“It’s fine. I have to get going. It was good seeing you.”

“Likewise. Any more questions, you know where to find me. It’s terrible what happened to Brett. I liked the guy, I really did. If we can help in any way,” he said, “please let me know.”

As Cheryl showed me to the door, I heard Erynn’s voice for the first time. A squeal of joy tripping across the room, sparked by her father’s love.

TWENTY-SIX

When I stepped back out onto the welcome mat, it was snowing lightly once more. Across the street, one of Cheryl’s neighbors was stringing Christmas lights onto a leafless apple tree in his front yard. Aside from that, there wasn’t another person in sight.

With my back to her door, I pulled out my phone to check my e-mail. There was a message from Harmison in response to my inquiry, along with the item I’d been after: the report from Crissy’s disappearance. I opened it and scanned the words on the screen with interest before sending him an update on my talk with Russell Loming, which included what I’d learned about the drug dealing and the possible second girlfriend. There was plenty there to keep him busy; as far as my contributions to his investigation were concerned, I hoped I was being more of a help than a hindrance.

On my way back to my car, I noticed a sedan parked halfway up the block. Like my SUV, it was covered with a light layer of snow, just enough that I couldn’t be sure if it was white or silver, a Honda or Toyota. Based on that snow, it must have arrived after I’d gone inside. That wasn’t especially unusual. What I found odd was the person in the driver’s seat. It was a man, that much I could tell. The span of his shoulders gave the impression of brute strength. He sat perfectly still. Watching me.

My karate training, first in the city and more recently in Watertown with Sam, was about putting some power behind my punches. To defend myself effectively, I needed to leverage my size and use an attacker’s moves against him. I did it to sharpen my reflexes, too—which is why I was so angry when, during my private lesson, Sam got the better of me. I’d spent innumerable hours visualizing the moment when Bram and I would meet again: where it might be, what he would do, how I’d retaliate when it mattered most. I can honestly say our imagined encounter was never on a Wednesday morning while snow turned a quiet residential Vermont street into a Christmas card.

“Hey,” I said.

The word sounded puny at first, but when I spoke it again—“Hey!”—I found my voice. I started toward the car. It was very foolish, pretending this counterfeit courage could take me to war, but the violence embodied by Trey’s tooth was rapidly bleeding into me, a transfusion of pure, hot rage. In the car, the figure shifted his weight toward the door. In my chest my heart stuttered, but I kept coming. The door swung open and the man’s foot met the curb. When his head ducked down to clear the roof and he emerged into the snow-bright light, I jolted to a stop. My shock was quickly replaced with relief, the relief with confusion.