She shook her head vehemently, her anger edging closer to a breakout. “I don’t care who he is. You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I just want to talk with him.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, studying him with a mix of resignation and dismay, as if realizing all the arguments in the world had been suddenly rendered useless. “I’m not going to change your mind on this, am I?”

He smiled, trying to take the edge off the moment. “No, but I love you for trying. Go pack your bag. Wait for me. I’ll be back inside of an hour, and then we’ll go.”

He kissed her mouth, then walked over to the front closet and pulled on his greatcoat. She was still standing there, staring after him, as he went out the door.

Nest Freemark rode back into the city from the airport in impatient silence, staring out at the sun as it dropped westward toward the Olympics. It was already growing dark, the days shortened down to a little more than eight hours, the nights lengthening in response to the coming of the winter solstice. Shadows crept and pooled all across the wooded slopes of the city’s hills, swallowing up the last of the light.

She had thought to call ahead, to reach Ross by telephone, but what she had to say would be better coming from her in person. He might believe her then. She might stand a chance of convincing him.

She exhaled wearily, peering out at the descending dark. This was going to be a much harder task than the one the Lady had given her.

The taxi rolled onto the off-ramp at Seneca and down to Pioneer Square. The district’s turn-of-the-century lamps were already lit, the shadows of the city’s tall buildings stretching dark fingers to gather in dwindling slivers of daylight. The taxi pulled up at the curb beside the burned-out hulk of Fresh Start, and she paid the driver and jumped out, bag in hand. The taxi drove away, and she stood there, gathering her thoughts. She realized how cold it had gotten, a brisk wind whipping out of the northwest down Second Avenue’s broad corridor, and she slipped hurriedly into her new jacket.

She turned and looked across the intersection at Waterfall Park and the apartment building where John Ross lived with Stefanie Winslow. The wind buffeted her gangly form as she stood there and tried to decide what she should do.

Finally, she picked up her bag and turned the corner to walk up Main Street to Pass/Go. She entered the reception area and glanced around. Except for the lady working the intake desk, the room was empty.

She moved over to the desk, taking several deep breaths to slow the pounding of her heart, masking her trepidation and urgency with a smile. “Is John Ross here?” she asked.

The woman at the desk shook her head without looking up. She seemed anxious to stick with her paperwork. “He didn’t come in today. Can I help you?”