The Angel of Baby Death . . . She shook off the terrible image.

The door swung open, and she whirled around. Mat stepped in, looking even larger than normal and more gorgeous. Her mouth felt dry. She turned away and spotted Button’s torn romper. “Would you mind taking this over to Bertis? I forgot.” She thrust it toward him.

“No problem.” He sounded unusually cheerful for someone who could be the world’s biggest curmudgeon. “No problem at all.” He smiled as he reached out to take the romper and his hand brushed hers. “Be back in a few minutes.”

He was deliberately torturing her. And what was the point? He might think they were going to make love with two children only a few feet away, but she knew differently. Frustrated, she made her way to the bathroom and stripped off her clothes.

As the water poured over her, she remembered the way those big hands had cupped her breasts. She’d loved every moment of his urgent, single-minded seduction. It had felt so good to be desired.

She reminded herself that they barely knew each other. They had no common interests, no shared background. But then she’d had those things with Dennis and look what it had brought her.

Her eyes prickled with tears. Despite everything, she missed Dennis. More than anyone, he would have understood her confusion now, and he would have offered wise counsel. Whenever she let herself forget how he’d betrayed her, she also remembered that he’d been her best friend.

She took her time in the shower, so she was surprised to discover that Mat still wasn’t back when she came out of the bathroom. Why did life have to be so complicated? There was only one thing she knew for certain. She loved being Nell Kelly. Living in another woman’s skin had been the best gift she’d ever given herself, and she wasn’t nearly ready for it to end.

All day she’d blotted out images of the hoard of government agents who would be trying to track her down, and now she breathed a silent prayer. Please. Just a few more days. That’s all I ask. Just a few more days . . .

Toni DeLucca was barely paying attention to Dateline as she sat in her hotel room not far from Mc-Connellsburg, Pennsylvania. She and Jason had spent another fruitless morning at the truck stop and an equally fruitless afternoon questioning Jimmy Briggs. Now she was propped in bed munching an apple, instead of the salt and vinegar potato chips she really wanted, while she studied the preliminary lab report on the Chevy Corsica. Cornelia Case’s fingerprints had been all over it, but there hadn’t been any bloodstains or signs of violence. She set the report aside to read through the information they’d just received from Terry Ackerman.