"The FBI agent who interviewed me-her name was Cantrell."

"She's my sister."

"Cool." But Holly was really thinking about school. She'd spent the last two days moving through classes in a cloud, like nothing was quite real. Her friends didn't know how to act, so they avoided her. She would have been hurt, but it was like there was a fuzzy glass between her and everybody else. Now, at the thought of Gillian coming along, she felt a surge of excitement. "You're going to have the guys at school going crazy!" she said, laughing.

Gillian sat down with the Lindstroms at the kitchen table.

They talked about the detectives that were watching the house. They talked about being hypervigilant. They rechecked phone numbers in order of importance. Gillian told them what to watch out for and what to do in any given situation. "It's extremely important that you treat me like a seventeen-year-old relative, and not a BCA agent," she told them once all the pertinent details had been discussed.

Holly's parents nodded in agreement. The unforgiving ceiling light cast shadows, accentuating the exhaustion in both of their faces. "We want this guy caught and our daughter safe again," Mrs. Lindstrom said.

"That's what we all want," Gillian agreed.

Holly's father stretched his arms above his head. "You know, I might actually be able to sleep a little tonight."

His vote of confidence should have made Gillian feel good. Instead, she found it unsettling. They were counting on her. They had faith in her. Suddenly she began to wonder if Mary had been right. Was she ready for a step of this magnitude? Or had she jumped into a situation above her skill level just to prove herself to Mary, with no thought of the possible consequences? Now, with the victim and her family looking at her as if she were their salvation, Gillian was confused and a little scared-a reaction she was careful to hide.

Holly jumped to her feet. "Come on." She waved her hand, motioning for Gillian to follow. "I'll show you where you're going to sleep and put your stuff."

Holly's room was small, with a single window facing the street. The walls were papered with pink flowers- a design probably left over from early childhood. The rest of the room had been updated with funky lights, fake-fur-covered pillows, band posters, and candles. And, of course, stuffed animals.

"We brought a bed in here for you," Holly said, pointing to a twin bed covered with a purple spread.

Holly slid open the closet door. "I moved my clothes over so you can have this side."

"Thanks."

Holly plopped down on her bed, sitting on her hands. "I was so pissed when my parents told me you were coming. It sounded like such a lame idea. I was expecting some goofy older person in a wig or something. But this is going to be so cool." She bounced up and down. "This is going to be so much fun."

Gillian had spent the last two days pulling together a wardrobe, getting her hair cut and lightened, and talking the department into letting her lease the Mustang rather than a Fiesta. At first they were going to allow her only a hundred dollars for clothes. She finally convinced them that she would need at least five hundred. She'd looked into the school Holly attended and knew that even though Holly's parents were both teachers and weren't in the upper income bracket, most of the kids at the school came from wealthy families. The idea was for Gillian to blend, not stick out.

"You can't tell anybody about me," Gillian warned. "Not your best friend, not anybody."

"I'm good at keeping secrets, and this is one I won't have to feel guilty about. That's why it's so cool."

"I'm your cousin who's been having trouble at home, so I've come to live with you and keep you company. Period."

Holly nodded. "Right."

They went over various scenarios that might pop up, such as where Gillian was from, how well she and Holly knew each other. They decided to say they had met only a couple of times. That way there would be less chance of messing up their stories.

"Do you have a gun?" Holly asked out of the blue.

Gillian sat down on her bed and pulled up the hem of her flared pants. Strapped to her ankle was a little five-shot Smith amp; Wesson backup. "You can't as much as touch it."

"Don't worry."

Gillian didn't like guns. She wasn't comfortable with them. As a BCA agent she didn't wear one all that often, and she hadn't thought a gun would be appropriate to bring into a high school, but Wakefield felt it was necessary and had cleared it with the few school authorities who knew her true identity.

"Part of the reason you're there is to protect Holly," he'd pointed out.

Now Holly shrugged. "I've seen guns before."

"Your dad's?"

"No, kids at school."

Holy shit. "Kids have guns at school?"

"Well, not in the building, but in their cars. One guy had me come out and look, and he had three guns in his trunk." Gillian must have appeared dismayed, because Holly made a shooing motion with her hand. "Don't worry. He got kicked out last semester."

"If you ever see anyone with a gun, you have to report it right away," Gillian said. "You know that, don't you?"

"I don't like to squeal on people, but yeah, I know."

The room grew dim, and Holly lighted some candles and incense. They settled back on their beds and talked, Holly hugging a stuffed animal.

This was the part of childhood that Gillian had missed out on. She'd been fourteen when Fiona was murdered. At that point, her world had changed, had lost its brilliance. At that point, she'd finally understood that life was real, and the things you said, every word you spoke, mattered. She had screwed up, and in the process Mary, Gavin, Fiona, and herself had been robbed of their youth. So lying in the candlelit bedroom, talking and confiding in soft whispers was bittersweet for Gillian because she'd spent her own years in silence, in shame, guilt, and fear.

They chatted lightly for a while; then Gillian asked, "What about the guy who kidnapped you? Do you mind if we talk about him?"

Holly looked up sharply. "I'd like to. Nobody here has even mentioned what happened. Like it's going to set me off or something. Like it's not something I'm thinking about every second anyway. Do you think he'll try to kidnap me again?" she asked, poking the eye of the stuffed bear she was holding. "Detective Wakefield said that's why you're here."

"It's a possibility. Are you afraid?"

"No. Worried, but not afraid. I got away from him once. I can do it again." Holly was quiet for a minute, thinking through the question. Then she said softly, "Have you ever killed anybody?"

Nobody had ever asked Gillian that before. "No." She couldn't imagine any other answer.

"If you had to, would you?"

Point a gun at someone and pull the trigger? Could she do it? "Yes. If I had to. If someone's life was in danger."

Had Mary ever shot anybody? Gillian wondered. Had she ever killed anybody?

"But isn't that why you're here? To kill him if you have to?",

"Catch him, not kill him."

A knock sounded on the closed door; then Mrs. Lindstrom said, "Better get to sleep, girls. School tomorrow."

Gillian raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Holly pressed her face against the bear to stifle a giggle.

Once they were in bed and the candles were blown out, Holly had another question to ask: "Why did you become a cop?"

Gillian wondered how much she should divulge and decided upon a watered-down version of the truth. "When I was a little younger than you, something happened to me that made me question who I was and what I really wanted out of life. I had a friend who was put in prison for something he may not have done, or something that may not have been his fault. That led to my interest in crime investigation."

"What did your friend do?"