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lot of them, herself, in the months after the escape from Candle Lake Manor, when she had been forced to assume a new identity.
    No, Ethan had not lied tonight. But he had not told her the whole truth, either. She wondered what it was that he had left out and why he had felt compelled to do so.

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    Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    Shelley Russell shook the photos out of the envelope and put them on the desk. “Will these do?”
    The big man reached out and scooped up the pictures. She was proud of the shots. It had taken her three days in Whispering Springs to get all of them, but she thought John Branch and his secretive employer would be satisfied.
    She studied Branch while he flipped through the stack of glossies. She was eighty-two years old and he was in his early thirties, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a few interesting fantasies. And Branch was definitely a walking fantasy if you liked the macho, clean-cut, military type.
    She’d always had a weakness for a man in uniform. Hell, she’d married two of them. Buried one and divorced the other.
    Branch was iron-jawed, cold-eyed and good-looking, with the kind of cheekbones that would have done a Viking proud. He could have modeled for a recruitment poster for some elite military unit. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’d been Special Forces at some time in the past.
    Branch clearly took his workouts seriously. He rippled and bulged in all the right places. This was her second meeting with him. He was dressed very much as he had been the first time. His jeans were so snug around his bulging thighs it was a wonder the seams hadn’t split. His gray, short-sleeved pullover was stretched so tightly across his chest she could see every well-defined muscle.
    But even if she had been forty or fifty years younger, she didn’t think she would have allowed herself to do more than fantasize about John Branch. After what seemed a lifetime in the investigation business, she knew better than to get personally involved with a client. But it wasn’t professional ethics that would have stopped her. She’d broken the rules and slept with a few clients over the years and the sky had not fallen.
    But John Branch was different. She was starting to think that there was something slightly screwy with his wiring. The man had more than a military bearing; he possessed a robotic quality that was downright spooky.
    “These are excellent shots, Ms. Russell,” Branch said. Each word was enunciated with clipped, military-style precision. “You do good surveillance work.”
    “I’m glad you’re satisfied.” Her chair squeaked when she leaned back. It had squeaked like that for at least twenty years. One of these days she would have to oil it. “You’re sure that’s the woman you’re looking for?”
    “The subject has obviously changed her hair color and is dressing in a different style, but some things can’t be altered. Looks like she fits the physical description I gave you.”
    “I got real close to her on several occasions. Definitely the same height, build and eyes. Maybe a little thinner is all.”
    “I’ll show these to my boss. He’ll make the final ID.” Branch put the photos down one by one on the desk, arranging them in a neat, orderly line. “Were you able to identify everyone who is closely associated with her?”
    “Yes.” She handed Branch the two pages of notes that she had written up on her laptop. “They’re all Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    there in that group shot taken outside the pizza parlor. The two women on the right are Bonnie Truax and Zoe Truax. Zoe is the former Sara Cleland. She used the name Zoe Luce for most of last year and then married a man named Ethan Truax.”
    Branch looked up sharply. “Why the different ID?”
    “Apparently she was trying to conceal the fact that she had spent some time in a psychiatric