“I’d give him the money? My God…”

Wincott nodded. “I had a nice long talk with Emily Milan. She admitted she told Morris where you were.”

“Did she know she was talking to Peter Morris?” Regan asked.

“Yes, but she claims she had no idea what he wanted,” Wincott answered. “She also admitted she’d gotten into your computer so she could read all your e-mails. She said she only did it so she could keep current.”

“I’m amazed she’d own up to that. She’s the one who printed the picture of Sweeney and put it on Aiden’s desk. She also forwarded it to your other brothers.”

Wincott smiled. “The pair of handcuffs I pulled out made her real chatty. She suddenly wanted to cooperate.”

“Where is she now?” Alec asked.

“She was fired, of course,” Wincott said. “And security escorted her out of the hotel. I doubt she’ll be asking for a recommendation.”

“Are you still convinced he killed Haley Cross because he thought it was me?”

“Yes,” Wincott said. “Like I said before, it was rainy and dark, and Cross was about your height, maybe a little taller, and had dark hair like yours. If he came up behind her, it would be an easy mistake to think she was you. And you let Morris know where you would be,” he said. “You know, that article and photo from the paper Henry cut out and framed?”

She nodded. She knew where John was headed.

“At the dedication, you said that you ran the jogging path every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We believe Morris read the article and went to Conrad Park to wait for you. I don’t think he went there to kill you. I think it just got out of hand. He probably wanted to convince you to give him the grant. He must have been shocked when he realized he’d grabbed the wrong woman. Maybe that’s what triggered his rage.”

“You told me she fought him.”

“Yes,” Wincott said. “One of the workmen left his hammer. Morris saw it, picked it up, and killed her.” He looked at Alec when he added, “But it’s finished now. When the DNA results come back, we’ll have enough to put Morris away for three lifetimes.”

He stood and offered Regan his hand.

“John, I can’t thank you enough,” she said.

“Things should wrap up fairly quickly. The prosecutor’s office will be in touch with you and let you know where things will go from here.” He glanced at Alec. “I should be going.”

Alec didn’t follow him. He pushed the door shut so he could have a moment of privacy with her. He needed to say good-bye.

“Listen, Regan…” he began, and then stopped. He was suddenly tongue-tied.

“Yes?” She looked into his eyes and waited.

“You knew I was going to leave.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Okay then. I’m going home to pack up, and then I’m driving to Boston.”

“To see your family?”

He nodded. He sounded resolute when he muttered, “That’s right.”

“And then the FBI.”

“Right again. I’m moving forward.”

Did he know he was breaking her heart? “I understand.”

“Look… I shouldn’t have…”

She wouldn’t let him finish. If he told her that he shouldn’t have made love to her, she didn’t know what she would do. “I don’t have any regrets. You should go home now and pack.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Yeah, I should.”

She opened the door. “Remember, Alec, you’re moving forward.”

“That’s right. I am.”

“Then go.”

“If you’re ever in Boston…”

Chapter Forty-two

Sometimes extraordinary things can happen on the most ordinary of days.

When Eric Gage opened his eyes early Saturday morning, he knew that today was going to be extraordinary. He couldn’t explain why, not yet anyway, but he believed that as the day progressed, he would come to understand.

Eric had learned not to question.

The answer came much quicker than he had anticipated. He got out of bed, put on his robe, and shuffled into the kitchen. He was standing at the sink pouring himself a glass of orange juice when he heard it. A whisper from behind. A hiss really, and though he tried, he couldn’t quite make out what the hiss was trying to tell him.

He didn’t look behind him. He didn’t need to, for he knew who was there in the kitchen with him. He closed his eyes and waited for the whisper to come again. Five minutes passed, then five more, and still the only sound he heard was the thunder of his heartbeat.

He began to doubt. Maybe he had imagined it. He decided to get on with his day and his chores. By six A.M. he had dressed in his old work clothes and had driven to his neighborhood QuikTrip to buy an extra-large cup of coffee.

By seven-thirty he had cleaned out the garage-a ritual he completed every Saturday-and had eaten his breakfast and prepared a tray for Nina. Then he showered and dressed in a brand-new black running suit with a narrow, white stripe down the outside of each leg. The lightweight jacket had a white cloverleaf logo on the breast pocket. The zippered pockets were the reason he’d purchased it.

There were two loaded guns in the bureau drawer. He put one in his right pocket. When he zipped the pocket closed, it was impossible to tell what was inside. He looked at himself in the mirror just to make sure. He worried he might need extra rounds, and so he opened the drawer and pulled out two more magazines and slipped those into his other pocket. He carried the second gun into the kitchen and laid it in the center of the table.

He was ready now, but ready for what?

The familiar and terrifying anxiety was building inside him. His hands became stiff and icy cold, and he had trouble drawing a deep breath. He knew what was happening. The demon was taking control.

He tried to stop it. He sat down at the kitchen table and began to rock back and forth, back and forth, but he couldn’t sit long. He jumped up. Maybe it wasn’t too late to change the future… maybe, he thought, there could be a new beginning. The burst of optimism was gone in an instant. He was walking toward the back hall when he heard it again. The whisper was right behind him. He couldn’t escape. He knew that now.

“It’s time.”

“No,” he cried out.

“You know what you must do.”

He bowed his head and began to weep. “No, no, I can’t…”

The whisper turned into a scream. “You will do this.”

He stubbornly clung to the last threads of sanity. He squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears in a weak attempt to block the terror from consuming him. “No, please, no, no,” he sobbed.

The rebellion was short-lived, and the demon won.

“Turn around and look at me. Open your eyes and look.”

He did as he was told, his movements wooden now. His acquiescence complete.

He stood there rigid as he waited for the demon’s next command. It wasn’t long in coming.

Nina’s eyes bored into his. “Kill her for me.”