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alive and successful as a street agent. Now that she sat behind a desk, her greatest strength had become her greatest liability. 
    Maybe she had overreacted. She abandoned all thoughts of dental hygiene and sat down on the toilet. "What do you think of the note? Professionally?"
    He thought about it for a long moment. His eyes turned paler than their usual gray as he focused on a distant point, chin tilted so a stray lock of sandy colored hair fell into his face. "From what I read in the papers, the man behind the New Hope case was some kind of mastermind, able to elude police for years, getting away with kidnapping, rape, and murder. When you cornered him, he killed himself, taking his last victim with him rather than let you rescue her…Classic malignant narcissistic personality."
    "What if the letter's right and that wasn't really the killer down in that cave?" Impossible. She'd seen the man plunge to his death, taking Marion Caine with him. But her job was to explore every possibility—no matter how remote.
    "Then the New Hope Killer was even more brilliant if he was able to fool you and escape. First of all, why call that to your attention after all this time? Second, look at the letter. Whoever wrote it has the emotional IQ of a child Megan's age. There's no evidence of true narcissism or sociopathy. Despite the melodramatic language, the intent seems almost the opposite. It's not about 'look at me, I fooled you, I'm brilliant.' This letter is more like a cry for help.
    "My bet is you'll get another letter in a few days telling you the real reason they need help. Then another hinting at their location or identity. Breadcrumbs to get you to come rescue them. Whoever sent that letter is no killer. That much I'm certain of."
    She traced the hexagonal black and white tiles with her toe. Nick was right. The letter was childish. Attention-getting more than threatening.
    "You said it sounded like a kid. If so, I know who sent it."
    "Who?"
    "Adam Caine."
    "The boy whose mom died?"
    She nodded. It had to be Adam. He'd be what, fourteen, now? And she may have mentioned Megan to him while trying to comfort him in the aftermath of his mother's death. 
    "But why?" she asked. Adam could have easily picked up the phone, called her. There was no reason for playing games. 
    Nick misunderstood her question. "Lucy, you're a hero. Who else would he send it to?" 
    If only he hadn't said that. Not that way, his voice filled with pride. She looked away, her gaze zeroing in on the corner below the tub where the grout had turned dingy gray because she never took the time to properly get into the tight area when scrubbing and do the job right.
    Just like she hadn't in New Hope. 
    "Hey, what's wrong?" Nick said. He crouched down to her level and tipped her chin towards him.
    Tears choked her throat. She swallowed them without allowing any to come to the surface. Shook her head. Blinked hard as her gaze scoured the rest of the tiny room, seeking out further evidence of her housekeeping failures. Looking anywhere except at him.
    "I'm no hero," she muttered, pushing to her feet and marching out to the bedroom, leaving him behind. She dreaded the day when she'd have to finish the sentence, tell him the truth about what happened in New Hope. Everything that happened. And didn't.
    The day when she'd confess she was a coward. 
    Maybe that's why Adam sent the letter. He finally realized Lucy was to blame for his mother's death.
     
     

Chapter 5
     
     
    The cave was a constant fifty-six degrees year round, so Adam didn't bother with a fire. Especially after finding his stuff sealed up just fine, except for a few books animals had nested in. Huddled at his table in his bedroom, wrapped in his sleeping bag, he examined his belongings. Everything he needed. Unless he had to stay here more than a few days. 
    Dad said never plan too far ahead. "It'll only break your heart." 
    Better to learn how to improvise, go with the flow. Something Dad