"Those remains and that packet are now gone, Dr. Brennan, and we believe you have them."

"I would strongly suggest you speak with Miss Hobbs." My voice dripped icicles.

"That was, of course, our first endeavor. Unfortunately, Miss Hobbs has not reported to work this week."

"Where is she?"

"That is unclear."

"Has she checked out of her motel?"

"Dr. Brennan, I realize that you are a board-certified forensic anthropologist of international stature. I am aware that you have consulted to Dr. Tyrell in the past, as well as to coroners worldwide. I am told that your credentials are unimpeachable. That makes your behavior in this matter all the more puzzling."

Davenport turned to his companions, as if enlisting support.

"We don't know why you've developed an obsession with this case, but it is clear that your interest has gone far beyond what is professional or ethical."

"I've done nothing wrong."

For the first time, Earl spoke.

"Your intentions may be honorable, Tempe, but unauthorized removal of a victim shows very poor judgment."

He dropped his eyes and flicked a nonexistent particle from his pants.

"And is a felony," Davenport chimed in.

I spoke to the DMORT commander.

"Earl, you know me. You know I would never do that."

Before Earl could reply, Davenport exchanged the paper in his hand for a brown envelope, and shook two photos from it. He glanced at the larger, laid it on the desk, then pushed it toward me with one finger.

For a moment I thought it was a joke.

"That is you, Dr. Brennan, is it not?"

Ryan and I were eating hot dogs across from the Great Smoky Mountains Railroad Depot.

"And Lieutenant-Detective Andrew Ryan from Quebec." He pronounced it Qwee-bec.

"What is the relevance of this, Mr. Davenport?" Though my face was burning, I kept my voice frigid.

"Exactly what is your relationship with this man?"

"Detective Ryan and I have worked together for years."

"But I am correct in assuming that your relationship extends beyond the professional, am I not?"

"I have no intention of answering questions about my private life."

"I see."

Davenport pushed the second photo across the desk.

I was too stunned to speak.

"I surmise from your reaction that you know the gentleman pictured with Detective Ryan?"

"Jean Bertrand was Ryan's partner." Shock waves were passing through every cell in my body.

"Are you aware that this Bertrand is being investigated in conjunction with the Air TransSouth crash?"

"Where is this going?"

"Dr. Brennan, I shouldn't have to spell it out. Your"-he feigned indecision over word selection-"colleague has ties to a principal suspect. You yourself have acted"-again the careful search- "erratically."

"I have done nothing wrong," I repeated.

Davenport tilted his head and twisted his mouth, neither smiling nor grimacing. Then he sighed, indicating what a burden this was for all.

"Perhaps, as Mr. Bliss has suggested, your only offense has been one of misjudgment. But in tragedies of this nature, with so much media attention, and so many grieving families, it is of utmost importance that those involved avoid even the appearance of impropriety."

I waited. Davenport began gathering papers.

"Reports of suspected misconduct are being lodged with the National Disaster Medical System, the American Board of Forensic Anthropology, and the Ethics Committee of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences. The chancellor of your university will also be informed."

Cold fear shot through me.

"Am I suspected of committing a crime?"

"We must consider every possibility, painstakingly and impartially."

Something snapped. I shot to my feet, fingers tightening into fists.

"There's nothing impartial about this meeting, Mr. Davenport, and you have no intention of treating me fairly. Or Detective Ryan. Something's wrong, very wrong, and I've been set up as some sort of scapegoat."

Tears burned the backs of my lids. It's the glare, I told myself. Don't you dare cry!

"Who turned this meeting into a publicity circus?"

Red splotches appeared in Davenport's cheeks, looking oddly out of place in the bland complexion.

"I have no idea how the press found out about this meeting. The leak did not come from my office."

"And the surveillance photo? Where did that order originate?"

Davenport did not answer. The room was deathly quiet.

I uncurled my fingers and drew a deep breath. Then I impaled Davenport with a look.

"I perform my duties scrupulously, ethically, and out of concern for both the living and the dead, Lieutenant Governor Davenport." I kept my voice level. "I do not deviate from protocol. Dr. Tyrell knows that and Mr. Bliss knows that."

My eyes moved to Larke, but he looked away. Earl's attention remained focused on his pants. I turned back to Davenport.

"I don't know what's going on, or why it's going on, but I will find out."

I pointed a finger to emphasize every word.

"I . Will. Find. Out."

With that, I turned and walked from the room, quietly closing the door behind me. The trooper trailed me down the corridor, into the elevator, and across the motel lobby.

The parking lot was an encore of my arrival. Though my escort defended one flank, I was accosted on all others. Cameras rolled, microphones jabbed, and strobes flashed. Questions were shouted in the round. Pushing forward, head down, arms clasped to my chest, I felt more trapped than I had by the coyote pack.

At Ryan's car, the trooper restrained the onslaught with both arms while I unlocked and opened the door. Then he bullied the crowd back, and I broke free and shot onto the highway.

As I drove, my face cooled and my pulse normalized, but a million questions swirled in my brain. How long had I been under surveillance? Could this explain the ransacking of my room? How far would they go? Why?

Would they be back?

Who were "they"?

My eyes flew to the rearview mirror.

Where in God's name was that foot? Had someone actually taken it? If so, for what purpose?

How did they know it was gone? Who had wanted that foot on Monday? Why?

Where was Primrose Hobbs?

The lieutenant governor's office was not typically included in the disaster inquiry loop. Why was Davenport taking such an interest?

Could I actually be facing criminal charges? Should I obtain counsel?

I was completely absorbed in these questions, driving robotically, seeing and responding to my surroundings, but registering nothing on a conscious level. I don't know how far I'd driven when a loud whoop sent my eyes back to the rearview mirror.

A police cruiser rode my bumper, headlights flashing like a strobotron.

I SLOWED AND PULLED ONTO THE SHOULDER. SLOWED AND PULLED ONTO THE SHOULDER. T THE CRUISER FOLlowed.

Traffic whizzed by, normal people on their way to normal places.

I was staring in the rearview mirror when the cruiser's door opened and Lucy Crowe climbed out. My first reaction was relief. Then she put on her hat, squared it carefully, suggesting this was not a social call. I wondered if I should get out too, decided to stay put.

Crowe walked to my car, looking tall and powerful in her sheriff 's livery. I opened the door.

"Mornin'," she said, giving her inverted nod.

I nodded back.

"New car?" She spread her feet and placed hands on her hips.

"Borrowed. Mine took an unscheduled sabbatical."

Crowe was not asking for a license or posing the usual questions, so I assumed this was not a traffic stop. I wondered if I was about to be arrested.

"Got something you're probably not going to want to hear."

The radio on her belt sputtered, and she adjusted a knob.

"Daniel Wahnetah turned up last night."

I almost couldn't ask.

"Alive?"

"Very. Knocked on his daughter's door around seven, had dinner with the family, then went home to bed. Daughter called me this morning." She spoke loudly over the rush of traffic.

"Where was he for three months?"

"West Virginia."

"Doing what?"

"She didn't offer that."

Daniel Wahnetah was not dead. I couldn't believe it.

"Any developments on George Adair or Jeremiah Mitchell?"

"Not a word."

"Neither really fits the profile." My voice was tight.

"Guess this doesn't help you much."

"No."

Though I'd never allowed myself to say it, I'd been counting on the foot belonging to Wahnetah. Now I was back to zero.

"But I am happy for the Wahnetah family."

"They're good people."

She watched my fingers worrying the steering wheel.