Heartbreaker

Chapter 16

Nick wasn’t talking to her. Laurant assumed he was still furious because she had insisted upon returning to Holy Oaks. After she’d taunted the madman to come and get her, Nick had gone a little crazy. And that was putting it mildly. Tommy heard all the commotion and came running, with Noah hot on his tail. As soon as Nick told her brother what she’d done, Tommy joined in the shouting match, but she held her own and stood up to them. Pete and Noah came to her assistance, flanking her sides like protective guardians. They defended her plan, and after what seemed like an hour of battling, Tommy finally caved. The phone call convinced him that the man wasn’t going to forget Laurant, and if the FBI didn’t set a trap and catch the animal, then she would be on the run or in hiding for the rest of her life.

And while the unsub was playing his hide-and-seek game with her, he would, no doubt, be preying on other women.

They had no other choice.

Unfortunately, Nick hadn’t seen it that way, and thus far she’d been unsuccessful in penetrating his anger. Pete had once again suggested that Nick step aside, repeating his earlier argument that he was simply too close to the situation and couldn’t be objective. Nick refused to listen, but when Morganstern threatened to take the choice away from him and have him removed from the case, Nick saw Tommy’s stricken expression, and then he too caved.

Pete made a call to Frank O’Leary to get the ball rolling.

Now, she was finally on her way home, sitting side by side with Nick on a US Air Express plane that was taking them from Kansas City to Des Moines. They would drive the rest of the way. Pete told her a car would be waiting at the airport. Her automobile was going into the shop for repairs in Kansas City, and as soon as the work was finished, Tommy and Noah would drive it back to Holy Oaks.

She didn’t want to think about what was going to happen once she got there. She nervously flipped through the pages of Time magazine, even tried to read an article about inflation, but she couldn’t concentrate, and after rereading the same paragraph three times, she gave up.

How long was Nick going to give her the silent treatment? He had stopped talking the minute they’d entered the airport.

"You’re being childish."

He didn’t respond. She turned to look at him and noticed how gray his complexion was.

"Are you sick?"

A curt shake of his head was her only answer. Then she noticed his grip on the armrest. "Nick, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong."

"Then why won’t you talk to me?"

"We’ll talk later, after the plane lands… unless…"

"Unless what?"

"We crash and die in a fiery ball."

"You’re joking."

"No, I’m not."

She couldn’t believe it. Macho Man was afraid of flying. He looked like he was going to throw up. His fear was real, and no matter how funny she thought it was, she forced herself to be sympathetic.

"You don’t like flying much, do you?"

"No," he answered curtly before turning to stare out the window again.

"Want to hold my hand?"

"It isn’t funny, Laurant."

She plied his hand away from the armrest and slipped her fingers through his. "I wasn’t teasing. Lots of people don’t like to fly."

"Is that right?"

His grip was firm and she could feel the calluses on his hand. Working man’s hands, but today he was dressed like an executive on Wall Street. Another contradiction, she thought, another layer of his personality she found puzzling and fascinating. Tommy and Nick seemed so different from each other. They certainly had chosen different paths. Her brother was dedicated to the church. He always looked for the good in others, and his primary goal was to save souls.

Nick seemed to have dedicated his life to fighting demons. His job was depressing and unending, and she wasn’t sure if the rewards were worth the price he paid. He seemed so cynical to her. He expected people to be bad, and thus far, he hadn’t been disappointed.

The urge to comfort him took her by surprise. She leaned close and whispered, "We’re almost there."

"We aren’t there until or unless we land."

He was proving to be difficult to comfort. "Landings aren’t dangerous-"

He snorted. "As long as the pilot knows what the hell he’s doing."

"I’m sure he knows what he’s doing. Pilots are trained to land planes."

"Maybe."

"We’ve only got a few more minutes to go. We’re making our final descent."

His grip on her hand tightened. "How do you know that?"

"The captain just told the attendants to sit down."

"Did you hear the landing gear go down? I sure as hell didn’t hear it."

"I did."

"You’re sure?"

"Yes, I’m sure."

He took a breath and told himself to calm down. "You do know that this is when most accidents happen, don’t you? Pilots misjudge the runway."

"Did you read that somewhere?"

"No, I just figured it out. Simple physics. Things go wrong… human error. Think about it. One man’s trying to ease down over a hundred fifty tons of metal on a couple of little rubber rollers. It’s a damned miracle every time a plane lands."

She maintained a somber expression. "I see. Then you believe that if man were meant to fly, he would be born with wings."

"Something like that."

"Nick?"

"What?" Now he sounded surly.

"In your line of work… don’t you have to dodge bullets… and don’t you go into life-and-death situations sometimes? You’re an FBI agent for heaven’s sake. The cream of the crop. Yet you’re afraid of a little plane ride."

"Ironic, isn’t it?"

She ignored the sarcasm in his voice. "I think you should talk to someone about this. Pete could help. He’s a psychiatrist, and he could surely help you get over this… worry."

He didn’t feel like telling her that Pete’s amusement at his phobia matched hers. "Maybe," he shrugged.

Because he was looking at her, he didn’t notice the ground coming up to meet the plane. The landing was smooth and uneventful, and by the time they had taxied to the gate, Nick’s complexion was looking healthy again.

"Don’t you want to get down on your knees and kiss the ground?" she asked.

"It’s plain cruel to make fun of a man’s phobias, Laurant."

"I wasn’t making fun."

"Sure you were," he replied. He moved into the aisle, flipped open the overhead compartment, and pulled the bags down "You’ve got a real mean streak inside you."

He stepped back so she could stand in front of him. "I do?"

"Yeah. I like that."

She laughed. "Pretty cocky now that you’ve got your feet on the ground, aren’t you?"

"I’m always cocky," he boasted as he nudged her toward the exit.

The airport was surprisingly crowded. As they threaded their way toward the baggage claim area, Nick noticed the number of men admiring Laurant. One man didn’t even try to be subtle. He did a double take, then turned completely around and followed them. Nick responded by throwing his arm around Laurant’s shoulders and pulling her into his side.

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure you stay close," he answered. He shot the gawker a hostile look, then grinned when the man turned and hurried the other way.

"You wear your skirts too short."

"I do not."

"Okay, then you wear your legs too long."

"What’s the matter with you?"

"Nothing. Keep moving."

He continued to scan faces as they walked through the crowd. He had to let go of her when they reached the escalator. She was frowning at him, but it was too late to take back the comment about her skirt.

An agent was waiting for them outside the baggage area. The car, a 1999 Explorer, was parked in a No Loading zone. The agent handed Nick a folder stuffed with papers and the keys to the car, and then loaded their luggage into the back. Two airport security guards were huddled together on the sidewalk, shaking their heads and muttering over the fact that they couldn’t do anything about the illegally parked vehicle.

The agent drew her attention then when he opened a large black case that was tucked into the rear corner of the cargo area. When she saw the display of weapons, she took an involuntary step back. Nick noticed. "It’s not too late to change your mind."

She straightened her shoulders. "Yes, it is."

The agent opened the passenger door for her, wished her good hunting, and then disappeared inside the terminal.

Nick tossed his jacket into the backseat and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt as he got in behind the wheel, pushing the seat back as far as it would go to accommodate his long legs. There was a leather console between them. Inside was a map of Iowa.

Laurant knew the way home, of course, but Nick still checked the route that someone had outlined with yellow Hi-Liter.

"Did you hear what your friend said to me?" she asked.

"What’s that?" he wondered, glancing up from the paper he held in his hand.

"Good hunting."

Nick nodded. "Yeah, we always say that," he explained. "Superstition."

"Like ‘break a leg’ before you go onstage?"

"Yes."

She let him finish reading, and after he’d placed the file folder in the back, she asked, "Was there anything important?"

"Just some update stuff."

"We better get going."

"Are you in a hurry?"

"No, but those security policemen look like they want to cry because they can’t give you a ticket."

Nick waved to the guards as he pulled out into traffic. "Are you hungry?"

"No," she answered. "What about you?"

"I can wait."

"Was there anything in the folder about the letter that man told Tommy he’d mailed to the Kansas City police?"

"No, they still haven’t gotten anything."

"Why would he tell Tommy he’d mailed it when he obviously hadn’t?"

"I don’t know. Maybe he was toying with him. I’ll let Pete figure that one out."

She was silent as Nick maneuvered through the heavy traffic. Once they were on the highway, he rolled up his sleeves and settled back in his seat. He had the next two hours to prepare her. He went through the list of all the things she wasn’t going to do and ended with the same reminder he’d given her at least ten times now.

"You don’t believe anything anyone tells you, and you don’t go anywhere without me. You got that?"

"Yes, I’ve got it."

"Not even the ladies’ room in a restaurant."

"I know. Not even the ladies’ room."

He nodded, appeased for the moment. She wasn’t fooled. She knew he’d go through the list again in another hour or so. "Let’s go over your daily routine again."

"You should have it memorized by now."

"Okay, let’s see if I do. We get up around seven o’clock every morning, do our stretching exercises-"

"To limber up," she supplied.

"Yeah, right, and then we go running… God help me… three and a half miles, start to finish. We take the path around the lake, beginning at the western tip, and we always go in the same direction."

"Yes."

"I hate running. It’s bad for the knees, you know."

"I find it invigorating. Maybe you will too," she said. "You look like you’re in good shape. You can run three and a half miles, can’t you?"

"Sure I can, but I’m going to be bitching the entire time."

She laughed. "I’ll look forward to that."

"Okay, so then we go back home and…"

When he paused, she assumed she was supposed to continue.

"And we shower and change into work clothes, and then we walk two blocks to the town square. I’ll spend most of the day getting my loft organized and unpacking boxes while the workmen finish up downstairs. With any luck at all, they should be done soon. I want to be open by the Fourth of July."

"That doesn’t give you much time."

"You’ll probably be back in Boston by the Fourth."

"You’re being optimistic. I could be in Holy Oaks for a month, maybe longer."

"How can you afford to take so much time?"

"I promised your brother. I’m not leaving until we catch him… or…"

"Or what?"

"If he goes to ground, and I have to leave for whatever reason, I’m taking you with me. Don’t even think about arguing about that," he warned.

"I won’t, but you know what I think?"

"No, what?"

"I think it’s going to happen fast. I don’t think we’re going to have to wait long."

Nick nodded. "I feel the same. The way he sounded on the phone… yeah, he’s gonna be coming after you fast. Pete thinks so too."

"Good. I want this to be over as soon as possible."

"Yeah, well, God willing, it will be. You know, you’re going to be sick of me by the time I leave."

"On the contrary, I’m sure you’ll be sick of me."

"I doubt it. I’ll warn you now. I’m going to be taking a lot of liberties. Fact is, I’m going to be all over you." He glanced at her before continuing. "The goal is to make the unsub crazed with jealousy. Right? And so angry, he’ll make that one little mistake…"

"And then you can get him."

"That’s the plan. But I probably won’t be the one nailing him. Neither will Noah for that matter."

"Why do you think that?"

"Noah’s going to be busy baby-sitting Tommy, and I’ll be busy… mauling you. I’m kind of looking forward to that. So tell me something. What kind of kisser are you?"

She attempted a southern accent when she answered in a slow drawl, "I’m very… very… good."

He laughed. "How do you know you’re good?"

"Andre Percelli," she said. "He kissed me, and he told me I was good. That’s how I know."

"You never mentioned this Andre guy before. Who the hell is he?"

"We met in fourth grade. But alas, our love affair ended as quickly as it had begun. We were in the cafeteria line when he kissed me, and I ended it then and there."

Nick smiled. "How come?"

"He wasn’t a good kisser."

"But you were."

"That’s what Andre told me before I punched him."

He laughed. "You were a tough little kid, weren’t you?"

"I could hold my own. I still can," she boasted.

"So, whatever happened to Andre?"

"Nothing happened to him. Last I heard, he was married with two babies."

Nick changed the subject back to her routine. "We never talked about the evenings. What do you do at night?"

Laurant was digging through her purse, looking for her hair clip. "Yes we did talk about the evenings," she reminded him. "And I told you that there’s something scheduled every night for the next two weeks."

"Because of the wedding you’re going to be in?"

"Partly," she answered. "But also because I promised the abbot I’d help clean out the attic. He’s spring cleaning before the anniversary celebration."

"Which is also happening on the Fourth of July. Bad timing," he added.

"The wedding’s the Saturday before," she told him. She found the clip at the bottom of her purse.

"This anniversary thing… it’s going to be a mess. I hope to God we get this tied up before then. Tommy told me the town’s going to be loaded with strangers coming in from all over the United States."

She pulled her hair back and clipped it in place. "Actually, they’ll be coming in from Europe too," she said. "Assumption Abbey opened its doors one hundred years ago. There might even be a cardinal attending."

"Great," he muttered. "It’s going to be a security nightmare. I’m telling you, Laurant, if we don’t catch this creep quick, I’m getting you out of there until the celebration is over."

"Agreed," she replied. "Pete said to take it a day at a time, remember?"

"Until the first of July. Then we leave."

She put her hand up. "I’m not arguing with you, but it doesn’t give us much time."

"Unless he makes his move fast. Listen, it’s real important you don’t… relax. You understand? Relaxing your guard can be dangerous."

"I know and I won’t relax. Could I ask you something?"

"What?"

"If I weren’t me… what I mean to say is… if I weren’t your best friend’s sister and we were complete strangers to each other before this happened, then would you have been as resistant to setting a trap?"

"You mean using you as bait?"

"Yes."

"The problem is, you are my friend’s sister. I can’t separate that."

"But what if…?"

Nick’s immediate reaction was to tell her yes, he would have been just as resistant because he knew firsthand how plans could blow up in your face, but after mulling the theoretical question over in his mind for another minute, he admitted it was a golden opportunity and he probably wouldn’t pass it up.

"It’s fifty-fifty."

"Meaning?"

"I’d weigh the dangers against the possibility of catching this creep before he kills again. And then…"

"Then what?"

He sighed. "I’d go for the trap."

"Have you ever been scared?"

"Hell, yes. I’ve seen what can happen. We don’t always get the bad guys, Laurant, no matter what you’ve seen on television. Sometimes, they stay on the loose for years. The son of a bitch on the top of the ‘most wanted’ list, Emmett Haskell, broke out of a high-security mental ward in Michigan over a year ago, and we still haven’t caught up with him."

"What did he do?"

"He killed a lot of people. That’s what he did. Seven dead so far, but those are only the ones we know about. There could be more. Haskell told the shrinks that killing brought him good luck. He liked to bet the horses and always went to the track the first Saturday of every month, so the first Friday of every month, he had to kill someone. Didn’t matter who," he added. "Anyone would do. Man, woman, child. He was real partial to women though. The prettier, the better… for luck, you see."

"Tommy told me…"

"What?"

"You hadn’t told him in confidence or he never would have said anything, but I asked him why he was so worried about you and he mentioned…"

He knew where she was leading-the Stark case. He had told Tommy about that one, hoping that talking about it would help him forget. It hadn’t helped him though, not one little bit.

"He mentioned I killed a woman, right?"

"Yes."

"I did what I had to do."

"You don’t have to defend your actions to me, Nick."

"There really wasn’t any other choice. Maybe if I’d been a little smarter about it, I could have gotten her cuffed… but I left the house, and that gave her time to get the kid and prepare."

A shiver ran down her arms. "Prepare for what?"

"Me. She knew I was coming back, and she wanted me to watch her kill the little boy."

Laurant saw the troubled look that crossed Nick’s eyes. "How do you get rid of it?" she asked. "Do you block out the memories?"

"No, I don’t block anything out. I deal with it."

"But how?"

He shrugged. "I keep busy."

"Keeping busy isn’t dealing with it."

"Don’t you tell Noah I said this, but sometimes I wish I were more like him. He can shrug it all off when he has to."

She disagreed. "He’s paying a price, just like you. He’s just got tougher shields."

"Yeah, maybe. But as long as animals like Haskell and Stark are out there, I can’t relax. I want to get them."

"There’s always going to be another one, isn’t there? Nick, you need a normal life outside of your work."

"Now you sound like Pete, and this is damned heavy chitchat."

He picked up the phone, punched in a number, and then spoke into the mouthpiece, "We’re taking the next exit and finding something to eat. By the way, you’re following too close."

After he’d put the phone back, she turned around to look out the back window. "The blue car, right?"

"No, the gray Honda behind the blue."

"How long have they been following us?"

"Since we left the airport. This car has a tracking device with a fifty-mile radius, and once we’re in Holy Oaks, Jules Wesson, the senior agent in charge of this operation, will always have us under surveillance."

"That won’t do us much good. It’s a little town, and we’ll walk as much as we drive."

"You’re going to be wearing a cute little tracking device too. I’m not sure what it will be in, but probably a pin or a bracelet."

It was actually comforting to know that the FBI would be tracking her as she moved about town.

"I’m sure Jules Wesson is efficient, but I still wish that Pete were in Holy Oaks."

"He wouldn’t be much good there. He’s never been a field agent. Jules Wesson and Noah and I will feed him information as we get it, and hopefully Pete will be able to figure out the where and when and how. Think there’s a decent place to eat in Sweetwater? That’s the next exit."

"There’s a diner in the center of town. The food’s actually pretty good."

"What are you in the mood for?"

"A big, juicy hamburger with pickles. And fries. Lots of French fries."

"Sounds good to me."

She didn’t need to give him directions. Sweetwater boasted one main street, aptly named Main Street, and the diner was located right smack in the middle of it.

Laurant slid into a booth by the front window. Nick sat down beside her. There wasn’t much room.

"Don’t you want to sit across from me?" she asked.

"No," he replied as he reached for the sticky, plasticized menu standing on end behind the salt and pepper shakers. "We’re gonna start practicing this lovey-dovey stuff."

Nick ordered two double hamburgers, a double order of fries, and two glasses of milk. She told him he ate like a farmhand, and that reminded him of a story about her brother involving the cafeteria line at college. By the time Nick finished recounting the incident, she was laughing so hard, there were tears in her eyes. She had no idea Tommy had been such a prankster.

"He started the food fight?"

"Tommy wasn’t always a priest," Nick reminded her.

He told her another story, and then another. A couple of times the other patrons of the diner turned at the sound of their laughter. They saw a young couple completely at ease with each other.

Laurant was thoroughly relaxed by the time they got back into the car and headed out again.

"Maybe you should slow down. I don’t see the gray car," she said.

"That’s the way it’s supposed to work. You aren’t supposed to see them."

"Are they going to follow us all the way to Holy Oaks."

"Yes, they are."

"How many agents are there waiting for us?"

"Enough."

"Isn’t this costing a lot of money?"

"We want to get him, Laurant. Cost isn’t important."

"Yes, but what happens if it takes longer than everyone expects?"

"Then it takes longer."

Laurant removed the clip and let her hair fall around her shoulders, then she tilted the seat back. She had just closed her eyes when Nick said, "I don’t get it."

"What don’t you get?"

"You… living in such a little town."

"I like it."

"I don’t believe it. You’re a big-city girl at heart."

"Actually, I’m not at all. I grew up in a little village."

"Your grandfather happened to own the village," he pointed out. "You lived on an estate. You can call it a small town if you want."

"And I went to school in a tiny little town. It was almost cloistered. I really like Holy Oaks, Nick. The people there are good and decent. And it’s beautiful. And peaceful… at least it used to be Peaceful."

"Yeah, well if you like it so much, how come you rent the house you live in? Why didn’t you buy it?"

"I wanted to concentrate on the business first," she explained "And Mrs. Talbot didn’t want to sell the house just yet. She raised her family there, and even though she’s living in a nursing home now, she isn’t ready to let it go. I’m thinking about buying a cabin on the lake. It needs a lot of work though."

"How come you haven’t already purchased it?"

"Steve Brenner."

"The Holy Oaks Advancement Society guy?"

"He owns the cabin."

"I think the guy wants to own you."

"What?"

"It seems that when Agents Farley and Feinberg went into your house, the neighbor lady called the sheriff and he came running."

"L.A. doesn’t run anywhere."

"The sheriff’s name is L.A.?"

She smiled. "Lard Ass," she explained. "Everyone calls him that. He isn’t highly thought of in Holy Oaks."

"I guess not."

"I didn’t mean to interrupt. What happened when the sheriff showed up? Did he know they were FBI? They must have told him."

"No, they didn’t and wouldn’t tell him anything, but the odd thing is, he never asked. He was busy telling them all about Steve Brenner’s designs on you. Seems Brenner’s telling everyone he’s going to marry you."

"He’s such a jerk."

"Sounds like it. One of the agents told the sheriff all about our hot and heavy relationship, and he couldn’t wait to leave."

"No doubt to tell Steve."

"No doubt."

"He’s the kind of man who has trouble understanding he can’t get everything he wants."

"I’ll help him understand."

She wasn’t sure how he planned to do that, but the tone of his voice indicated he was looking forward to it.

It seemed that the time spent driving to Holy Oaks sped by faster than the actual miles. They were comfortable together. They discussed music-they both liked classical and country. They argued politics-she was a die-hard liberal, and he was a full-blown conservative. And he kept her fascinated with funny stories about growing up in a large family. Before she realized it, Nick was slowing down to take the exit to Holy Oaks.

"We’ll be home before dark," she remarked.

Nick turned serious. "Laurant, there are a couple of things I need to tell you."

"Yes?"

"Farley and Feinberg… the agents I mentioned a while ago."

"Yes?"

"When they searched your house, they found a video camera."

"Where did they find it?"

"In the linen closet upstairs. There was a perfectly drilled little hole about half the size of an aspirin. The camera’s eye was facing your bed. You never would have noticed it. It’s right in the center of a flower in your wallpaper."

She felt as though all the air had been knocked out of her lungs. She spun around in her seat and unconsciously clutched his forearm. "And you’re just now telling me?"

"I thought you could use a little respite from this nightmare. If I’d told you when we first got in the car, you would have been worrying about it all the way home. Am I wrong?"

"How long has it been there?"

"Awhile," he answered. "There was dust on it, so it’s been there for some time, at least a week or two, but I can’t tell you exactly how many days and nights. The serial number was filed off."

"Don’t ever hold back information again. All right? When you hear something new, you tell me right away."

"We’re going to be living together. I’ll tell you everything."

"Until death do us part?" she asked sarcastically, but her sarcasm was tinged with fear.

"No, until we catch him."

She released her grip on his arm. "I’m sorry I snapped at you. You did warn me. You told me he’d been in my house and that he’d watched me sleep. He’s seen me…"

She didn’t go on. She turned to look out the window so he wouldn’t see how shaken she was. She pictured herself getting dressed and undressed. Some nights when the air conditioner wasn’t cooling sufficiently, she’d slept in the nude. And all of it was on tape.

She looked down at her lap and saw that she’d broken the hair clip. "I feel like I’ve done something I should be ashamed of. There were nights when I didn’t feel like wearing a nightgown. It was hot," she defended.

"What you do in the privacy of your own bedroom…"

"But that’s just it," she cried out. "I haven’t done anything. I slept. That’s all. I certainly haven’t been entertaining any men, but what if I had? God, this is so sick."

"Laurant-"

"Don’t you dare say it."

"Say what?"

"That it isn’t too late for me to change my mind."

He pulled over to the side of the road, put the car in park, and then nodded toward the sign to the right. It was the Holy Oaks city limit.

"Are you giving me one last chance to change my mind?" she asked.

"No."

"Then why did you stop?"

"To tell you that you’ve got to stop freaking out every time you hear something… unpleasant. There are going to be some surprises, and I’m going to try my damnedest to anticipate, but you’ve got to… handle it. You understand? I can’t be worried about how you’re reacting and try to put you back together every time you-"

She put her hand on his arm, gently this time. "I promise. I won’t freak out. At least I’ll try not to."

He could hear the determination in her voice, see it in her eyes. "You’ve got guts," he said as he changed gears and pulled out onto the highway.

She was suddenly cold. She turned the air conditioner down and rubbed her arms. "Did they find the tape? Was it in the camera? Those tapes don’t last very long, do they? Just a couple of hours. How did he change it? Has he been going back and forth into my house… my bedroom? If he has, he’s been taking quite a risk of being seen."

"The camera’s operated with a transmitter, which means he’s watching your bedroom on a monitor somewhere. I’ll show it to you when we get there. It’s a fairly simple motion sensitive device." He added, frowning, "High school stuff really-and that’s what bothers me about it. Whoever set up the equipment wasn’t a pro, but he got the job done."

"Why does that bother you?"

"It just doesn’t seem very clever for our boy," he explained. "Like I said, it isn’t high-tech, and our unsub seems like the kind who would go to great lengths to make it slick… perfect. His goal is to impress us."

"And you weren’t impressed."

"Exactly."

Nodding, she turned to look out the window again. "We’re almost home."

Nick turned left onto Assumption Road, a two-lane highway. Someone had partially blackened the road sign with paint so that only the first three letters, A-s-s, were visible. Nick grinned when he saw it.

"The high school kids do that at least once a year," she explained. "They think it’s funny."

"It is funny."

"Then you probably watch the Simpsons on television, don’t you?"

"I never miss it."

"I don’t either," she admitted. "Messing with the sign makes the abbot furious. Disrespectful and all that. Are we going home first, or do you want to go to the lake to see Jules Wesson? Tommy told me he arranged for the agents to use the abbot’s cabin."

"Let’s go check in with Wesson first. I turn on Oak Street, don’t I?"

"Yes. You’d make a left on Oak if you were going to my house and a right to get to the lake."

The twin steeples of Assumption Abbey rose up in the distance. The gothic structure had been built on top of a hill overlooking the pristine little town. It was magnificent. The drab grayness of the massive stone edifice was intermittently broken by brilliant stained glass windows, and a long, winding path led up to the doors.

Nick slowed the car as he drove past the wrought iron fence that surrounded the property. There were giant oaks everywhere. They clustered protectively against the north and south sides of the structure, like flying buttresses strengthening the outside walls.

"It looks like a cathedral," he remarked softly, as though they were inside the church now.

"The renovation has been going on for a long time. It’s become a town project to raise funds to restore it," she said. "It’s almost finished," she added, "… the main church anyway. The chapel still needs work. We’ll have to come up here and walk around. The gardens are beautiful this time of year."

"Which came first? The chicken or the egg?"

She understood what he was asking. "Assumption Abbey was founded by an order of priests from Belgium, and it was here long before the town developed. Our population is quite diverse. There was an influx of immigrants after World War II."

"Why would they come all the way to Holy Oaks, Iowa?"

"Didn’t Tommy tell you anything about the history of this town?"

"No, he didn’t."

"The immigrants followed Father Henri VanKirk. He died last year. I wish I could have known him. He was an incredible man. During the war, he helped countless numbers of families escape the Germans, but he was eventually captured and tortured by the Nazis. When he was finally released, he came to America, and his superiors sent him here to heal. Quite a few of the families he had helped had lost everything, and they followed him. They rebuilt their lives and made Holy Oaks their home."

"After Father VanKirk died, the abbot found his journals. He thought they would offer inspiration to people, and so he decided to have them all translated into English. Everyone’s been so busy getting ready for the anniversary celebration, there hasn’t been time, but as soon as it’s over, I’m supposed to begin the translation and save it all on the computer."

"Is Father VanKirk buried here?"

"Yes, he is. There’s a cemetery on the other side of the abbey. Magnificent oak trees, bigger than the ones you see beside the church, circle the grounds…"

"And that’s why this place is called Holy Oaks, right?"

She smiled. "Right. They protect the ground where the angels sleep."

Nick nodded. "Where the angels sleep. I like that."

"What do you think of the town? It’s pretty, isn’t it?"

White clapboard houses lined the paved brick streets. The streetlights looked like old-fashioned gas lights. Nick knew they were electric. Still, they were a nice touch and made the town all the more quaint.

"Holy Oaks reminds me of a New England town. It’s got that kind of charm. Does your house have a white picket fence?"

"No, but my neighbor’s does."

They reached the stop sign on Oak. Nick turned right and headed down another tree-lined street. The branches formed a canopy from one side to the other. "I feel like I’m in a time warp. I keep expecting to see Richie Cunningham driving down the street in a ‘57 Chevy convertible."

"He lives two blocks over," she teased.

As they neared the lake, the houses became more modest. Built in the last half of the century, they sported more modern features like brick facades and split levels, but, like their older counterparts they were meticulously kept up. It was apparent that the families living here took pride in their homes and their town.

They passed a deserted baseball field, continued west, past a Phillips 66 filling station, through a pair of rough timber posts and into the park.

"This place is crammed with kids from the college in the spring and in the fall. The local high school kids take it over in the summer."

Nick rolled down his window. The earthy smell of the humus from the pine needles and the oak and birch leaves matted against the ground filled the air. They reached a fork in the road, and straight ahead was a clear lake. Shadows from the towering trees rippled on top of the glistening water with every faint breeze.

The cabin was tucked in between the trees. Nick pulled into the gravel driveway and turned off the motor.

"It doesn’t look like anyone’s home."

Laurant had just made the comment when the front door opened. Through the screen she could see a man with thick, black-rimmed glasses peering out at them.

Nick made her stay in the car until he came around and opened her door. His eyes were never still. He was constantly searching the area around them, barely paying her any attention at all as he offered her his hand.

"Is that man Jules Wesson?" Laurant asked.

"No, that’s Matt Feinberg. He’s our electronic nerd. He’s a nice guy too. You’ll like him."

The agent under discussion waited until they’d reached the porch, then opened the door and stepped back. He was average in appearance, medium height, brown hair and eyes, and he wore braces. He had a wonderful, sincere smile. He was holding a wad of wires in both hands, but he dropped them on the entry table so he could shake her hand.

After the preliminaries were exchanged, he asked, "Did Nick tell you that Farley and I went through your house?"

"Yes," she answered. "You’re the one who found the camera."

"That’s right. While we were inside, your neighbor called the sheriff, and he came running. He’s something else," he said, and then he filled her in on what they had told the sheriff about doing some repair work on her house. Then he turned to Nick. "As soon as Seaton puts in another phone line, we’ll be good to go. He’s working on it now."

"How many agents are here?"

Feinberg glanced up at the balcony before he answered. "Wesson isn’t sharing that information. I honestly don’t know how many are here, and if and when more are coming."

"Where is Wesson?"

"In the bedroom getting some papers. This is a nice place, isn’t it? If the circumstances were different, I’d want to camp out here. The lake reminds me of Walden Pond."

Nick nodded. "This is the cabin you ought to buy, Laurant," he said.

She agreed. The light was wonderful. Two-story picture windows brought the view of the lake inside. The living room and dining area had been combined into one large rectangle. The atmosphere was rustic, yet airy. It was cluttered now though. Computer boxes and other equipment were scattered about. The dining room table had been pushed against the far wall, and on top were two computers. It didn’t look like either one had been plugged in yet.

She heard a door open and looked up to the balcony just as Jules Wesson stepped out. He was talking on his mobile phone and was carrying a stack of papers.

Wesson was tall, wiry, and partially bald. He had piercing eyes, but after giving her and Nick only a brief glance, he ignored them and continued with his phone conversation. She watched him go to the table and put the papers down. Then Feinberg drew her attention again.

He handed her a gold watch. It looked like an old-fashioned Timex with a stretch band. "We’d like you to wear this, and we don’t ever want you to take it off, not even in the shower. It’s water repellent, of course. You could even go swimming with it. There’s a tracking device inside, and I’ll be monitoring your every move on that screen behind me. We want to know where you are at all times."

Laurant removed her own watch and slipped on the new one. She’d left her purse in the car and didn’t have any pockets, so she handed it to Nick, and he tucked it in the pocket of his shirt.

Wesson hung up the phone. He nodded to Laurant as Nick introduced her, but he didn’t waste any time on pleasantries. "I’m ready for him," he announced briskly. "But I don’t like surprises. You don’t leave Holy Oaks without getting my permission first. Understand?"

"Yes," she replied.

Wesson finally got around to acknowledging Nick. The commander was establishing a pecking order, letting Nick and Laurant know he was the man in charge. Even in a crisis, games were still played. What bullshit, Nick thought. He knew Wesson considered him competition, and no amount of talking would ever convince him that Nick wasn’t interested in fast tracking his way to the top.

Personally, Nick didn’t like Wesson one little bit, but he was stuck working with him, and he would make the best of the situation. Wesson had an ego the size of Iowa, but as long as he didn’t let it get in the way of the operation, Nick thought they’d get along just fine.

"Morganstern wants you to call him," Wesson said.

"They get anything on the phone call?"

Feinberg answered. "They were able to lock in on the call the unsub made to the rectory. The phone was owned by a woman named Tiffany Tyler, and the call was made just outside of St. Louis."

Feinberg stepped forward. "The highway patrol found her car parked on the shoulder of I-70. The left back tire was flat, and there wasn’t a spare in the trunk. We think that she willingly got into the unsub’s vehicle, but that’s just an assumption. We also think he never touched her car, but even so, our techs went over it from top to bottom, inside and out. It’s an old Chevy Caprice, and it was loaded with prints. They’re running them now."

"We don’t believe any of the prints belong to our unsub." Wesson directed his explanation at Laurant. "He’s careful, real careful."

Feinberg nodded. "And methodical," he added as he removed his glasses and began to clean them with his handkerchief. "There wasn’t a single smudge or half print on that tape or that envelope he left with the police."

"We want you to start irritating him," Wesson said. "Hopefully, he’ll lose control and mess up, and we’ll get a lucky break."

"Tiffany’s the woman I heard screaming over the phone, isn’t she?"

"Yes, she is," Wesson answered. "He used her phone to call you."

"Have you found her yet?"

"No." The answer was clipped, his lips pinched. He acted as though she had just criticized him personally.

"Maybe she’s still alive. Do you think-"

"Of course not," Wesson impatiently cut her off. "She’s dead, no doubt about it."

His cold attitude rattled her. "But why would he pick her up in the first place? If he’s so careful and if he does study his clients before he takes them on like he bragged, then why would he do such a spontaneous thing?"

Feinberg answered her. "We’re pretty certain he killed her to get our attention. He wants us to know he’s the real thing."

Nick took hold of her hand. "And Tiffany was… convenient. She was helpless and his for the taking."

Feinberg put his glasses back on, adjusted the rims around his ears, and said, "I forgot to mention that Farley and I went through your mail. It’s piled up on the table by your front door."

Laurant took the invasion of privacy in stride. Although it hadn’t occurred to her that the FBI would be opening her mail, the fact that they had didn’t bother her. They were simply being thorough, and that was something she appreciated.

Wesson took a step closer to Nick and said, "Just so you understand. You’re here solely as Laurant’s bodyguard. Your job is to protect her every minute."

Wesson’s tone had been antagonistic. Nick’s was mild in comparison. "I know what my job is."

"And the plan is to enrage the unsub, so both of you have got to put on a show everyone in town will believe."

Nick nodded. Wesson wasn’t quite finished putting Nick in his place. "My team will do the real work and catch this creep."

"The real work?" Nick repeated sarcastically. "We’re working this together, like it or not."

"You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Morganstern," Wesson pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I am here, and you’re going to have to deal with it."

The mood had turned hostile. They were like bulls getting ready to butt heads. Laurant squeezed Nick’s hand. "We should get going, don’t you think?"

Nick didn’t say another word. The phone rang just as he was opening the door to leave with Laurant. He turned back when he heard Wesson exclaim, "Hot damn."

Nick waited until he’d finished the conversation, then asked, "Hot damn what?"

Wesson smiled smugly. "We’ve got a crime scene."