cheered her favorites, tossing them crumbs of Pop Tarts in reward. The guy on the radio said it would snow today. The cave would be warm enough, but Adam decided to stock up on more food, maybe a way to cook it—he doubted Sally would like cold Chef Boyardee straight from the can like he did—and a lantern that would last if the snow kept them inside for long. Maybe one of those fancy Coleman ones. Or he could borrow a kerosene lantern from the Stolfultz's barn. They had tons there. Wouldn't miss one or two. He added it to his list.
"Do you have school?" he asked Sally. He couldn't take her into town. She'd be safe in school.
She shook her head, zooming Miss Priss around like she was a flying squirrel instead of a cat. Miss Priss managed to look offended by the indignity of it all. "No, silly. I'm only four. But I get to go next year. Like the big kids. I'm gonna learn how to read real books."
Okay. No school. "I have to go into town."
"To check on Mommy? Sometimes she's hard to wake up in the morning." Sally's voice dropped. "Some mornings she wakes up okay but she's real cranky. Then you have to be very, very quiet. No cartoons. But coloring's okay."
"I'll check on your mommy. She'll be real proud of what a big girl you're being on your first adventure."
"I'm Dora the Explorer," she proclaimed. "Where does Dora go potty when she's in the jungle 'sploring? Does she have a bucket, too?"
Adam had no clue what Dora did although he'd seen her on one of Sally's coloring books. A book with every page, every margin, even the inside covers filled with pictures. "I'll bet she does. But not a cave. Not one as nice as this."
"It's good to go 'sploring with friends." She took Adam's hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, and swung it back and forth.
"How about if I show you another part of the cave? A very special part? You can wait there and color and play while I go check on your mommy."
She curled Miss Priss into her free arm. "Can Miss Priss come, too?"
"Sure. We'd never leave Miss Priss behind, would we?"
"Okay. You get to be Boots." She jumped to her feet and tugged Adam to his. "C'mon, Adam. We're 'splorers!"
<><><>
During the night Lucy kept re-living those three days she spent in New Hope four years ago. In her dreams, she walked step by step through her part of the investigation—which at the time had been considered a wild goose chase, not an official case.
No one expected her to find anything in New Hope, much less a serial killer's lair. And then, after it was all over, she was considered a victim. Not a professional.
None of that was what her sleeping mind had focused on. Instead she dreamed of Adam Caine and their journey into the mountain. Nightmares filled with darkness so black you breathed it in and it grew inside you, filling your veins.
Slashing pain, screams, and the staccato image of Marion Caine, lit only by a trembling flashlight beam, being pulled into the crevasse by her abductor, a man whose face no one except Marion ever saw clearly.
From the clock, Lucy knew her nightmares had lasted no more than a few minutes. But each time she woke, it was as if she had lived through days of terror.
The next morning when she arrived in her office and found her boss, John Greally, sitting at her desk, she knew her plans of finishing the Plushenko trial and heading out to New Hope were about to go up in smoke.
"I've got good news and bad news," John said, drinking coffee from one of Lucy's mugs. He said Lucy's coffee was better, but really he often came down to chat—usually when he had a problem that needed untangling without going through official channels.
Lucy slung her bag onto the conference table and leaned against it. She'd worn her only "power suit" for court this morning. It was crimson—dark enough to be business-like, red enough to be intimidating. She hoped it would keep the defense attorney on the Plushenko case on the defensive.
"Good news is Plushenko pled out,"
"Do you have school?" he asked Sally. He couldn't take her into town. She'd be safe in school.
She shook her head, zooming Miss Priss around like she was a flying squirrel instead of a cat. Miss Priss managed to look offended by the indignity of it all. "No, silly. I'm only four. But I get to go next year. Like the big kids. I'm gonna learn how to read real books."
Okay. No school. "I have to go into town."
"To check on Mommy? Sometimes she's hard to wake up in the morning." Sally's voice dropped. "Some mornings she wakes up okay but she's real cranky. Then you have to be very, very quiet. No cartoons. But coloring's okay."
"I'll check on your mommy. She'll be real proud of what a big girl you're being on your first adventure."
"I'm Dora the Explorer," she proclaimed. "Where does Dora go potty when she's in the jungle 'sploring? Does she have a bucket, too?"
Adam had no clue what Dora did although he'd seen her on one of Sally's coloring books. A book with every page, every margin, even the inside covers filled with pictures. "I'll bet she does. But not a cave. Not one as nice as this."
"It's good to go 'sploring with friends." She took Adam's hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, and swung it back and forth.
"How about if I show you another part of the cave? A very special part? You can wait there and color and play while I go check on your mommy."
She curled Miss Priss into her free arm. "Can Miss Priss come, too?"
"Sure. We'd never leave Miss Priss behind, would we?"
"Okay. You get to be Boots." She jumped to her feet and tugged Adam to his. "C'mon, Adam. We're 'splorers!"
<><><>
During the night Lucy kept re-living those three days she spent in New Hope four years ago. In her dreams, she walked step by step through her part of the investigation—which at the time had been considered a wild goose chase, not an official case.
No one expected her to find anything in New Hope, much less a serial killer's lair. And then, after it was all over, she was considered a victim. Not a professional.
None of that was what her sleeping mind had focused on. Instead she dreamed of Adam Caine and their journey into the mountain. Nightmares filled with darkness so black you breathed it in and it grew inside you, filling your veins.
Slashing pain, screams, and the staccato image of Marion Caine, lit only by a trembling flashlight beam, being pulled into the crevasse by her abductor, a man whose face no one except Marion ever saw clearly.
From the clock, Lucy knew her nightmares had lasted no more than a few minutes. But each time she woke, it was as if she had lived through days of terror.
The next morning when she arrived in her office and found her boss, John Greally, sitting at her desk, she knew her plans of finishing the Plushenko trial and heading out to New Hope were about to go up in smoke.
"I've got good news and bad news," John said, drinking coffee from one of Lucy's mugs. He said Lucy's coffee was better, but really he often came down to chat—usually when he had a problem that needed untangling without going through official channels.
Lucy slung her bag onto the conference table and leaned against it. She'd worn her only "power suit" for court this morning. It was crimson—dark enough to be business-like, red enough to be intimidating. She hoped it would keep the defense attorney on the Plushenko case on the defensive.
"Good news is Plushenko pled out,"
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