considered him competition, and no amount of talking would ever convince him that Nick wasn’t interested in fast tracking his way to the top.

Personally, Nick didn’t like Wesson one little bit, but he was stuck working with him, and he would make the best of the situation. Wesson had an ego the size of Iowa, but as long as he didn’t let it get in the way of the operation, Nick thought they’d get along just fine.

"Morganstern wants you to call him," Wesson said.

"They get anything on the phone call?"

Feinberg answered. "They were able to lock in on the call the unsub made to the rectory. The phone was owned by a woman named Tiffany Tyler, and the call was made just outside of St. Louis."

Feinberg stepped forward. "The highway patrol found her car parked on the shoulder of I-70. The left back tire was flat, and there wasn’t a spare in the trunk. We think that she willingly got into the unsub’s vehicle, but that’s just an assumption. We also think he never touched her car, but even so, our techs went over it from top to bottom, inside and out. It’s an old Chevy Caprice, and it was loaded with prints. They’re running them now."

"We don’t believe any of the prints belong to our unsub." Wesson directed his explanation at Laurant. "He’s careful, real careful."

Feinberg nodded. "And methodical," he added as he removed his glasses and began to clean them with his handkerchief. "There wasn’t a single smudge or half print on that tape or that envelope he left with the police."

"We want you to start irritating him," Wesson said. "Hopefully, he’ll lose control and mess up, and we’ll get a lucky break."

"Tiffany’s the woman I heard screaming over the phone, isn’t she?"

"Yes, she is," Wesson answered. "He used her phone to call you."

"Have you found her yet?"

"No." The answer was clipped, his lips pinched. He acted as though she had just criticized him personally.

"Maybe she’s still alive. Do you think-"

"Of course not," Wesson impatiently cut her off. "She’s dead, no doubt about it."

His cold attitude rattled her. "But why would he pick her up in the first place? If he’s so careful and if he does study his clients before he takes them on like he bragged, then why would he do such a spontaneous thing?"

Feinberg answered her. "We’re pretty certain he killed her to get our attention. He wants us to know he’s the real thing."

Nick took hold of her hand. "And Tiffany was… convenient. She was helpless and his for the taking."

Feinberg put his glasses back on, adjusted the rims around his ears, and said, "I forgot to mention that Farley and I went through your mail. It’s piled up on the table by your front door."

Laurant took the invasion of privacy in stride. Although it hadn’t occurred to her that the FBI would be opening her mail, the fact that they had didn’t bother her. They were simply being thorough, and that was something she appreciated.