"It's all been very hard on you, hasn't it?" Annie said, her sympathy for him genuine.

According to what little she'd read about autistics in trying to understand more about Marcus Renard's brother, routine was sacred. Yet, Victor's life had to have been an endless series of upsets since the death of Pam Bichon. The press, the cops, disgruntled citizens had all focused their scrutiny and their speculation on the Renard family. Plenty of rumors had run around town that perhaps Victor himself was dangerous. His condition baffled and frightened people. His behavior seemed odd at best, and often inappropriate.

"Mask, mask. No mask," he mumbled, looking at her out the corner of his eye.

Mask. Since Pam's death the word had taken on a menacing connotation that had only been compounded by the recent rapes. Coming from someone whose behavior was so strange, someone who happened to be the brother of a murder suspect, it added to the eeriness.

He raised the book in his hands, a collection of Audubon's prints, to cover his face and tapped a finger against the picture on the front, a finely detailed rendering of a mockingbird. "Mimus polyglottos. Mimus, mimic. Mask, no mask."

Slowly he lowered the book to peer over it at her. His eyes had a glasslike quality, hard and clear and unblinking. "Transformation, transmutation, alteration. Mask."

"Do you think I look like someone I'm not? Is that it? Do I remind you of Pam?" Annie asked gently. How much of what had happened could be locked inside Victor Renard's mind? What secret, what clue, might be trapped in the strange labyrinth that was his brain?

He covered his face again. "Red and white. Then and now."

"I don't understand, Victor."

"I think he's confused," Marcus said.

Annie swung toward him, startled. She hadn't heard his approach at all. They were back in the farthest, dimmest corner of the library. She had Victor on one side, Marcus on another, a wall to her back.

"That you resemble Pam, but that you aren't Pam,"

Marcus finished. "He can't decide if it's good or bad, past or present."

Victor rocked himself and bumped the Audubon book against his forehead over and over, muttering, "Red, red, enter out."

"How much of his language do you understand?" Annie asked.

"Some." He was still speaking through gritted teeth, his jaw being wired shut, but with less difficulty. The swelling was gone from his face. The bruises looked yellow and black in the poor light. "It's a code of sorts."

"Very red," Victor mumbled unhappily.

"Red is a watchword for things that upset him," Marcus explained. "It's all right, Victor. Annie is a friend."

"Very white, very red," Victor said, peering over the book at Annie. "Very white, very red."

"White is good, red is bad. Why he's putting the two together that way is beyond me. He's been very upset since the shooting the other night."

"I can relate to that," Annie said, turning her attention more squarely on Marcus. "Someone took a shot at me last night."

"My God." She couldn't tell if his shock was genuine or not. He took a step toward her. "Were you hurt?"

"No. I ducked, as it happened."

"Do you know who did it? Was it because of me?"

"I don't know." Was it you? she wondered.

"It's terrible someone would want to hurt you, Annie," Marcus said, his gaze a little too intent. He inched closer to her by just shifting his weight. "Especially when you know it was someone wanting to punish you for doing the right thing. That's the way of the world, I'm sad to say. Evil tries to eradicate good.

"Were you alone?" His voice softened. "You must have been frightened."

"That would be a mild understatement," she said, resisting the urge to step away from him. "I suppose I should be getting used to that kind of thing. I seem to be a favorite target all of a sudden."

"I can empathize. I know exactly what you went through, Annie," he said. "Having a stranger reach into your life and commit an act of violence. It's a violation. It's rape. You feel so vulnerable, so powerless. So alone. Don't you?"

A shudder vibrated just under Annie's skin. He said nothing threatening, nothing menacing. He offered her his understanding and concern… in a way that was just a little too intense. He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his handkerchief, as if the subject matter were making him salivate. Something about the light in his eyes seemed almost excitement, a secret. No one would have understood -except Pam Bichon. And possibly Elaine Ingram before her.

"I know what it's like," he said. "You know I do. You've been there for me so many times. I wish I could have been there for you. I feel so selfish now-calling you about someone throwing a rock through one of our parlor windows last night, wondering why you didn't call me back. And all the while you were in danger."

"You called the sheriff's office, didn't you? About the rock?"

"I shouldn't have bothered," he said bitterly. "They're probably using the rock for a paperweight today. I'm sure they threw the note away."

"What note?"

"The one bound to the rock with a rubber band. It said YOU DIE NEXT, KILLER."

Victor made his strange squealing sound again and covered his face with his book.

"It was terribly upsetting," Marcus went on. "Someone is terrorizing my family, and the sheriff's office has done nothing. I'm being stalked just as surely as Pam was stalked by some deranged person, and the sheriff's office would be just as happy if someone killed me. You're the only one who cares, Annie."

"Well, I'm afraid last night I was busy caring about not getting killed myself."

"I'm so sorry. The last thing I want is to see you hurt, Annie-especially on my account." He shifted closer, tilting his head down to an angle for sharing secrets. "I care a great deal about you, Annie," he murmured. "You know that."

"I hope you don't mean that in a personal way, Marcus," she said, testing him. There were people just one floor down and his brother standing ten feet away, watching them over the edge of his picture book. He wouldn't risk anything here. "I'm working on your case. That's all."

He looked stunned for a split second, then smiled in relief. "I understand. Conflict of interest. Your saving my life-twice-was merely in the line of duty."

"That's right."

"And your looking into my alibi and coming to the house the other night, even though it wasn't officially your case-that was just because you're a good cop."

"That's right," Annie said, another ripple of unease ribboning through her. Once again, he was reading something into her actions that simply wasn't true. And yet, his response was nothing she could even have related to someone else as being inappropriate.

"I'm just a deputy," she said. "That's all I can be to you, Marcus. Do you understand what I'm telling you? You shouldn't be sending me gifts."

"A simple show of my gratitude," he said.

"Your taxes pay my salary. That's all the gratitude I need."

"But you've gone above and beyond the call. You deserve more than you're getting."

Victor whimpered and rocked himself. "Then and now. Enter out. Time and time now, Marcus. Very red."

"It's not appropriate for you to give me gifts."

"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked, straightening, a fine thread of irritation tightening his voice. "Did it make him angry-me sending you things?"

"That would be none of your business," Annie said. She hardly dared blink for fear she would miss some small nuance of expression that would give him away.

"Very red!" Victor keened. He sounded on the verge of tears. "Enter out now!"

Marcus glanced at his watch and frowned. "Ah, we'd better go. It's getting on toward eight. Victor's bedtime. Can't disrupt the schedule, can we, Victor?"