LITMIR.BIZ

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and brushes. If she couldn’t paint, there would be nothing to hold her home. And he needed her. Why hadn’t he told her so before? Why had he let her go? Because he’d never been good with words—at least the out loud kind.

      “Painting. Writing. Organizing,” Dr. Iverson said. “With the temporal lobe involved, she may also have problems with memory. But it’s really too early to tell.”

      The ticking stopped and something seemed to implode. “Memory? As in amnesia?”

      Dr. Iverson shrugged. “Amnesia. Short-term memory.”

      “Temporary?” His fists curled. What if she couldn’t remember him? Their life together? She would remember. She had to.

      “We’ll hope for the best.”

      Hope? Doctors were supposed to do more than hope. They were supposed to have answers. There was always some other trail to sniff, some other trigger to follow, some other fact to unearth. “Can’t you run some tests? There must be something you can do.”

      “We’ve done everything we can for now. When she wakes up, we’ll do a full neurological workup designed to tell us problems with reasoning, memory and other brain functions—”

      “When will that be?”

      “There’s no way to tell. The sooner the better.”

      A squawky announcement over the P.A. system had the doctor cocking his head. Was it standard procedure? Give the doctor two minutes with the family, then page him to save him from their stupid questions? “I want to see her.”

      Dr. Iverson nodded. Without a goodbye, he spun on his heels and squeaked his way down the green hall and through the beige swinging double doors.

      Sebastian fought the urge to follow him, grab him by the collar and shake him until he had answers. But the doctor couldn’t give him answers he didn’t have.

      Amnesia. Brain damage. He did not want to go there. She’d be okay. She had to.

      His beeper vibrated against his hip. He didn’t bother glancing at it. Sutton was probably three shades of purple by now. But he’d have to wait. Kershaw was after Olivia. He had to make sure Olivia was safe before he focused on Kershaw.

      What if he isn’t after Olivia? What if you read him wrong because of your fear for her? Then Kershaw’s timeline was getting bigger by the minute. Sebastian dragged a hand over his face. Don’t go there. Olivia’s accident on the heels of Kershaw’s escape was too much of a coincidence.

      The beeper’s renewed massage centered him. What do you know? You know Kershaw wants to hurt you through Olivia. You know he means to keep his promise. You know he’s on his way.

      Don’t you?

      He took his handheld computer from his pocket and punched in numbers. He was letting his fear for Olivia screw up basics. First things first. Check to see if the fugitives were back into custody.

      Not as of five minutes ago. That would be too easy.

      Kershaw’s transfer was to the new federal prison in Berlin, and he had a mother who lived in Nashua. She’d been vocal in her demands for a closer incarceration so she could visit. Cruel and unusual punishment having her boy so far away, she’d claimed. As if sonny’s kidnappings, rapes, armed robberies, felony assaults and murders were nothing more than school-yard scuffles. She’d abet her worthless spawn in a second and lie through her false teeth about it. He made a note to put a check on her telephone records and tack on some surveillance.

      The safest thing for Kershaw to do was to hunker down. Hunkering down meant getting outside help. But Kershaw also had an agenda. He’d keep moving. Moving, he made a target. All Sebastian had to do was connect the dots.

      And protect Olivia.

      He swore. One was never supposed to touch the other. That was the agreement. That was the plan. How could he be two places at once? How could he stay by Olivia’s side and stalk Kershaw?

      He had to find a way or else all he’d built over the last twenty years was worth nothing.

      “BING!” UP POPPED the instant-message window asking if he wanted to accept a message. He clicked yes when he saw Okie’s name highlighted on his buddy list.

      Okie: Hey, I think something’s gone wrong.

      Sk8Thor: No slip, sliding?

      Okie: Slip, slide all right. Slip slide right into a coma.

      Sk8Thor: Him?

      Okie: Her. U said it’d B ok.

      Sk8Thor: He’s hurting, isn’t he?

      Okie: Yes.

      Sk8Thor: That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?

      Okie: Yes.

      Sk8Thor: Then what’s wrong?

      He could feel the hesitation and cursed it. That’s what came of counting on someone else. But this required finesse, and one trick he’d learned long ago was how to make the best of any hand he was dealt. This one was too sweet to pass up.

      Sk8Thor: He wouldn’t help u when u needed it. He had to pay, didn’t he?

      Okie: Yes, but, she’s nice, u know. I didn’t want 2 c her hurt so bad.

      Sk8Thor: This way he’s hurting more. You’re not gonna quit on me, are u?

      Okie: 2 late now.

      That’s right. Too late now. You’re my hands and eyes, and you’re my fall guy. One by one he was going to breach each of Falconer’s defenses. Then he’d pull the last pin and watch while all Falconer stood for caved in around him. How far did you have to push a man to betray his ideals? Not as far as most people thought. Affluence made people cream cheese soft. Falconer thought he knew it all, thought he could shed one skin and slip into another without the fat at the seams showing. But Sk8Thor saw through the stitches. A man’s heart never changed. And Falconer’s heart was as black as his. Sk8Thor was lean and mean and hungry. And Falconer, even wearing his hunter skin, couldn’t compete with a lifetime of surviving in the sewers.

      Falconer didn’t stand a chance.

      “Time to set up for show-and-tell.” He typed one last note to Okie and pressed the send button. Laughing, he asked the screen, “Who do you trust, Falconer? Who do you trust?”

      Chapter Three

      When Sebastian could no longer put off Sutton, he stepped out of Olivia’s room and got out his phone. Leaning against the hallway wall, he tried to blink away the image of Olivia’s too-still body, but it was etched into his brain. Every detail of angry bruises on chalky skin became a horrid scene filled with accusations. As he punched in Sutton’s number, he started to stride. The only way to stay ahead of the nightmare was to move.

      “Where the hell are you?” Sutton barked.

      “Hospital.” Sebastian paced the outside of Olivia’s room as if it were a cage.

      Sutton swore more colorfully than a seasoned sailor. “What happened?”

      “Kershaw got to Olivia.”

      Sebastian wished for static over the clean phone line. Anything to break the density of Sutton’s silence.

      “Are you sure?” Sutton asked.

      Sutton liked black and white, but Sutton hadn’t worked the field in a long time. And the field was nothing but shades of gray.

      At Sebastian’s silence, Sutton cursed again. “Not the gut thing.”

      Never mind that gut was often the thing that broke a case wide open. “Kershaw swore he’d get back at me through Olivia. The fact Olivia was hurt the same day as Kershaw’s escape can’t be coincidence.”

      “Got anything to back you up?”

      “Soon,”

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