Rosemary had to be careful with her wrenched neck. No sudden movements. And it would be several days at least before the bruising on her face went away. Not that she planned on seeing anyone. This was major downtime. Rosemary. A big empty house. An ocean. It was fine with her if it snowed ten feet. Twenty feet. Bring on the next Ice Age, she didn’t care.

Looking down, she noticed a bruise on her right thigh. Bastard, she thought dreamily. She took the oval bar of translucent soap and began rubbing it along the bruise, as if somehow she’d be able to lather it away. She rubbed counterclockwise, then clockwise, then again, both directions. At last she released the soap, letting it drop next to her feet. It looked like a very fat toe. I need to get to sleep, she thought. Or maybe she’d spoken aloud. She wasn’t sure. The jets of water were beginning to sting. It felt like her skin was burning where the water hit.

Okay…let’s try the big blast, and then it’s mattress time.

Rosemary reached for the nozzle that activated the chrome pipes and gave it a turn. The water blasted from the pipes with unexpected force. Too hard. And way too hot. Scalding. Rosemary spun. Her neck torqued. The pain shot through her entire body, and a shriek erupted from her lungs. It echoed through the upstairs rooms of the empty house and down the empty staircase. It also traveled out the skylight far above her head, traveled outside into the soft white silent world, where its sound barely registered.

A faint noise.

Brief. Unintelligible.

Then nothing.

46

AFTER SHE CAME OUT of the Midtown Tunnel, Megan phoned Ryan Pope. She explained what it was she needed from him, and when he questioned why she needed it, she requested that he simply do her the damn favor and not ask questions.

“This has to do with Fox, doesn’t it?”

Megan sighed. “Ryan, everything I do these days has to do with Fox. My pancakes in the morning have to do with Fox. Please just get that address and call me back.”

Megan hung up and pulled around a slow-moving Mini Cooper and settled in for a stressful drive. Pope phoned her back fifteen minutes later.

“It’s in East Hampton.” He gave her the address. He started to ask another question, but Megan cut the connection and phoned Malone.

“Got it. East Hampton. Seventeen Skyler Drive.”

Malone thanked her. “Now I can finally pass this guy. Ross is driving worse than an old lady.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to drive up ahead. I’d like to be in place when Ross and his gal get there. I’ll ditch the car a couple blocks away from the house.”

“Try not to do anything until I get there.”

“I’m not planning to do anything. We don’t even know what the score is here. I just want to keep an eye on things.”

They hung up. Megan brought her flashing light up onto the dashboard. She didn’t want to attract the attention of any police out on the highway. But a few flashes every now and then would be good to get slower traffic out of her way.

This was it. She felt certain that this was it. She flexed her fingers, stretching them wide, and dropped her hand on the seat. An old habit. A signal to Helen.

“Hand, please,” she muttered. She took a beat, then wrapped her fingers closed and squeezed as tightly as she could.

This was it.

47

THE BLACK SUBURBAN WAS going too fast. I swore under my breath as it passed. Just because they’re sitting high and mighty, people think they’re in some sort of damn protection bubble. The Suburban cut abruptly back into my lane, forcing me to hit my brakes. The rental started into a slide, but I righted it.

“Jerk.”

There was a tractor trailer in front of the Suburban, maintaining a safe speed. The Suburban pulled out to pass the truck, but it remained too close. As it began to overtake the truck, it skidded to the right, bouncing off the rear wheels of the trailer.

“Shit!”

I pumped my brakes to avoid the skid. The two vehicles moved away from me, and as I watched, the cab of the truck angled to the left, directly into the path of the Suburban. The trailer, which continued moving straight, began to shudder. It rocked sideways several times then seemed to lie down almost gently on its side. The instant it hit the highway, it sent up a cloud of snow and bounced in the air. As it did, the Suburban went into a skid, spinning nearly 180 degrees. When the trailer bounced back down on the road, it landed squarely on top of the Suburban.

The jackknifing continued as the Suburban rolled out from under the trailer, which then seemed to fold itself into an embrace around the vehicle. Sparks leaped from both the vehicles as their metal gouged into the pavement. It was almost beautiful, except that it was horrible.

I managed to come to a stop some fifty feet from the two vehicles. Immediately, I looked in my rearview mirror, where I saw the VW behind me swerving to avoid rear-ending my car. I saw a flash of headlights as someone did rear-end the VW. Horns were going off. More headlights. A car slid sideways off the highway. A crunch. A bang. A thud. I remained with my grip tight on the steering wheel, holding my breath. No one hit me. I twisted around in the seat for a look.

Cars at all angles. It looked like a parking lot of drunken sailors.

48

ROSS SAW THE LIGHTS up ahead, the glow of pulsing red and yellow lights filling the air. He gently pumped the brakes.

“What is it?” Tracy craned forward as if the few extra inches would bring any additional vision.

“Accident.” Ross shifted to the right lane and continued to slow down. Up ahead were at least a dozen vehicles, maybe more. All stopped. A tractor trailer had jackknifed and was on its side. It looked in the whirling snow like a large beached whale. A partially crushed vehicle was tucked up against the truck. Baby whale. Ross checked his rearview mirror. Traffic was coming in slowly behind him. In another minute, he’d be trapped.

“Hold on.” Ross put the car in reverse and flung his arm over the back of the seat to look behind him.

Tracy was alarmed. “What are you doing? Are you backing up?”

No, I’m doing the fucking Charleston.

That’s it, Ross thought as he maneuvered partway onto the shoulder in order to squeeze past a pickup truck, I’m having nothing more to do with this simpleton. She’s been nothing but trouble ever since I first heard her goddamn name. His eyes went to the backseat, where he’d laid his overcoat. The edge of the crowbar that he’d fetched from the trunk when they were in the airport parking lot was showing. Ross stretched back farther and flipped an arm of the overcoat over the metal bar. The car swerved dangerously close to the far shoulder of the road, but he pulled the wheel in time to avoid the ditch.

Tracy asked, “Are you going to try another road?”

Ross kept his voice level. “That’s right. The exit’s about half a mile back. It’s bound to be slower. But if we sit here, we’re dead in the water.”

He stole a glance at the woman. She was sitting straight up, eyes wide, jerking her head to look in all directions at once. Poor, stupid, silly thing. She didn’t know it yet, but she was already dead in the water.