"But that won't happen this time. Officially."

Miranda nodded. "Noah is very good at playing the political game when he has to, and right now he has to if the SCU is going to survive. So the unit's top agents, including him, have to remain in Boston, working with a task force set up this summer to investigate a series of murders in that city. I'm sure you remember."

It was his turn to nod, slowly. "Murdered a senator's daughter, the final victim of a dozen, and then just stopped."

Miranda looked at him steadily.

"Ah, shit. He's here? It's the same killer? The hunting ground you tracked him from was Boston?"

"I'm afraid so."

"So why the hell isn't the task force breathing down my neck?" He held up a hand before she could begin to answer. "Don't tell me. Because no matter what you know or believe you know, there's not a shred of evidence either of us could take to court."

"Or even to the Director of the FBI. This Director, at least. And by the time there is… Well, let's just say that the one thing Noah and I are sure of about this killer is that he's fast. He killed a dozen women in Boston in less than a month. If he is here, as we believe he is, then he'll strike quickly and viciously-and then probably move on to his next hunting ground."

John Garrett said, "This is exactly the sort of situation Bishop anticipated, and one of the reasons Haven was formed. To… circumvent any political or practical situation that might hamstring the SCU. We have a very short chain of command and no bureaucratic red tape."

"You also don't have badges," Marc pointed out.

"No, but we do have friends in very high places."

Marc was already nodding. "Senator Abe LeMott."

"He's the latest high-ranking supporter to come on board, yes. He believes very strongly in what the SCU and Haven can accomplish, working together or independently of each other."

"Why can't he cut through the red tape and get the SCU here-officially?"

Miranda said, "We don't want to use his influence unless we have to. Especially since he and the new Director don't exactly see eye to eye politically. If the Director bowed to pressure, as he surely would given the country's sympathies for Senator LeMott, then he'd resent it. And sooner or later, the price demanded for that would be high."

"Jesus, I hate politics," Marc said under his breath. And before anyone could remind him that he was himself an elected official, he added, "Okay, so officially the SCU can't help me, and anything from the FBI itself is probably going to be too little too late."

"That's about the size of it."

"Which, I gather, explains what Mr. Garrett is doing here."

"John," Garrett said. "And, yes, it does. Senator LeMott has hired the services of Haven, for the duration. He wants this killer stopped, obviously. He doesn't particularly care how that's accomplished. In fact-" John looked at Miranda, his slanted brows rising in a silent question.

She sighed. "Marc, there's a very real concern that if we don't make some progress in stopping this killer, LeMott will… take matters into his own hands. Right now he's a ticking time bomb and doesn't feel he has much to lose, especially since his wife's suicide a couple of months ago. Annie was barely in the ground before her mother swallowed a handful of pills. LeMott's career has been important to him, but since he lost his daughter and wife he's kept working, we believe, only because his is a position of power and he intends to use that power eventually. All he has left is his… crusade to find the killer who destroyed his family.

"He's a former prosecutor. He's also a former marine. He could do serious damage, and a lot of people could be hurt needlessly. Right now he's in D.C, and we need to keep him there. Which means we need to make some tangible progress in this investigation, ASAP."

"With all due respect to the senator and his grief," Marc said politely, "I want to catch this bastard as soon as possible because he's butchering young women." His hard gaze shifted to John Garrett. "And I don't care who's picking up the tab, just as long as we all have the same goal in sight."

"We do," John said immediately.

Dani spoke for the first time in a long time to say rather tightly, "But the SCU isn't part of this. Miranda isn't staying. Are you, Miranda?"

So that's part of it. She's worried about Miranda. Something must have happened to her in the vision dream. He had wondered if these last years had taught Dani at least that she could no more control fate than anyone else could, despite her glimpses into an often grim future. Now he had his answer; she was still fighting that inescapable truth.

The federal agent looked at Dani with, Marc thought, an oddly compassionate little smile, and said, "It might not make a difference, Dani. Whether I go or stay. You know that."

Miranda knows it too. That fate does what it will, despite everything we do to try to change it.

"I know you need to go. Back to Boston, or to Quantico, or somewhere. Anywhere but here. Because if he's here-you can't be."

"What am I missing?" Marc demanded, intent on confirming his suspicions.

Paris stirred and also spoke up for the first time in a while. "It's about Dani's dream, Marc. The one she told you about earlier this afternoon."

Marc turned his gaze to Dani and waited until she finally looked back at him. "What about the dream?" he asked.

Dani drew a deep breath, let it out slowly.

And told him.

Marie Goode wasn't a fanciful girl. Never had been. She wasn't the type to jump at shadows or thrill to ghost stories, and if she heard a strange sound in her apartment late at night, she'd grab a can of pepper spray and go see what, if anything, was there.

Usually nothing was, though once she had discovered a raccoon on her deck, raiding her bird feeder. The pepper spray hadn't been necessary on that occasion, since the creature had been as wary of her as she was of it, and fled.

Her father kept saying he didn't like it that her apartment was on the ground floor of the complex, and Marie was on the waiting list for a larger apartment on an upper floor, but she'd never felt particularly vulnerable where she was. There were good locks on the doors, and while the complex was on the outskirts of town, it was still a safe, well-lit area.

Which was doubly a good thing right now, since her old car was in the shop, hopefully being fixed, and she had to walk from her job at the small restaurant several blocks away. If she couldn't get a ride, at least.

On Wednesday night, no ride was available. And a private party celebrating an upcoming wedding had stayed late, which meant it was later than usual when Marie helped close up and set off on foot toward home.

She wasn't nervous.

At first.

It hadn't really cooled off much in early October, but the summer had been brutally hot and too dry, so, in defeat, a lot of the trees had simply dropped dead brown leaves without the customary colorful show first. During the daytime, the dead leaves everywhere were a depressing sight; at night, with a fitful breeze, it was a bit creepy.

The leaves rustled and whispered as the air currents caught them and slid them along the sidewalk and against the buildings Marie walked past. It was as though a small crowd of people followed her, just out of sight, and whispered among themselves, keeping their secrets.

Now that was a fanciful thought, Marie decided. And why was she thinking such absurd things?

She realized her hand had crept up to the nape of her neck, and she could literally feel the fine hairs there standing straight out.

Her common sense gave her obviously overactive imagination a stern talking-to, and Marie stopped on the sidewalk, turning slowly to study her surroundings. Nothing at all unusual met her gaze.