Anna had hoped a shower would revive her, but it hadn’t much. She didn’t sleep well in strange beds at the best of times, and between Thom and Dusty’s snoring, and the brightly street-lit balcony windows, real rest of any kind had been a lost cause from the start. Sheer exhaustion had finally dragged her under sometime after 2 A.M., less than five hours before Detective Schafer had woken them with a call to say that last night’s ‘data tampering event’ had convinced the FBI to get involved. He’d told them that an agent would be contacting them shortly for permission to monitor their phone calls and connect them with a team of negotiation specialists. ‘All this may turn out to be nothing but a couple of very skilled freelance hackers,’ he’d assured her. ‘But we’re playing it safe for now, in case your old friend’s gotten tangled up with some larger criminal enterprise.’ Meaning what? she’d wondered, but not asked aloud. Cartel gangs? Mafia? Foreign terrorists planning some attack on the city?

As she finished dressing, and pulled her damp hair into a ponytail before the harshly lit bathroom mirror, Anna recalled Dusty’s remark about the guy at Ricky’s Market, who’d claimed Matt’s whereabouts might matter to everyone in the city. She wondered yet again how the sweet, guileless boy she remembered could have gotten tangled up with anything like this, whatever it turned out to be. Then again, had his choices about involvement been any more deliberate than hers or Dusty’s had been? …She hoped not.

Schafer hadn’t said when, exactly, to expect the federal agent’s call; he’d just said ‘soon.’ But that had been over half an hour ago. Anna had no idea what they were supposed to do if the kidnappers called before the FBI did, and with Colleen’s life at stake, she dreaded having to touch any of it—even for a minute. Just yesterday, these people had destroyed all their phones. Would they even know it was possible to call them yet this morning? If Dusty really had been followed from the Apple store last night, then she supposed they would.

She realized, suddenly, that she’d just been standing there, staring at herself in the mirror for at least five minutes now. She’d promised the others she’d be quick.

She grabbed her earrings from the counter, pulled the door open, and walked out to apologize for dawdling. But Thom and Dusty were out on the balcony, leaning on the railing, heads down with their backs to her, deep in some clearly very earnest conversation. Reluctant to interrupt whatever was unfolding there, she went to turn the TV on; a less intrusive way to let them know she’d finished in the bathroom. She had barely found the news channel before they turned around and came inside.

“How’s everything?” she asked.

“Peachy,” said Dusty in a way that so clearly meant, ‘next question, please.’

“Right,” she said. “So, I was thinking in the shower. We should just check out now and go home. If Dusty was being followed last night, then it’s not like we’ve lost them here.”

“You don’t think there’s better safety maybe in more public places?” Thom asked.

“There may be,” she said, “but if we’re going to have FBI agents camping out with us now, that renders the question fairly moot, right? Besides, I’d rather be cooped up with them in our house than in this little room. Wouldn’t you? We can get a taxi to our cars. If the FBI calls on our way, we’ll just have them meet us there, but we should probably go as soon as possible.”

“Fine with me,” said Dusty. “But I’m takin’ a shower first. I slept in these clothes, and I can smell me from across the room.” He looked at Thom. “You need to get in there first?”

Thom shook his head.

“Okay then.” He glanced at Anna as he started toward the bathroom, already pulling up his shirt. “I’ll be super fast.”

As soon as she heard the water go on, Anna turned to Thom and asked, “What went on out there?” She nodded toward the glass balcony doors. “Is he doing okay?”

Thom shrugged. “As well as anyone could ask, I guess. He’s having a pretty hard time with not knowing anything about what’s happening to her. A lot of ugly things have cropped up in that space without any facts to fill it with instead. I guess he had some pretty awful dreams last night. But he doesn’t seem to be blaming himself for any of it this time—so there’s that.”

Anna nodded. “He’s been…different since the flood. I think all that shifted something for him. Positively.”

“I think you’re right.” Thom sighed and pursed his lips. “He was full of questions about my experience, though. Like maybe even borrowed facts would fill his head better than none at all. I had to point out that my kidnap wasn’t anything like hers is, really.”

Anna’s brows rose. “How so?”

He looked surprised by the question. “Well, like Schafer told me last night, mine doesn’t seem to have been about anything. Hers clearly is. I tried to frame that as an encouraging thing, even though…”

Yes. Even though there was no way to give the kidnappers what they wanted in exchange for her. Anna looked away, wanting not to think about that part. Not until they had to, anyway.

They’d all compared notes last night about their interrogations with Schafer. Unsurprisingly, the detective had seemed more interested in Thom’s prior kidnap than anything else, clearly as suspicious of such coincidence as Thom himself was. The fact that Thom’s kidnappers had never been identified, much less apprehended, had clearly rankled Schafer some, but Thom had gotten the impression that what bothered the detective most was someone having held a hostage for three years without ever telling him or anyone else why. Apparently Schafer had spent a lot of time voicing theories about that—as if just thinking aloud. Had something gone wrong with their plan? Had they taken the wrong person accidentally, then not known what to do with him? Thom claimed to have found Schafer’s speculations ‘really interesting,’ having pondered all the same things himself, through the years. But Thom had also noticed Schafer watching his reactions very closely in a way that left him feeling vaguely accused of something—which clearly worried him a little. But who wasn’t worried these days?

“Oh,” Thom said. “I forgot to tell you; Robert called Dusty while you were in the shower to say they’ve landed and would like to come talk with us after they’ve found some breakfast.”

“Right. I can hardly wait,” she sighed. “Do you find it a little odd…that it’s always Robert doing the calling now—and only Dusty that he calls?”

Thom gave her a curious look. “Odd how?”

Anna wagged her head, hoping she wouldn’t just sound gratuitously paranoid. “I can’t lose the feeling that Shelly’s too angry to even speak with us.” She shook her head. “I bet they both are. Dusty told us last night how mad Robert was, and Shelly too. I really, really dread this conversation, Thom. …I dread all of this.”

“Dusty also said he explained things,” Thom pointed out. “And that Robert seemed to understand.”

“But he still doesn’t call anyone but Dusty, does he? No one’s heard a single word from Shelly. Just a couple weeks ago, I…well, I lied to her about knowing where Colleen was that night, and then she almost died, and I’ve felt terrible about that all along. I lied, Thom! Me! And now Colleen’s been kidnapped, and even though Dusty explained all that to Robert, I still understand how it must look as if we knew, or should have known—again—and didn’t tell them. What must they think of us?”

“Why should they think anything of us? None of this is our fault. This isn’t about us at all, it’s about some boy that none of you has seen in seven years, and a bunch of people we’ve never met, or even heard of. We still have no idea who they are.”

“Yeah, I know. But…I feel like…”

“Like what?” Thom pressed.

“Like I was…supposed to be taking care of her daughter.” Anna felt the blush sweeping up her neck and across her face. “I know that’s stupid. But…she was staying under our roof. Both times.”

Thom gazed at her for a moment, then stepped in and wrapped his arms around her. “Maybe they do feel that way—right now, left to imagine everything helplessly from so far away, but when they get here, and it’s really us they’re talking to, not whatever imaginary ‘us’ is filling that gap now, those feelings—if they have them—will be displaced in minutes by who we really are and what’s really going on. You know that as well as I do, love.” He leaned back just far enough to kiss her forehead before pulling her close again. “You care, Anna. Deeply. Anyone who’s known you longer than ten minutes knows that—including Robert and Shelly.”

Anna let him hold her, thinking, once again, how lucky she had been to find him. He was the real deal—in a world where real deals were so dreadfully rare.

After a moment, she pulled away and gave him a smile. “Thank you.”

“Love you.”

“I know. …It’s just so weird…being here, in the middle of a real-life episode of CSI.” She shook her head. “Nothing I…ever imagined doing.”

Thom nodded.

“Nothing I know how to do,” she said more quietly.

He nodded again. “That’s the worst part in some ways, isn’t it?”

She shook her head. “The worst part is what Colleen is going through.” She drew a deep breath, stepping back from…whatever inner edge she’d just rushed up to. “So, that’s all there was then? With Dusty?”

Thom barely hesitated before shrugging. “More or less.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “You are such a poor liar, Thom. What else?”

Thom looked at her uncomfortably. “Well, he may also be a little weirded out, I think, about…the whole thing with your father.”

She couldn’t quite believe that this was still a problem. They’d been over all of that again last night. “Why is this irrelevant bit of my ancient history such a big deal for him?”

Thom made a helpless gesture. “I think…he just finds it strange that such a thing could never have come up before—especially given his own…life themes.”

“It’s got nothing to do with his life themes—or even mine! Have I not made that clear, multiple times now? I haven’t been hiding anything. It’s just not a topic—at all. I haven’t given my father so much as a thought—not once—in years. Until last night, at least—when it suddenly became a topic for some reason.” She realized that Thom was suppressing a smile, which pissed her off. “How often did your kidnap come up before last week?”

“Maybe not the best argument, love. We all buried my kidnap because it was a trauma too important to raise comfortably—not because it was not a topic.”

“Well my father’s giant fuck-up wasn’t buried, it was just forgotten. There is nothing buried here. I don’t bury things.”

“Or hang with those who do,” Thom murmured, as if to some third party in the wings.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, a tad more shrilly than she’d meant to.

He wasn’t looking uncomfortable anymore, just sad. “To be honest, love—because I know you value honesty more than anyone I’ve ever known—you don’t sound ‘non topic’ about this. You sound hurt and angry. In fact, I’m getting this vivid mental image of a much younger you shoveling away with all her might.”

“Don’t!” she hissed, surprising herself as much as she had clearly surprised him. “Don’t you start ‘life-coaching’ me, Thom. Honesty does not mean divulging every unreported fact in my life. Honesty is about rejecting games—and I have not been playing games with anybody. I know games when I see them. My father played games—every hideous game he could think of after he got caught. ‘I’m so sorry, honey. I was wrong, forgive me. I love you, sweetie! I did it for my family!’” She wasn’t even trying to hide the rage she felt now. Why should she? She was entitled to it! “For his fucking family! Can you believe it? Like he’s the victim that his adoring twelve-year-old daughter is supposed to save! I got letters from him every couple weeks for years! YEARS! Begging me to come visit him and talk…because he missed me. Never a word about whether I missed him—or how I felt at all. THAT is dishonesty, Thom!”

“So you just set all that down and forgot about it,” he said quietly. “Because there was nothing there worth mentioning. …Non topic.”

“I just told you, I am not your client, Thom!”

“No, you’re not. You’re my wife, thank god. I am grateful for that every day. You’ve helped me pull a broken life together like nobody else I’ve ever known could have. You’ve taught me—and Dusty—how to be fierce with ourselves—to keep it clean and real. And that’s made all the difference for both of us.” He leaned in, as if to give her another hug, but she stepped back—reflexively—and realized the shower wasn’t running anymore. There was no sound from the bathroom now at all. One part of her was mortified, but another part just really couldn’t give a fuck anymore.

“I’m not anybody’s savior, Thom. Not yours, not Dusty’s, and I’m not at all interested in living up to anybody’s expectations about how saviors have to act.”

He just went on looking at her, more sadly than before. “I’m not asking you to, Anna. I’m not blaming or criticizing you for anything. I’m sure as hell not trying to catch you out—any more than Dusty is. But what do you expect me to say right now? Anyone can see that something in there hurts. Badly. And you’ve taught Dusty—and me—how to care. As much as you do. That’s why you’ve got a life coach for a husband—and a social worker for a son, Anna. Because just watching you has shown us both what was worth doing in the world, and what wasn’t. So, can you stop…trying to reduce my attempt to be here for you, like you’ve been here for Dusty and me again and again, to some ‘life coaching boundary failure?’ I’ll stop now. I’ll drop it. Maybe I was stupid to press on something that so clearly hurt, but—”

Anna’s ring-tone blared to life. She and Thom both looked back at the nightstand where it sat, screen glowing as its cheery tune repeated. For a second they both just went on staring—as if the phone were a coiled rattlesnake, tail a-buzz. Then Anna ran to pick it up. It was a number she had never seen before. Thom had come to stand beside her, staring down at it as well.

“Do we answer?” Anna asked, feeling short of breath. “If it’s them…I don’t know what we’re supposed to say.”

“Let them leave a message?” Thom asked, clearly as frightened as she was.

She heard heavy footfalls behind her, and turned just as Dusty arrived with a towel around his waist, reaching down to take the phone out of her hand. He slid the call open as he raised it to his ear. “Hello?”

Anna could hear the caller’s voice, deep and male, but not what he was saying. She stared at Dusty, no longer breathing at all.

“Oh, hi,” Dusty said, flatly. “I’m her son, but we’re all here. Can you give me a second to put you on speaker, please?” He lowered the phone from his ear, and pressed the speaker button as he handed it back to Anna. “It’s the FBI.”

She felt almost too weak with relief, and embarrassment, to keep standing. “Hello. This is Anna Clarke.”

“Ms. Clarke, hello. I’m Agent McKinley with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I believe Detective Schafer notified you earlier this morning that we would be calling?”

“Yes, he did. I’m so glad you’ve called. I…was afraid it might be them.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry. That must have been… Ah. It’s been a very full morning here; I’m actually in my car right now, and, not wanting to leave you waiting any longer, just called from my cell phone. I guess I should have waited to call from an agency phone, so you’d have seen our I.D. on screen; my apologies for the scare. But I and my partner would like to come meet with you now, if that’s all right, and get things set up to help if the people who took your…daughter-in-law—is that correct?”

“Uh, no, she’s still my son’s fiancée.”

“Right, I’m sorry; to help you deal with any communication you may receive from her kidnappers. Would that be all right, Ms. Clarke?”

“Yes. Of course.” The man sounded almost as discombobulated as she was—which wasn’t entirely reassuring. “We’re actually at a hotel downtown right now.”

“Right. Detective Schafer has given us your address. We’re already heading that way.”

“Oh, um, we were just about to check out, though. We’d thought it might be better to return home for this?”

“That would be fine,” the agent said. “But it might be best for us to meet you at the hotel—to get some things squared away as soon as possible—just in case. Then we can escort you home as well, which, from what I’ve seen in Detective Schafer’s report, might be safer too. Would that be okay?”

“Yes, that would be great. Thank you, Agent McKinley.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am. I also need to ask if it’s okay for the bureau to monitor your phone calls.”

This seemed the kind of slippery slope she wanted no part of, but under the circumstances, what reasonable alternative was there? “That’s fine, sure.”

“I’d also like permission from Dustin Clarke and Thom Pearson, if possible. Are they nearby?”

“We are,” said Dusty. “This is Dustin Clarke. It’s fine with me.”

“Thom Pearson here,” said Thom. “This permission extends only to the end of this investigation, right?”

“Yes, sir. In fact, you may revoke it at any time before that, if you wish to.”

“That’s fine with me then,” Thom replied. “Monitor away.”

“Thank you. We should be no more than ten or fifteen minutes, depending on traffic. Have you got any questions before I let you go?”

“What if they call before you arrive?” asked Anna. “What should we do?”

“Good question. If you receive a call from any unfamiliar number besides this one, I’d recommend that you just let it go to voicemail. If it’s them, they’ll call back.”

She glanced at Dusty, who shrugged. “Thank you. That’s what we’ll do then.”

“See you soon, Ms. Clarke.”

“Okay. Bye.” She hung up and turned to Dusty, unsure whether to be grateful for his intervention, or perturbed. “Just out of curiosity, what would you have done if that had been the kidnappers?”

He looked down awkwardly, then back up almost defiantly. “Learned something, finally, about what’s really going on with her.”

Anna nodded, seeing no constructive reason to press the topic further. “Well, I guess we’d better go downstairs and see if we can get something to eat. Doesn’t sound like we’ve got much time if we want anything before lunch. Can you do it, Thom? Something to go, obviously, if the restaurant will do that. If not, I bet they’ve got vending machines somewhere.”

“Sure,” said Thom, already heading for the door.

Anna turned to Dusty. “When you’re dressed, could you please call Robert back and tell him what’s happening? Have them meet us at the house instead of here?”

“Okay.” Dusty turned and headed for the bathroom.

Anna could hear herself all too clearly, ‘managing things,’ ordering everyone around as if she were at work. …As if the argument with Thom had never happened—as she so wished it never had.

“Anna?”

She turned around to find Dusty leaning out the bathroom doorway, looking unsure of what to say, and braced herself.

“He was right, you know. There’s no ‘gotcha’ here—from either of us. It’s fine with me that you’re a human being. It’s…kind of comforting, in fact.”

“I’m…sorry you heard that,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “I didn’t handle any of it well. Thom and I almost never…”

Dusty was shaking his head, with the ghost of a smile. “Really, Anna: there is nothing to apologize for. I’m glad I heard it. This might sound crazy to you, but it’s…nice…not to be left guessing about something going on around me, you know?” He shrugged, his smile broadening a little. “Kind of therapeutic—if that helps any.”

She nodded. “I do know. Better than you may think. Thank you, Dusty.” She drew a long breath, trying to convince her body to unclench. “And I’d really like to drop it now. If that’s okay.”

“You bet. Over and done.” He ducked back into the bathroom, and shut the door.