Her back was to me, so I couldn’t see her face. But I could tell she was tall and broad-shouldered. Long neck. Slender legs. High boots.

She held an object in one hand. A larger one lay at her feet.

Above and around her, a tower of leaves gleamed slick as black ice. Here and there, a dull underside looked darkly opaque.

One deep breath. I began zigzagging from tree to tree, placing my feet soundlessly on the wet lawn. Jealously guarding the element of surprise.

When only one live oak stood between us, I tightened my fingers into a death-grip on the knife. Checked my hand.

No trembling. Good.

As my mind tore through options, she squatted and leaned over the thing on the ground. Head movements suggested speech, but no words made it to where I stood.

The thing on the ground changed shape.

She reached out.

The thing twisted, rounded like a sprout in time-lapse video.

Sat up.

White-hot fury sent wasps whining in my brain.

Blowing off caution, I strode forward.

“Alice.” Loud. “Or should I say Kim?”

Both heads swiveled at the sound of my voice. One fast, one slow, as though dazed. Or drugged. Two pale ovals pointed my way in the darkness.

“Which is it, Tawny?” Coming in hot on adrenaline. “Did you kill her to steal the name?”

Tawny McGee rose to her full height and regarded me mutely.

“Or did you just like the ring of it? Alice Kimberly Hamilton.” The steadiness of my voice surprised me.

“Go away.”

“Not a chance.”

I took another step. The oval topping the stalk neck took on detail. Eyes. Nose. Mouth. The same face I’d seen framed in motherof-pearl.

I couldn’t read her expression. It might have been surprise. Or fear. Or anger. Or nothing.

“Kim’s name was in a journal left at de Sébastopol. It survived the fire that Pomerleau set.”

No response.

“Was Kim a fellow captive in the basement? Did Pomerleau or her sidekick murder her?”

Nothing but the patter of rain.

“Or was it you? Did you hunt Kim down and kill her?”

“I would never hurt Kim.”

“Where is she?”

“I loved her.” A statement about feeling, devoid of feeling.

“Where is she?” Cold.

She might have answered. But in that splinter of silence, Mary Louise whimpered, a sound like the mewing of a kitten.

“Let the child come to me.”

“No.”

“Now.” Diamond-hard.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I love her, too.”

“You don’t know her.”

“She won’t endure what we did. What Kim did.”

“Where is Kim?”

“She died.” Flat.

“In the cellar?”

Again, no answer.

“Did you kill Anique Pomerleau?”

“I loved her.”

“She tortured you.”

Her eyes held, unblinking, wormholes into evil. Or madness. But her jaw slackened as she withdrew into her mind.

Several beats passed.

Sensing an altered vibe, Mary Louise raised her knees and planted her heels.

McGee placed a restraining hand on her head. “Stop. You’ll get muddy.”

“Let me go.” Half pleading, half defiant.

“Soon.”

“I don’t like you. I want to go home.”

“Down.” With gentle pressure.

As Mary Louise lay back, a small ragged sob floated on the night.

At the sound, McGee tensed and looked down at the thing in her hand. For a moment my heart stopped beating. Was she holding a weapon? A gun?

I imagined my blade piercing her flesh. Her bone. Crushing through honeycombed marrow. The black cavity filling with blood. I didn’t want to stab this woman. But I would. Dear God, I would.

McGee had escalated beyond her previous pattern. Perhaps due to pressure from Slidell. Maybe Ajax. The trigger didn’t matter. The fact was, she was spinning out of control.

If armed, would she shoot the person closest to her? The one spoiling her game? Could I act quickly enough? Overcome her before she hurt Mary Louise?

The hollow stare. The disembodied voice. I feared the slightest thing would cause her to snap. Better to stall. To wait for Hull.

Unless McGee made a move.

Unless.

“You’re a healer, Tawny. Not a killer.”

“I’m a freak.”

“No. You’re not.”

“How would you know?”

“I’ve spoken with Dr. Lindahl.”

“She’s useless.”

“I’ve talked to your mother.”

“My mother.” Whip-crack sharp. “The bitch who never searched for me? The bitch who just moved away to start over?”

“She did search.” Emptying my voice of all emotion.

“Not hard enough to find me.”

“She—”

“Shut the fuck up about my mother!” The first note of hysteria.

Fast change of tack.

“You helped the girls.” I said the names slowly, a mantra meant to calm. “Nellie. Lizzie. Tia. Shelly. You made them pretty. Made sure they wouldn’t suffer.”

“No one should hurt.” Barely a whisper. “No one should die in the dark.”

She was like a raft on white water. Lurching and spinning, wildly unstable.

As I groped for the right things to say, my eyes caught a glint in the shadows at two o’clock.

A bat or a bird? Imagined? I couldn’t tell. It was there, then gone.

“The child’s name is Mary Louise.” Trying to personalize.

No response.

“Why have you brought Mary Louise to this place?”

“For you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You took me out.”

“Of the cellar.”

“You said I wasn’t just a creature in a cage.” McGee dropped to her knees and pressed the object that she was clutching to her chest. With her free hand, she stroked Mary Louise’s hair. “She will never be a creature in a cage.”

I could see two tiny white crescents in the dark recesses above Mary Louise’s nose. Knew her eyes were open and wide with fear.

My fingers tightened on the knife. I would do it. I would.

“Where will you put her?” Skimming one foot over the grass. Inching the other forward to meet it.

“Here. In the sun.”

“There are dogs.” Taking another silent step.

No response as McGee thought about that. Or her next move.

“You must find a safer place,” I said.

“Where?” Still caressing the child she would kill.

“No one looks under the porch.”

Mary Louise blinked, all panic and heartbeat. I held up a finger. Wait.

“No,” McGee said. “No darkness.”

The next step brought me to within two yards. “Sun always shines through the slats.”

McGee whipped around, startled at my proximity. “Get back!” Shooting upright.

“Let her go.”

“No.”

Now or never.

“No one looks under the porch!” I shrieked.

Three things happened.

I lunged for McGee.

Mary Louise rolled, then scrambled away on all fours.

A form burst from the shadow of the boundary wall.

Hull and I hit McGee at the same time.

It took thirty seconds to subdue her.

Another ninety to gather Mary Louise.

CHAPTER 43

THE EARTH HAD twirled on its axis fourteen times. Charlotte was enjoying one of those midwinter flukes that make you thankful you live in the South. The sky was an endless blue-gold dome, the temperature somewhere in the low seventies.

Mary Louise chose mango, topped it with strawberry and pineapple chunks, walnuts, raisins, and a thousand gummy things. It was a truly impressive amount of poundage.

We took our frozen yogurt to a small iron table outside the Phillips Place Pinkberry and watched post-holiday shoppers there to score bargains or off-load unwanted gifts. We made a game of guessing what item each might be returning. The kid’s ideas were much more inventive than mine.

In the previous two weeks, CSS had spent days tossing the apartment on Dotger. The contents of the freezer were as I suspected. Blood. Scalp. Swabbed saliva. DNA testing showed everything came from Anique Pomerleau.