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weeks after Rachel's disappearance. It was a low-budget production, as most of them were, and featured more photos and information than the national sites. But not much more about the actual disappearance since Diana didn't really know anything else. Over the past few years, Diana had given serious thought to shutting it down, not renewing the domain name fee and letting the whole thing fade away into the vast reaches of cyberspace.
    But she just couldn't bring herself to do it.
    The website also had an added benefit. It allowed Diana to set up an email account, a tipline through which people could send information about the case to her, and then she could pass it along to the police if it seemed at all important. In the first months after Rachel disappeared, the tips came in fast and furious, and they helped Diana and her mother reconstruct the details of the last night Rachel was known to be alive. After a few months, the emails turned weird, as Diana expected they would. People claimed to have "seen" Rachel in every part of the country, doing everything imaginable. Working as a waitress at a truck stop in Utah. Working as a stripper in Texas. Diana tried not to let her hopes rise with each of these emails, but she couldn't help herself. A little thrill rose in her chest at each new piece of information—no matter how far-fetched—and she asked the police about it only to be told that there was no sense in checking these "leads" out. A few times she considered getting in her car and going herself, driving all the way to some out-of-the-way restaurant or strip club to lay eyes on the woman who might just be her sister, but when she wrote back to the people who provided the initial information, no response of any merit came. Just a strange joke, a strange sense of humor. Move along, nothing to see here.
    So why did she think Kay Todd was different?
    Maybe it was the ferocity of the woman, the way she had acted when Diana grabbed her arm. She would have burned Diana if she had to. Diana had dealt with violent, desperate people on the job, knew the look of someone backed into a corner and willing to fight because they had nothing left to lose. That's what Kay Todd looked like in the Courthouse Diner.
    Diana needed help. She needed another set of eyes to look at the situation and offer an opinion. She checked the email account associated with her sister's website. Nothing. She logged off and stood up, began to pull underwear, bra and socks out of her drawer. She didn't know many people in New Cambridge, and those she did know were all on the police force. Most people would see that as a good thing given the circumstances, but Diana wasn't so sure. She hadn't been back there since she quit, hadn't talked to most of them since she turned in her badge and uniform. She didn't like going back to places she had already left, didn't like the feeling of covering ground that had already receded into the past.
    She pulled on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved white T-shirt. While she laced her sneakers, she thought about who she might see and what it would be like. She stood up from the side of the bed, but didn't leave the room. Her shoulders slumped a little.
    Who are you kidding?
    She knew there was only one person she didn't want to see.
    And she knew he was the person she had to start with.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    Diana parked in a visitor's space behind the boxy, limestone building that housed the New Cambridge Police Department. She could have walked, since the station sat only six blocks north of her apartment, but thinking about walking up to the building and then having to flee on foot made Diana feel exposed. The car provided a certain amount of cover, as well as the ability to make a fast getaway. And there was something else, too, something that lurked beneath the surface and made her feel even more uneasy. Diana didn't feel comfortable walking the streets of New Cambridge the way she would have in the past. Her night of bad dreams