Jim Bell stepped into the office across the hall and took the call. He spoke for a few minutes then trotted back into the lab. He said excitedly, “We’ve got ’em! They pinpointed her cell phone signal. She’s on the move, going west on Route 112. They got past the roadblock.”

Rhyme asked, “How?”

“Looks like they snuck into Davett’s parking lot and stole a truck or four-by-four then drove off the road for a while and got back on the highway. Man, that took some serious driving.”

That’s my Amelia, Rhyme thought. That woman can drive up walls…

Bell continued, “She’s going to ditch the car and get another one.”

“How do you know?”

“She’s on the phone with a car rental company in Hobeth Falls. Lucy and the others’re after her, silent pursuit. We’re talking to Davett’s people to see who’s missing a vehicle from the lot. But we don’t need a description if she just stays on the line a little longer. Another few minutes and the tech people’ll have the exact location.”

Lincoln Rhyme stared at the map—though it was by now imprinted on his mind. After a moment he sighed then muttered, “Good luck.”

But whether that wish was directed toward predator or toward prey, he couldn’t have said.

… chapter twenty-six

Lucy Kerr nudged the Crown Victoria up to eighty.

You drive fast, Amelia?

Well, so do I.

They were speeding along Route 112, the gumball machine on top of the car spinning madly with its red, white and blue lights. The siren was off. Jesse Corn was beside her, on the phone with Pete Gregg in the Elizabeth City state police office. In the squad car directly behind them were Trey Williams and Ned Spoto. Mason Germain and Frank Sturgis—a quiet man and a recent grandfather—were in the third car.

“Where are they now?” Lucy asked.

Jesse asked the state police this question and nodded as he received an answer. He said, “Only five miles away. They turned off the highway, heading south.”

Please, Lucy offered yet another prayer, please, stay on the phone just a minute more.

She nudged the accelerator closer to the floor.

You drive fast, Amelia. I drive fast.

You’re a good shot.

But I’m a good shot too. I don’t make a show of it like you do, what with all that fancy quick-draw crap, but I’ve lived with guns all my life.

Recalling that when Buddy left her she took every round of live ammo in the house and pitched them into the murky waters of Blackwater Canal. Worrying that she might wake up one night, glance at his empty side of the bed and then wrap her lips around the oily barrel of her service revolver and send herself to the place where her husband, and nature, seemed to want her to be.