Shecould hear nothing but the rain.

    Jessicastudied the windows in the back of the house. There were faint lights in threeof them. She watched for movement, for shadows. She saw none.

    Jessicaput her two-way handset on silent, crossed the backyard, and stepped onto therear deck.

    Thesliding glass door was locked. Jessica walked down the steps, rounded the houseto the east wing. She tried to lift the windows. All were shut tight.

    Shehad no choice. She found a fist-sized rock in the garden, stood atop theair-conditioning unit, broke out the window in the first-floor bathroom.

    Onceinside, she ran a towel through her hair, wiped her face. She opened thebathroom door. Straight ahead was a long hallway, leading to a large foyer andthe front door. She left the bathroom, walked slowly down the hallway. To theleft was the entrance to a small pantry, beyond that the kitchen.

    Softmusic played somewhere in the house.

    Jessicasaw that most of the rooms were lit by candles, dozens of them casting a pallidyellow light in the cavernous spaces.

    Shemade her way cautiously down the hallway, watched by the eyes of dead ancestorspeering down from huge oil paintings overhead. In the dim candlelight, objectswaxed and waned - the occasional sideboard, end table, armoire. Each helddanger. Jessica drew her weapon, held it at her side.

    Sheapproached a room, its door ajar. There was only darkness within. She edged upto the room, slowly inched the door open with her foot.

    In borrowedcandlelight she saw shapes in the room. A pair of bookcases, a sewing machine,a chair. There were two other doors. She could not clear them. There was notime. She had to take the chance.

    Shemoved deliberately, right shoulder to the wall, sweat trickling from hershoulders, down her back.

    Beforeshe turned the corner, into what she was certain was the main hall, shestopped, tuned her ears to every sound. The music continued: a string quartet.Beneath it she heard a woman's voice, humming the melody.

    Jessicatook a deep breath, rolled the corner, her weapon held low.

    Someonestood at the foot of the grand staircase, not fifteen feet away from her. Ittook Jessica a moment to adjust her eyes.

    KevinByrne.

    He wasat the base of the steps, splendid in a dark suit, white shirt and deepburgundy tie. Above him was an enormous crystal chandelier. Jessica looked atByrne's hands. He held a single white rose.

    No,Kevin.

    Please,no.

    Beforeshe could speak, Jessica looked up to see Christa-Marie at the top of thestairs. She wore a long black dress and a simple strand of pearls. Her hair wassoft and luminous, a brilliant silver. She was radiant. She descended slowly,her slight hand on the railing, never once taking her stare from the man at thefoot of the staircase.

    Whenshe reached the final step Christa-Marie paused.

    KevinByrne handed her the white rose.

Chapter 93

    Thereis beauty so rare and ephemeral that it has confounded the poets forcenturies. Byron, Shakespeare, Keats, Wordsworth - all failures. This is thebeauty that is Christa-Marie. From the first moment I saw her she has owned myheart, taking it around the world, then into the deepest confines of hell.

    Ihave never asked for it back.

    I'vealways known that we would have this one last moment together, this moment whenour hearts would once again be joined.

Chapter 94

    Christa-Mariestood face to face with Byrne. Jessica watched, mesmerized by the tableau asByrne took Christa-Marie by the hand and led her to the center of the hall,beneath the exquisite chandelier.

    A newsong began, a waltz. They danced.

    Asthe strings played, Kevin Byrne and Christa-Marie Schönburg moved in beautiful,fluid lines, as if they had danced together all their lives. When they werefinished, Byrne took Christa-Marie in his arms and kissed her.

    Thescene was so surreal, so unexpected, that Jessica found she had been holdingher breath the entire time. She snapped out of it. She had a job to do.

    Sheopened her mouth to speak.

    Shedidn't get the chance.

    Thefront door burst open, the sound of the battering ram echoing through thecavernous space. A pair of SWAT officers rolled into the foyer, their AR-15assault rifles high. They were followed by Russell Diaz and two of his men, allthree of them with weapons drawn. They ran down the main hall toward Byrne andChrista-Marie.

    Diazreached the couple first, stopping a few feet away. He pointed his weapon atKevin Byrne.

    'Downon the ground!' Diaz shouted.

    Byrneedged slowly away from Christa-Marie, his hands out to his sides.

    'Getdown ... on the fucking . . . ground!' Diaz repeated.

    Christa-Mariestepped back, a look of horror and confusion on her face. The house wassuddenly filled with silence. Byrne eased himself to the floor, put his armsout to the side. Two uniformed officers pinned him down and pulled his handsbehind his back. They handcuffed him.

    Secondslater, more people streamed through the door - Michael Drummond and DanaWestbrook among them. A dozen more officers spilled into the house.

    Byrnewas read his Miranda rights. As they took him into custody, Jessica put herweapon on the floor. She stepped into the foyer, her hands held high.

Chapter 95

    Lucyfelt her way back to the long bench. She had stopped a few moments earlier,having heard muffled shouts from somewhere far away. Or had she? She didn'tknow. But all was silent now, and she had to get on with her business.

    Therewere two drawers. She opened them, felt around, discovered some sandpaper, anoily rag, book matches, a pair of short screwdrivers. She felt the tips. Oneslot head, one Phillip's.

    Ontop of the bench were a few more rags, along with a small stack of papers, somedried-out magazines. There was also an old lantern. Lucy picked it up, gave ita shake. There was liquid inside - she immediately caught a whiff of oldkerosene.

    Shewent back to the drawer, found the matches, opened one pack. They were damp.She tried them anyway. One by one, they smeared on the flint strip. Not even aspark. She found another pack, felt the matches. The top row seemed damp, theback row less so. She peeled off the top row of matches. She picked up one ofthe old magazines, tore off a page, rolled it up.

    Shetried the first match, got a spark, but the paper didn't light. On her thirdtry she got a flame. She held the lit match to the rolled-up paper, got a torchgoing. She then pushed down the lift lever on the lantern. The wick caught, andthe room was suddenly bathed in a warm glow. Lucy had never been more gratefulfor anything in her life.

Chapter 96

    Thereis a moment, almost sexual in its feeling of release, when a police detailwinds down. Most of the time during this period of deceleration, in the minutesand hours after an arrest, there is a lot of handshaking and backslapping andfist-pumping in the air; never a shortage of gallows humor. But not this time.The personnel who made their way through this enormous Chestnut Hill mansionfound no joy or happiness in this arrest. This was one of their own.