He wrapped large arms around me and hugged back.

“I love you so much.” After I said it, I couldn’t remember another time when I told him that. Surely I had, because it was true. I loved him.

“Hey, what’s this? You okay, pumpkin?”

“Yes.” I stepped back. “It’s just, you’ve done so much for me, and all I seem to be capable of doing in return is almost getting you killed and/or fired.”

“Well, then. It’s a good thing I love you, too.”

I gave him another hug, refused to tell him who hired me when he asked for the third time, then hurried to Misery before I became a coffee-flavored Popsicle. The weather wasn’t totally unusual for Albuquerque, but I was suddenly glad it never lasted long.

After I’d climbed inside, I took another look at something I thought I’d seen through the sleet. Garrett’s truck was parked down the street, and I almost came unglued until I realized I hadn’t seen him all day until now. Maybe he wasn’t tailing me, but then who?

I turned back and watched Uncle Bob through the glass door. He was talking to Wade, laughing about who knew what. Was he following Ubie? Why on earth would he follow Ubie? Weren’t they on the same side?

* * *

Having yet to check on Heather and Pari other than the occasional text in which Pari would ask things like, Is eating only beef jerky for 24 hours straight harmful? and Quick! What continent has the fewest flowering plants? Don’t blow my lead!

Was she kidding?

I snuck in through the back door of Pari’s place and called out.

“We’re in here!”

“Where?” I walked through the maze that was her shop until I was standing in the tattoo room where she did tats, and almost passed out when I saw Heather in Pari’s chair, her arm covered from shoulder to wrist in a full sleeve.

“What do you think?” Pari asked.

She slipped on her shades while Heather held up her arm for my inspection. “It didn’t even hurt that bad.”

I covered my mouth with both hands. This was it. I was going to prison.

Heather cracked first. Laughter bubbled out of her a half second before it bubbled out of Pari as well.

“Told you,” Pari said. “So gullible.”

I rushed forward to inspect her arm. The artwork was gorgeous. But underneath there was no swelling, no bleeding, no signs of trauma at all. Temporary.

I almost passed out again, this time in relief. After giving Heather a quick hug—and hoping we were at the hugging stage or that was just really awkward for her—I offered Pari the same treatment.

“I can’t thank you enough,” I said.

“Oh, please. This kid is an angel. And, dude, she seriously likes beef jerky.”

Heather pointed to a series of shelves. “We organized all her paints, and Pari is teaching me to draw.” She reached over to grab a sketchbook and opened it to the first page.

“Wow,” I said, completely impressed. It was the beginnings of a dragon, and though the scale was a little off, for the most part it was fantastic. “You, Heather Huckabee, are going to be a star,” I said to her. “I’ve done some drawing. I drew a duck once. It was a great duck except that it was supposed to be an eagle.”

Heather laughed, and I was floored by her transformation. She turned to watch one of Pari’s artists tattoo a young man’s calf. He was getting a steampunk clock that was melting down his leg.

“So, what did the doc say?”

Pari motioned for me to join her in the front parlor. Two young girls were perusing the photo albums.

“He didn’t find anything, but he said her pallor is too yellow and her white blood cell count is high. She told him she gets stomach cramps sometimes and feels nauseated and has to swallow a lot.” She leaned in closer. “Chuck, he thinks she’s the victim of chronic, low-dose poisoning.”

I closed my eyes. “Son of a bitch. Why hasn’t another doctor picked up on this?”

“I don’t know. He said he only suggested that because I told him she could be the victim of a crime, and all the signs are there. Unfortunately, without a thousand tests, there’s no way to know what she’s been poisoned with. If at all.”

“But we have her now, and the dosing has stopped. Will she get better, or do we need to get her to a hospital?”

She shrugged. “He’s coming back in the morning. Said he knows a guy who knows a guy who can run some very basic tests on the side, if you want to go that route. It’ll cost around five hundred.”

“That’s fine. Anything.”

“And I wish I had better news, but you were right about Nick Parker. He has a file on you on his home computer. It seems like more of a personal project than an official one.”

“You’re kidding me. Did you get a look?”

“I did.” She handed me a manila envelope. “This is a copy of everything he has on you. Charley, he knows you had a baby and that the baby is gone. He suspects foul play.”

I’d started to open the envelope but stopped and stared at her a solid minute. “This is about Beep?” I asked, the edges of my vision darkening.

“He’s been going around to hospitals, showing your face, asking if anyone in the maternity ward had seen you. And I think he found the doctor Reyes hired. Somehow figured out he knew something. Threatened him.”

I closed my eyes. “This is not happening. Not with everything else.”

“I’m afraid it is. And this is serious stuff. He could bring you up on all kinds of nasty charges. Bizarrely enough, from what I could tell from his notes, he stumbled upon the pregnancy while investigating Reyes.”

I had to sit down. Pari grabbed a visitor’s chair and pushed it under my shaking knees. “Reyes?”

“I guess he can’t just let it alone. Some people feel like there was something fishy about his release from prison and exoneration of all charges. He’s looking into both of your financials, too. And he’s been e-mailing the authorities in Sleepy Hollow, New York, asking about your stay there.”

“How the fuck does he know about Sleepy Hollow?”

“He’s following the money. Chuck,” she said, cupping my face and turning me toward her, “you have to get in front of this.”

“I know. You’re right. I have no choice. He is going to push too far.”