Anna remembered the case. It had created a feeding frenzy in the media. In the blink of her mind's eye, she saw herself with a hundred microphones shoved in her face. Bile rose in her throat. She gulped it back. Anger and fear mixed such a powerful potion in her blood she could feel the shaking from the inside out. Run, cry, smash the boy's face, rant, beg; the need to do these things simultaneously and at the top of her lungs held her as paralyzed as she'd been in the dream of the bear. This time her brain was paralyzed as well. She couldn't think.
Helpless. This was what it felt like, a squirming, raging fly-like frustration caught in the fingers of an evil, wing-pulling boy.
'You wouldn't actually do that,' Anna said hopefully.
'I'm sorry,' Rory said and the shred of hope vanished. Had he been mean or vindictive she might have had a chance. Rory believed what he did to be the regrettable but necessary means to some greater end.
'Shit,' Anna murmured and hated herself for her transparency. She turned and walked because she could think of nothing more to say or do. Repetitive movement fed her mind just enough; it could race, and thoughts began clamoring, scratching, fighting to find a way out of this predicament.
The moment she reached the house she could call Harry Ruick, drag him out of bed and tell him of Rory's threat. Preemptive strike. Perhaps it would do a little to predispose the chief ranger to believe her, but not much. It would be too easy to believe Rory did threaten her but not with a lie, threatened her with exposure. And why was she out walking alone with an eighteen-year-old boy after midnight anyway?
Harry didn't know her well. They'd been acquainted only a few days and only in a professional capacity. What did he know of her personal quirks or kinks? Only that she was a widow and had been without a man for many years. Rory was a nice enough looking boy. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility. 'Jesus,' Anna heard herself whisper and closed her teeth against any further involuntary outbursts.
Ruick would call her boss, John Brown. But Brown didn't know her either. He'd call her field rangers in the Port Gibson district on the Natchez Trace. At least one of them, Anna knew, would like nothing better than to insinuate the worst. The case she'd recently finished on the Trace had been fraught with adolescent boys, several of whom she'd leaned on pretty hard. What might they be tempted to say to even up old scores? Regardless of the final scene, the play would be long, exhausting and she would not emerge unscathed. Right off, she would be slapped on the first plane back to Mississippi. Even if Ruick could believe Anna was blameless, he wouldn't dare keep her around; not on the case, not on the DNA project. Unlike Rory, she was not a minor, not a civilian. There would be no need to treat her with kid gloves. 'Jesus,' Anna whispered again, unable to help herself. 'You're a fucking genius, Rory. You know that?'
'Sorry,' he repeated sadly, and Anna wanted to strangle him.
He had seen her fear, heard it in muttered blasphemies. He knew he had won; she was on the defensive if not actually beaten outright.
Anna would go with that.
They had returned by a circuitous loop to the original fork in the road that led to Joan's house. As they turned down it, Anna let her steps falter and dragged her hand down over her face. 'I don't feel so good,' she said. It was no great stretch to make it sound believable.
'We're almost there.'
Anna considered trying to squeeze out a few tears, but she was so long out of practice she didn't think she could pull it off. She comforted herself with the thought that it was too dark to get the full theatrical effect from them anyway.
Given Rory's staunch admiration for those who took no flack, Anna wasn't trying to win his pity or compassion. He was more likely to scorn her as weak, pathetic. That was just fine. All she needed to do was to keep him emotionally engaged a bit longer.
When they reached Joan's driveway, Anna allowed herself a weary sigh. 'God, I'm thirsty,' she whispered. 'I've got to get a drink of water.'
'You go,' Rory said, hanging back. 'I got to get to bed.'
'No.' Anna felt panic rise. 'Please,' she said. 'I won't wake up Joan. We've got to talk. Just let me get a drink.'
'You'll wake her,' Rory said. 'It won't do you any good.'
'No, I won't,' Anna promised. The last thing she wanted was to wake Joan Rand and force Rory to play his hand. 'My day pack. It's just inside the door. I've got water in it. Just let me grab it. I won't be a second. I won't even go inside.'
Indecision worked across Rory's face. Revulsion was there too, though whether for her or for himself, Anna couldn't be sure. 'Please,' she pleaded. 'Please. We need to talk.'
'I won't change my mind,' Rory said.
Anna took that as permission and dashed lightly up the concrete steps. Careful not to vanish from Rory's line of sight, she opened the door and leaned in. Her pack was behind the Barcalounger where she'd dumped it. Having rummaged briefly through its innards she emerged again into the night, pack in one hand, water bottle in the other.
'Here,' Anna said and led him to the garage door. 'We can talk here. Joan's room is at the other end of the house. She won't hear us.'
'What if somebody sees us?' Rory asked.
He was getting skittish. Anna had to work fast. 'Wouldn't that suit your purposes to a T?' she asked acidly. The sudden change in the emotional weather put him off balance.
'I guess,' he faltered.
'Sit down,' Anna commanded, the pleases and the pleadings gone from her voice. 'If you're to blackmail me you better damn well get the terms straight.'
Rory didn't sit but he hunkered down on his heels. Close enough.
'I don't see the point-' he began.
'The point is you don't want me, personally, asking questions about Les, that right, Rory?'
'Yeah. That's right.'
'And let me get this straight, you kind of caught me off guard back there. If I don't stop investigating your dad, you're going to accuse me of sexually harassing you? Even though I never laid a hand on you or spoke to you in a sexual way ever?'
'I'm sorry,' Rory said for the third time.
'That's what you've threatened to do, isn't it?' Anna pressed. He was fidgeting, looking over his shoulder. Any second he would spring to his feet and she would have lost what might be her only chance.
'That's it,' Rory said. 'And I'll do it, too.'
Anna almost breathed a sigh of relief but stopped herself in time. 'Even though I never behaved toward you improperly in any way,' she pushed for good measure.
'Even so. I'll do it,' Rory declared firmly.
Anna had what she needed. She relaxed back against the garage door, the day pack tucked protectively under one arm and at long last took a drink of the water she'd made such a fuss about needing.
'What's your dad got to hide that you'd sell your immortal soul to the devil to keep me from finding?' she asked seriously.
Rory sensed that something had changed but he didn't know what. Pushing himself to his feet, he glanced around as if expecting the neatly trimmed shrubs to be suddenly bristling with policemen. Nothing stirred.
'You're not afraid I'll find out Les killed his wife are you?' Anna asked sharply. 'Or not just that. What is it?'
'I've got to go,' Rory said. 'I'll do what I said I'd do. Leave it alone.' With that he loped off into the street toward the dorm he shared with a couple of other boys.
Anna stayed where she was and watched until he ran around a corner and a house swallowed him from sight. After that, she listened. For half a minute she could hear footfalls as he ran, then that was gone and the eerie stillness of the Glacier summer night reclaimed the neighborhood. Opening the pack, she located her
