“So, the question is, Rachael, are you willing to take this hopefully final step? Are you willing to be bait?”

Rachael said, “When you announce I’m going to speak about my father, the Abbotts will think I’m going to tell everyone what he did. They’ll feel compelled to have another go at me, is that what you think? Even for them, wouldn’t that be short notice?”

“No,” Jack said, “not if they have the contacts. Admittedly, Perky and her band are out of commission. Can they come up with something by tomorrow night? I guess we’ll see.”

Rachael said, “You don’t think they’re still trying to keep me quiet, do you? It no longer applies.”

Savich said, “We all agree that the possibility of your ‘go ing public’ no longer holds much of a threat—we already know everything you know, and killing you now would make it more likely, not less, that the story would come out. If keeping that story secret is the killer’s motivation, his only hope is that you decide not to go public and that the FBI can never gather enough evidence to indict anyone. And they would be right.”

Rachael said, “Then why is someone still trying to kill me?”

Savich said, “Given his behavior last night, I’m thinking we haven’t cottoned to his real motive yet.”

Jack said, “I know it’s the way to go, my brain recognizes that, but I’ll tell you guys, the whole thing scares me. I guess it’s preferable to being on the defensive. At least it’s proactive. But, Rachael, it’ll still be dangerous.”

“After last night,” Rachael said, “I’m ready to do about anything. I found a gray hair this morning. In my braid. Show me the dotted line. I’ll do it.”

Jack grinned at her, gave her braid a tug. Savich leaned closer to speak, then paused when he saw Sean was at a dead end on his computer game. He reached over and punched two buttons. They listened to a trio of whistles, two loud beeps, and one long, deep bong.

Sean jumped up and down in his chair. “Wow! Look at that! Papa, you got Zhor to run right into the magic prison in the Forest of No Escape! He’s toast now.”

“He could still escape, he’s smart and cunning, so be careful,” Savich said, his eyes on Rachael’s face. He added quietly, “If Laurel or whoever can’t find you tomorrow, and you can bet she’ll try, she’ll have to go after you tomorrow night. Before you speak? I don’t know.”

“Can I carry Jimmy’s gun in my purse?”

“You can carry a machete as far as I’m concerned,” Jack said. “If you decide a gun’s what you need to make you feel safe, I’ll carry it in for you since they’ll be checking bags at the door.”

“We’ll give it a go then,” Savich said. “I have this feeling the Abbotts will act, Rachael.”

Rachael bit into another scone, listened to Sean yell that he’d dumped Zhor into a bog, and hoped she’d still be breathing come Tuesday morning.

She stood up, planted her palms on the tabletop. “Would you look at the time. I’ve got a speech to write. And I’ve got to figure out how to keep myself from getting too scared in front of all those big shots.”

There was a knock on the back door.

FORTY-EIGHT

Jack held up his hand and walked to the door, looked out, and opened it wide. “Hey, Clive, you got something?”

Agent Clive Howard, a twenty-year FBI veteran and a top forensic specialist, was six feet six inches tall, looked like a windowpane at 160 pounds, and had his grandma’s huge smile. “Of course I’ve got something,” he said in the thickest Southern accent Rachael had ever heard. “Lookee here.” Clive handed him a small rough-edged piece of material. “Our guy should have been more careful when climbing that oak tree to get into the house. Now, this guy has either noticed the rip in his jacket, in which case he’s already deep-sixed it, or he hasn’t noticed, and we might use it to identify him later. I’m thinking this is off a lightweight jacket, and that makes sense since it was pretty warm last night. The material’s a synthetic stew, everything in it but good ole cotton.”

“I know it’s real small, but does the material look new to you, Clive?” Sherlock asked.

“Hard for an average untrained professional to say, but me?” He grinned real big at her. “I’d say it’s gotta be fairly new. We’ll test it, but I’m willing to bet it’s never hit the dry cleaner’s. Given he wouldn’t wear it during the winter, it’s probably a spring buy, maybe three, four months ago.”

Savich toasted Clive with his oolong tea. “Thank the good Lord for you, Clive.”

Clive beamed. “And we know our boy is a boy—a size ten shoe, heavy in the heels, a good-sized guy, maybe one eighty, but not too tall—that’s according to Mendoza, who can tell you the foot size of a gorilla swinging through the forest.”

“Forest?” Sean said, coming to attention. “Is someone else trapped in the Forest of No Escape?”

Life never stopped happening, Rachael thought, and laughed as Savich quickly explained to Clive about Sean’s computer game. “Hey, Sean,” Clive said, “my little girl really likes Zhor and the Forest of No Escape, tries to zap him whenever she gets done eating her vegetables.”

Sean sighed. “Papa had to help me.”

“That’s okay. I sometimes help my little girl, too.”

“She isn’t big like me?”

“Well, yeah, actually she is. She just turned eighteen.”

Sean giggled.

Savich stood, and the two men shook hands. Savich said, “Thank everyone for coming out on a Sunday morning, Clive.”

“All in a good cause.” Clive nodded to everyone, said to Sean, “Yo, kiddo, good luck cutting off Zhor at his evil knees,” and walked back into the yard.

“That material,” Rachael said. “May I see it?”

Savich handed it to her.

It was dark brown, a smooth fabric, sharp, she thought. Rachael said, “Synthetic stew or not, the guy who’d wear this dresses sharp.”

Savich’s cell sang out the Harry Potter theme. “Savich here. What? Okay, Tom, escort Dr. MacLean back to his room and make sure he stays there. Keep the reporter away from him and on ice until I get there. Yeah, okay, I understand. Yes, we’ll be right there.”