MAGGIE opened her hotel-room door to Delaney. Without a word, she turned and walked back into the room, leaving him there while she continued the pacing he had interrupted. She wondered how he and Turner had decided which of them would talk to her. Had Delaney lost the toss?

She ignored him as he walked across the room, careful to stay out of her path. She’d make him speak first. She was in no mood to talk. And certainly in no mood for a lecture.

“We’re worried about you, Maggie.”

So there it was. He’d start with a low blow, all that worrying-and-caring stuff. Plus, he was using her first name. This was serious stuff.

“It was an honest mistake.”

“Of course it was.”

“From the back he looked exactly like Stucky. And why the hell did he ignore my instructions three times?”

“Because he doesn’t understand English.”

She stopped and stared. The thought had never occurred to her.

“Then why did he run from Turner?”

“Who knows?” Delaney dug his fingers into his eyes. “Maybe he’s an illegal alien. Point is, you not only made him splatter his veal capellini all over the pavement, you almost blew his head off.”

“I did not almost blow his head off. I followed protocol. I couldn’t see what this fucking idiot had in his hands, and he wasn’t responding. What the hell would you have done?”

“I probably would have done the same thing.”

Maggie thought she saw a hint of embarrassment. There was more to this little visit than concern.

“What’s going on, Delaney?”

“I called Cunningham,” he said, glancing up at her. “I had to tell him what happened.”

“Goddamn you,” she said under her breath, and began pacing once more.

“I saw the look in your eyes and it scared the hell out of me. I saw how much you wanted to pull the trigger.”

“But I didn’t, did I? Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“No, not this time.”

She stopped at the window and stared down at the lights of the plaza below. She bit her lower lip. The lights were beginning to blur. She would not cry. Behind her, Delaney remained still and quiet. She refused to give him anything other than her back.

“Cunningham wants you to return to Quantico,” he said in a low, apologetic voice. “He’s sending Stewart to finish your workshop.”

She watched the streetlights flicker below, confused whether to stay on or shut off as the sky lightened in anticipation of sunrise. In less than an hour, Kansas City would be waking up, and she hadn’t even been to bed yet.

“Did you, at least, tell Cunningham about Rita?”

“Yes.”

“Does he believe it was Stucky?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

“So maybe he wants me to return to finally help on the case?”

Again, Delaney looked away, staring at the tabletop. She knew without any response that she was wrong.

“Jesus! Cunningham thinks I’m losing it, too.” She leaned her forehead against the cool glass, hoping it would steady her nerves.

After a long silence, she heard Delaney get up and start for the door.

“I already made arrangements. Your flight leaves early this afternoon. I don’t have any sessions today, so I can drive you to the airport.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll take a cab,” she said without moving.

She heard him waiting, fidgeting. She refused to give him her eyes. And she certainly would not give him the absolution she knew Delaney would feel guilty without.

“Maggie, we’re all just worried about you,” he said again, as if it should be enough.

“Right.” She didn’t bother to disguise the hurt and anger.

She waited for the soft slap of the door to close behind him. Then she crossed the room and turned the dead bolt.

It was almost 6:00 a.m. She had only six hours, but she wasn’t leaving this city until she connected Albert Stucky to Rita’s murder. And she didn’t care if that meant checking every last Dumpster and every last take-out container in the district. Suddenly feeling energized, she grabbed her key card and left.