"You didn't pull the trigger."

"But me, I loaded the gun, didn't I? Davidson believed so strongly that Marcus Renard killed his daughter in part because I believed so strongly that Marcus Renard killed his daughter. My focus became his focus. You should know how that works-I tried to force it on you too."

"Only because it made sense. No one can fault your logic, Nick."

He flashed the sudden smile, the edges of it hard with an inner bitterness. "Mais no. My faults lie deeper. I believe it's better to err on the side of passion rather than apathy."

He cared too much, tried too hard. The job was his life, his mission. Everything else was secondary. Submerged in that obsession, he found it too easy to lose his perspective and his humanity. He needed an anchor, an alter ego, a voice to question his motives, a counterbalance to his singlemindedness.

He needed Annie.

"I hear Pritchett will drop the charges against you," she said.

He leaned his forearms against his thighs and watched the dachshund man. "Oui. So, I not only indirectly caused Renard's death, I benefited from it."

"So did I. I'm off the hook for testifying. That's no small relief," she said, willing him to meet her eyes. He turned his head and looked at her. "I didn't want to, Nick, but I would have."

"I know. You're a woman of convictions, 'Toinette," he said, offering her a smile that was softer, fond, almost sad. "So where does that leave me?"

"I don't know."

"Sure you do."

Annie didn't bother to argue. He was right. He was a complex and difficult man. He would push her. He would test her. It would have been so much easier for her to turn to A.J., take what he wanted to give her, live a simple life. A nice simple life, just short of fulfillment. Maybe in time the restlessness would fade into contentment. Or maybe it was better to err on the side of passion.

"You're not an easy man, Nick."

"No, I'm not," he admitted, never taking his eyes off hers. "So, you gonna help me with that, chère, or what? You gonna take a chance? Be bold?"

He held his breath and waited, stared at her and willed her to take the challenge.

"I don't know what I have in me to offer you, 'Toinette," he confessed softly. "But I'd like the chance to find out."

Annie looked past his determination to his need. She looked at the hard face, the dark eyes burning on hers. He was too intense, too driven, too alone. But she had the distinct feeling he was what she had been waiting for. Her strongest instinct was to reach out to him.

"Me too," she murmured, reaching across the space between them to lay her hand on his. "If we're partners…"

He turned his hand over and twined his fingers with hers, the contact warm and right. "…we're partners."

EPILOGUE

Victor sat at the small table in his room, cutting paper with a blunt-nosed scissors. The house was not his family house. Riverview was a group home for autistic adults. It was a strange place full of people he did not know. Some were kind to him. Some were not.

There was a large lawn with a tall brick wall around it and many trees around the perimeter, and a very nice garden. A good place for watching birds, though not nearly as many species as there had been at Victor's own house. And here he couldn't take a boat out on the bayou to search for more. Nor was he allowed to go outside in the night to listen for the night birds or observe the other creatures that preferred darkness to light. There were many that did. Some were predators. Some were not.

For the most part, Victor's life in this new place was quiet and calm. Somewhere between red and white. Gray, he had decided. Most days he felt very gray. Like sleeping, but awake. He often thought of Marcus and wished that he had not ceased to exist. He often thought of Mother.

Setting the scissors aside, he took up the small bottle of glue and set about putting the finishing touches on his creation. Mother had ceased to exist, Richard Kudrow had told him, though Victor had not seen her and did not know for a fact that this was true. Sometimes he dreamed that she came to him in the night, as she often had, and sat beside him on his bed and stroked his hair while she talked in the Night Voice.

A low hum of tension vibrated through him as he remembered the Night Voice. The Night Voice spoke of red things. The Night Voice spoke of feelings. Better not to have them. Love.

Passion.

Greed.

Anger.

Hatred.

Their power was very red. The people they touched ceased to exist. Like Father. Like Mother. Like Marcus. Like Pam.

Sometimes Victor dreamed of the Dark Night and the things he had seen. Very red. Mother, but not Mother, doing things the Night Voice talked about. Even just remembering brought on a red intensity that paralyzed him, as it had that night. He had stood frozen outside the house for hours afterward, hidden in the darkness, unable to move or speak. Finally he had gone inside to see.

Pam, but not Pam. She had ceased to exist. Her cries remained locked inside Victor's mind, echoing and echoing. He didn't like the way her face had changed. Slowly, he took off his mask and laid it across her eyes. Love.

Passion.

Greed.

Anger.

Hatred.

Emotions. Better not to have them. Better to wear a mask, he thought as he put his new one on and went to his small window to stare out at a world cast in the intense colors and soft shadows of twilight. Hatred.

Anger.

Greed.

Passion.

Love. The line between them is thin and dark.

GLOSSARY OF CAJUN FRENCH

allons -- let's go

arrete-- stop

c'est assez-- that's enough

c'est chaud-- that's hot

c'est ein affaire a pus finir-- it's a thing that has no end

c'est vrai-- that's true

chère 'tite bete-- poor little dear

chérie, chère, cher-- cherished, beloved coonass a sometimes derogatory slang term for Cajun

espesces de tite dure-- you hard-headed thing

fils de putain-- son of a bitch

foute ton quant did-- get away

grenier-- attic, loft

id on park francais-- French spoken here

il a pas d'esprit-- he doesn't have any sense

je t'aime-- I love you

jeune fille-- young girl

le grand derangement-- when the Cajuns were exiled from Canada

loup-garou-- Cajun myth: werewolf

ma 'tite fille-- my little girl

mais-- but: often used for emphasis with yes or no

mais non-- but no

mais sa c'est fou-- but that's crazy

merde-- shit

mon ami-- my friend

mon Dieu-- my God

pou-- louse

pur Cajun-- pure Cajun

que sera sera-- what will be will be

sa c'est de la couyonade-- that's foolishness

si vous plait-- please

t'es trop grand pour tes-- you're too big for your

cullottes-- britches

t'es en erreur-- you're mistaken

tcheue poule-- chicken ass

'tite chatte-- little cat

'tite belle-- little sweetheart

Tor Tee-- preceding a name is short for petite or 'tite, and denotes a nickname

viens id-- come here