Alice, it seemed, had inherited her father’s sleep habits.

Before Stacy had finished processing that thought, a crash came from the adjoining room. Followed by a cry.

Heart lurching to her throat, Stacy retrieved the Glock and ran into the hall and across to Alice’s door. She tried the door, found it locked and rapped on it.

“Alice,” she called, “are you all right?”

The teenager didn’t reply and she pressed her ear to the door.

Silence.

“I heard you cry out. Are you all right?”

“Go away! I’m fine.”

Her voice sounded funny. Shaky and high-pitched. Stacy’s mouth went dry.

“Open this door, Alice. I need to see for myself that you’re unhurt. If you don’t I’ll-”

The door opened. Alice stood before her, eyes red and face blotchy from crying. Otherwise, she appeared unhurt.

Stacy peered around her. The room looked empty. A figurine lay in pieces on the floor.

Alice had been crying. The crash the result of a fit of temper. Typical teenage drama.

Stacy felt more than a little silly. “I heard the crash and what I thought was a cry and-”

“Is that a-” Alice bit the words back, eyes widening. “Oh, my God, you’ve got a gun.”

“It’s not how it looks.”

The teenager sprang backward. “Stay away from me, you psycho.”

“I’m not a psycho, Alice. And there’s a reasonable explanation for-”

The girl slammed the door in her face. Stacy heard the lock click into place.

Stacy stared at the closed door a moment, a bemused smile tugging at her mouth.

Having fun now, Killian?

She counted to ten, then tapped on the door. She didn’t expect a response and didn’t wait for one. “Alice, I have a permit for the gun. I’m an experienced shooter, and your father knows I have it.”

She paused, allowing her words to sink in, then leaned closer. “I wasn’t trying to interfere, just to make certain you were all right. If you need anything, anytime, I’m next door.” She gave the girl a moment to digest that, then added, “Good night, Alice.”

She returned to her room and listened, but the girl had either stopped crying or had become better at covering the sound. Poor kid probably felt she couldn’t even cry in her own room anymore.

Stacy’s gaze landed on her cell phone, charging on its cradle. Her thoughts filled with Jane. She longed to talk with her. To share everything and ask her advice.

She crossed to her laptop, opened it and turned it on. It hummed a moment before the monitor sprang to life. Stacy navigated to her mail program, to the e-mail Jane had sent today.

Pictures of Apple Annie. Wearing the denim jumper Stacy had sent, the one with the apples embroidered on the smock and pockets.

Stacy gazed at the images, throat tight with tears, wondering what the hell she was doing.

Go home, Stacy. Back to the people who love you.

To the people you love.

She wanted to, so badly she could taste it. So what was stopping her? Leaving was not running away. It was not giving up.

It’d take more than a few threats and several dead bodies to send her over the edge.

Stacy froze.

Over the edge.

Leo’s partner had gone over an edge.

A cliff. To his death.

She thought of her comment to Leo that first day. That there were two Supreme White Rabbits. Leo and his former partner.

She caught her breath. Could Danson be alive?

Stacy looked at the clock. 12:35.

Leo being a night owl was proving handy; she needed to ask him a few questions about his former partner.

She grabbed her robe and headed out to the hallway, then downstairs. Sure enough, light streamed from under Leo’s office door. She tapped on it.

“Leo,” she called. “It’s Stacy.”

He opened the door and smiled that goofy, lopsided smile of his. “Someone else walking the floors at midnight,” he said. “What a nice surprise.”

“May I come in?”

At the formality in her tone, his smile slipped. “Sure.”

She entered; he left the door open. Pointedly, she thought.

“I owe you an apology,” he said. “For this afternoon.”

“You’ve already apologized. It’s over.”

“Is it? I’m not so sure.”

“Leo-”

“I’m attracted to you. I think you’re attracted to me. What’s the problem?”

Stacy looked away. Then back, meeting his eyes directly. “Even if I was interested, you’re still in love with your ex-wife.”

He didn’t deny it, didn’t try to explain or make excuses. His silence was her answer. Or rather, the damning confirmation of what she had already known was true. “This isn’t why I’m here, Leo. I want you to tell me about your ex-partner.”

“Dick? Why?”

“I’m not sure. I’m working on something and need more information. He died three years ago?”

“Yes. Went over a cliff in Carmel, California.”

“You found out about the accident how?”

“A lawyer contacted us. Dick’s death freed up some of our joint ventures, including White Rabbit.”

“The lawyer tell you any more about the death?”

“No. But we didn’t ask.”

She digested that. “You said you guys split for personal reasons. That he wasn’t the man you’d thought he was.”

“Yes. But-”

“Humor me, please. Did those feelings have anything to do with Kay?”

His expression went from surprised to admiring. “How did you know?”

“A look you and Kay exchanged that first day. But that doesn’t matter. Tell me what happened.”

Leo let out a resigned-sounding breath. “Begin at the beginning?”

“That’s usually best.”

“Dick and I met at Berkeley. As you already know, we became good friends. We were both brilliant and creative, both into role-playing games.”

No false modesty there. “Where does Kay fit into this?”

“I’m getting to that. I met Kay through Dick. They’d dated.”

Classic motivation. A lover’s triangle-which equaled jealousy and revenge.

Which equaled all sorts of nasties, including murder.

“I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t like that. They’d broken up before I ever came into the picture. And they’d remained friends.”

“Until the two of you started dating.”

Again, he seemed surprised. “Yes, but not at first. At first we were like the Three Musketeers. Flushed with success and excitement over White Rabbit.

“Then Dick began to change. His work became darker. Sadistic and cruel.”

“How so?”

He paused, as if to gather his thoughts. “In the games, it wasn’t enough to kill an enemy. He had to torture him first. And dismember him after.”

“Nice.”

“He insisted that was the way games were going, that we needed to stay at the forefront.” He paused again and Stacy saw how unpleasant this was for him. “We constantly argued. We grew further apart…not only creatively, but personally as well. Then he-”

Leo swore, his lip curling with distaste. “He raped Kay.”

Stacy wasn’t surprised. She had sensed that whatever had come between them had been bigger than a difference of opinion. The bad blood had been almost palpable.

“Kay was destroyed. She and Dick had been close. Friends, she thought. She trusted him.” He made a sound that was part anger, part pain. “That night, he lured her out by telling her he wanted to talk about me. He wanted her advice on how to patch things up between us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” Leo passed a hand over his face, the ebullience that made him appear so youthful, gone. “We don’t speak of it.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“Did he stand trial?”

“She didn’t press charges.” As if anticipating her response, he held up a hand. “She said she couldn’t bear the publicity. Her personal life being scrutinized. She spoke with a lawyer. He basically said that their former relationship, though it hadn’t been sexual, would blow the case. That Dick would lie, and the defense would crucify her.”

Stacy wished she could argue with that. She couldn’t. Too often, women were afraid of coming forward for just those reasons.