Reston, Virginia

R. J. Tully grabbed his cell phone before the second ring. Just after seven o’clock on a Saturday morning but he wasn’t surprised to hear his boss’s voice. He was relieved.

“Good morning, Agent Tully.”

“Sir, how are you?” Tully wiped bagel crumbs off his chin as if caught. In the process he discovered a dab of Kleenex from where he’d cut himself shaving.

“I’m fine. How’s Agent O’Dell?”

The question took Tully off guard. He expected Cunningham to have a better idea of how Maggie was. From what he understood she was just down the hall from him.

“She was okay last night. I haven’t talked to her yet this morning.”

“Colonel Platt will be heading the task force,” Cunningham went on, all business as usual. “He’ll be in charge of containment and treatment if that’s possible. That means they’ll still be guarding the crime scene, but you and Ganza will be in charge of whatever evidence they collect.”

“You were inside the house, sir. Is there anything there?”

The pause lasted long enough that Tully wondered if he’d lost the connection.

“There must be something,” Cunningham finally said. “Whatever’s going on I think this one is personal.”

“Personal, sir?”

“Why risk delivering that message directly to BSU? I think he wanted to make sure I received it.”

Tully didn’t necessarily agree. The guy could have simply been thumbing his nose at all of them, letting them know just how close he could get without being noticed, without getting caught. But Tully wasn’t in the habit of disagreeing with his boss. From Cunningham’s perspective, especially after a night in the Slammer, Tully supposed it wasn’t a stretch to think this was a personal attack.

“Were you able to get Sloane on this?” Cunningham asked.

“Yes. In fact, I’m meeting him this morning at Quantico before one of his classes.” Then Tully remembered the impression he and Ganza found on the envelope. If it was personal maybe the message meant something to Cunningham. “Sir, do you know anyone named Nathan who might be involved in this?”

“Nathan?”

“We found a surface impression on the envelope that was in the doughnut box. The message was, call Nathan at seven o’clock.”

There was silence and this time Tully knew just to wait it out.

“My daughter’s name is Catherine,” Cunningham said and Tully heard a hint of alarm. “We call her Cather. Her mother loves Willa Cather. Any chance the impression spelled out Cather instead of Nathan?”

If Cunningham thought this was personal, Tully understood exactly what he was thinking, but he was trying too hard to make the pieces fit the puzzle. Tully remembered the blow-up image of the envelope and the impression. Under magnification it was quite clear.

“No, sir. I’m certain it was Nathan.” He heard the exhale, the gasp of relief before Cunningham could disguise it. “Is there anything else Ganza and I should be looking for, sir?” Tully asked. Did Cunningham know something he wasn’t sharing?

“Nothing except…” Cunningham started. “It’s just a gut feeling. I don’t think this is his only crime scene. There are others or there are going to be others.”

Tully wrote down a phone number Cunningham gave him, a direct line to his hospital suite at USAMRIID. He promised he’d call him as soon as he knew anything more. Before he closed his cell phone Tully noticed the pink envelope in the corner, a voice message had come in while he was talking to Cunningham. It was Gwen. She said she’d had a mysterious message from Maggie and couldn’t get hold of her. What was up? She also reminded him that they were supposed to have dinner that evening.

Tully thought for sure Maggie would have already talked to Gwen. Now he’d really be in trouble for not calling. Nothing would be a good enough excuse. To make matters worse, in her message Gwen had offered to bring over a pizza that evening for their dinner. She had been hinting for weeks about an invitation to his “cave.” If he was already in trouble for not calling, perhaps giving in to this little concession would absolve him.

He looked around the living room: shoes left in the middle of the room; mail and dirty glassware scattered on the coffee table; stacks of newspapers and dust competing for surface space. He winced at it all as he started to dial Gwen’s number.

At that moment Emma stumbled in, with Harvey leading the way to the back door. Her hair was tangled, her pajamas wrinkled, her eyes were swollen and half-closed as if she hadn’t gotten any sleep. And suddenly the dust didn’t seem so bad. What was worse for Tully was that his daughter and the woman he was dating would be in the same house, in the same room.