Sara stared at the nail, making a connection. "Can I see that?"

He gave her a funny look, then answered, "Sure."

She took the nail, testing its weight in her hand. At twelve inches, it was certainly long enough for the job of tacking up a gutter, but could someone have also used this type of nail to secure Julia Matthews to the floor?

"Sara?" Jeb asked. His hand was out for the nail. "I've got some more in the storage shed," he said, indicating the metal shed. "If you want to keep one."

"No," she answered, handing him the nail. She needed to get back to her house and call Frank Wallace about this. Jeffrey was probably still in Atlanta, but certainly someone would need to track down who had bought this type of nail recently. It was a good lead.

She asked, "Did you get this at the hardware store?"

"Yeah," he answered, giving her a curious look. "Why?"

Sara smiled, trying to put his mind at ease. He probably thought it was odd that she was so interested in the gutter nail. It wasn't like she could tell him why. Sara's dating pool was small enough without taking Jeb McGuire out of the picture by suggesting his gutter nails would be a good way to pin a woman to the floor so she could be raped.

She watched him secure the drooping gutter to the house. Sara found herself thinking about Jeffrey and Jack Wright in the same room together. Moon had said that Wright had let himself go in prison, that the chiseled threat to his body had been replaced by soft fat, but Sara still saw him as she had that day twelve years ago. His skin was tight to his bones, his veins sticking out along his arms. His expression was a carved study in hatred, his teeth gritting in a menacing smile as he raped her.

Sara gave an involuntary shudder. Her life for the last twelve years had been spent blocking Wright out of her mind, and having him back now, in whatever form, be it through Jeffrey or a stupid postcard, was making her feel violated all over again. She hated Jeffrey for that, mostly because he was the only one who could suffer any impact from her hatred.

"Hold on," Jeb said, snapping her out of her reflection. Jeb cupped his hand to his ear, listening. The thumping noise was still there as water dripped into the downspout.

"This is going to drive me crazy," he said, over the thump, thump, thump of the water.

"I can see that," she said, thinking that five minutes of the dripping sound was already giving her a headache.

Jeb came down off the ladder, tucking the hammer back into his belt. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she answered. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

She took a deep breath, then said, "About our rain check." She looked up at the sky. "Why don't you come over to the house around two for a late lunch? I'll get some takeout from the deli in Madison."

He smiled, an unexpected nervous edge to his voice. "Yeah," he answered. "That sounds great."

Chapter Twenty-six

JEFFREY tried to keep his focus on driving, but there was too much going on in his mind to concentrate. He had not slept all night, and exhaustion was taking over his body. Even after pulling over to the side of the road for a thirty-minute nap, he still did not feel like his head was on straight. Too much was happening. Too many things were pulling him in different directions at the same time.

Mary Ann Moon had promised to subpoena the employment records from Grady Hospital dating back to the time Sara had worked there. Jeffrey prayed that the woman was as good as her word. She had estimated that the records would be available for Jeffrey's perusal sometime Sunday afternoon. Jeffrey's only hope was that a name from the hospital would sound familiar. Sara had never mentioned anyone from Grant working with her back in those days, but he still needed to ask her. Three calls to her house had gotten him her machine. He knew better than to leave a message for her to call. The tone of her voice last night had been enough to convince him that she would probably never talk to him again.

Jeffrey pulled the Town Car into the station parking lot. He needed to go home to shower and change, but he also had to show his face at work.

His trip to Atlanta had taken more time than planned, and Jeffrey had missed the early morning briefing.

Frank Wallace was walking out the front door as Jeffrey put the car in park. Frank tossed a wave before walking around the car and getting in.

Frank said, "The kid's missing."

"Lena?"

Frank gave a nod as Jeffrey put the car in gear.

Jeffrey asked, "What happened?"

"Her uncle Hank called at the station looking for her. He said the last he saw of her she was in the kitchen right after that Matthews went south."

"That was two days ago," Jeffrey countered. "How the hell did this happen?"

"I left a message on her machine. I figured she was lying low. Didn't you give her time off?"

"Yeah," Jeffrey answered, feeling guilt wash over him. "Hank's at her house?"

Frank gave another nod, slipping on his seat belt as Jeffrey pushed the car past eighty. Tension filled the car as they drove toward Lena's house. When they got there, Hank Norton was sitting on the front porch waiting.

Hank jogged to the car. "Her bed hasn't been slept in," he said as a greeting. "I was at Nan Thomas's house. Neither one of us had heard from her. We assumed she was with you."

"She wasn't," Jeffrey said, offering the obvious. He walked into Lena's house, scanning the front room for clues. The house had two stories, like most homes in the neighborhood. The kitchen, dining room, and living room were on the main level with two bedrooms and a bath upstairs.

Jeffrey took the steps two at a time, his leg protesting at the movement. He walked into what he assumed was Lena's bedroom, searching for anything that might make sense of all of this. A hot pain was at the back of his eyes and everything he looked at had a tinge of red to it. Going through her drawers, moving clothes around in her closet, he had no idea what he expected to find. He found nothing.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Hank Norton was talking to Frank, his words a hot staccato of blame and denial. "She was supposed to be working with you," Hank said. "You're her partner."

Jeffrey got a brief flash of Lena in her uncle's voice. He was angry, accusatory. There was the same underlying hostility he had always heard in Lena's tone.

Jeffrey took the heat off of Frank, saying, "I gave her time off, Mr. Norton. We assumed she would be at home."

"Girl blows her head off right under my niece and you just assume she's gonna be okay?" he hissed. "Jesus Christ, that's the end of your responsibility, giving her the day off?"

"That's not what I meant, Mr. Norton."

"For fuck sakes, stop calling me Mr. Norton," he screamed, throwing his hands into the air.

Jeffrey waited for the man to say more, but he turned suddenly, walking out of the kitchen. He slammed the back door behind him.

Frank spoke slowly, visibly upset. "I should've checked on her."

"I should have," Jeffrey said. "She's my responsibility."

"She's everybody's responsibility," Frank countered. He started searching the kitchen, opening and closing drawers, going through cabinets. Frank obviously wasn't really paying attention to what he was doing. He slammed the cabinet doors, more to work out his anger than to look for anything concrete. Jeffrey watched this for a while, then walked toward the window. He saw Lena's black Celica in the driveway.

Jeffrey said, "Car's still here."

Frank slammed a drawer closed. "I saw that."

"I'll go check it out," Jeffrey offered. He walked out the back door, passing Hank Norton, who was sitting on the steps leading into the backyard. He was smoking a cigarette, his movements awkward and angry.