His mother shook her head hard. She’d grown pale. “Send it to the FBI, Jeffy. I don’t want you in the middle.”

“Okay, Mom.” He forwarded the message to Special Agent in Charge Molina, then read the message again. “I sent it to the FBI. But . . . what if it’s real?”

She was still shaking her head. “What if it is? You let that Molina woman take care of it.”

He was unsure. Something was pulling at him, the same thing that had told him there was a story in Mercy Callahan. He’d been right about that. Wrong about the story he’d told, but right to have pointed himself in her direction.

“I’m going to call Mrs. Sokolov,” he said. “Just in case. She can ask Mercy what she wants to do about it.”

His mother let out a slow breath. “Okay. But only a phone call. You’re not leaving this house.”

He kissed her cheek. “Yes, ma’am.” He dialed the number for the Sokolov house, smiling when his call was answered by the same voice as the day before. “Zoya? This is Jeff Bunker.”

“Hi, Jeff.” Her voice was warm and friendly. “I read your retraction. It’s good.”

He felt his cheeks heating. “Thanks. It was the right thing to do. But I’m calling about something else. Is your mother home yet?”

“No, not yet. What’s going on?”

He told her about the e-mail. “I sent it to Agent Molina, but thought . . . you know, what if it’s real?”

“Did you say Amos?” she asked. “And that he’s in Reno?”

“Yes. Amos Terrill. And the number is the Reno library. Why?”

“Hold on. I’m going to add my mom to this call. She’s in Reno right now with my sister Sasha.”

A moment later Irina Sokolov’s voice was on the line. “Read me the e-mail, Jeff,” she said briskly, but not unkindly. “Every single word.”

TWENTY-FOUR

RENO, NEVADA

TUESDAY, APRIL 18, 11:55 A.M.

I really appreciate this, ma’am,” Amos said to Millie. Edie’s friend had well and truly taken him under her wing.

She grinned at him over the stack of books and magazines she’d brought him to read. “My pleasure. This is like a librarian’s dream. I get to guide you through thirty years of history.”

He had to smile at her enthusiasm. “I don’t think I’ll get through all these books today.” He didn’t think he could get through them in a month. He’d never been the fastest reader, his limited skill even rustier after thirty years away from newspapers or even comic books. It was overwhelming indeed.

“Then come back tomorrow. I can hold them for you behind the desk, and when you get an address I can get you a library card.”

He wasn’t sure which of her comments to reply to. By tomorrow he hoped to be talking to Mercy or Gideon. He could trust them. He hoped. And as for a permanent address, he had no idea where to start. “Thank you,” was all he could think to say.