“Got that under control,” she said, her voice calm, though she was enraged that Bell had insisted she recite the words Lincoln Rhyme had dictated to her. “But we do have another little problem.”

Little problem…

“Whatcha need? A couple troopers?”

“No, just a cell phone trace.”

“Got a warrant?”

“Magistrate’s clerk’s faxing it to you right now.”

“Gimme the phone and serial numbers.”

She gave him the information.

“What’s that area code, two one two?”

“It’s a New York number. Party’s roaming now.”

“Not a problem,” Gregg said. “You want a tape of the conversation?”

“Just location.”

And a clear line of sight to the target…

“When … wait. Here’s the fax. …” A pause as he read. “Oh, just a missing person?”

“That’s all,” she said reluctantly.

“You know it’s expensive. We’ll have to bill you.”

“I understand.”

“Okay, hold the line, I’ll call my tech people.” There was a faint click.

Lucy sat on the desk, shoulders slumped, flexing her left hand, staring at fingers ruddy from years of gardening, an old scar from the metal strap on a pallet of mulch, the indentation in her ring finger from five years of wedding band.

Flex, straighten.

Watching the veins and muscles beneath the skin, Lucy Kerr realized something. That Amelia Sachs’s crime had tapped into an anger within her that was more intense than anything she’d ever felt.

When they took part of her body away she’d felt ashamed and then forlorn. When her husband left she’d felt guilty and resigned. And when she finally grew mad at those events she was angry in a way that suggested embers—an anger that radiates immense heat but never bursts into flames.

But for a reason she couldn’t understand, this woman cop from New York had let the simple white-hot fury burst from Lucy’s heart—like the wasps that had streamed out of the nest and killed Ed Schaeffer so horribly.

White-hot fury at the betrayal of Lucy Kerr, who never intentionally caused a soul pain, who was a woman who loved plants, a woman who’d been a good wife to her man, a good daughter to her parents, a good sister, a good policewoman, a woman who wanted only the harmless pleasures life gave freely to everyone else but seemed determined to withhold from her.

No more shame or guilt or resignation or sorrow.

Simple fury—at the betrayals in her life. The betrayal by her body, by her husband, by God.

And now by Amelia Sachs.

“Hello, Lucy?” Pete asked from Elizabeth City. “You there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“You … are you okay? You sound funny.”

She cleared her throat. “Fine. You set up?”

“You’re good to go. When’s the subject going to be making a call?”

Lucy looked into the other room. Called, “Ready?”

Rhyme nodded.

Into the phone she said, “Any time now.”