had with the woman? And on the last day of her life? And why hadn't he mentioned it when they'd discussed the woman's death?

The answers to those questions were damning.

"Something's bothering you."

She glanced at Gwen. She should tell her. They were partners now, in this thing together. If Gwen had

been one of her colleagues at the Post, she would.

But she couldn't. Not yet. She had to think it through.

"I'm wondering why people like Trudy Pruitt stayed in Cypress Springs? Why not leave?"

"I asked her that. She said some did leave. For others, for most, this was their home. Their friends were

here. Their family. So they stayed."

"But to live in fear. To know you're being watched. Judged. It's just so wrong. So...un-American."

Avery realized in that moment how carelessly she took for granted her freedoms, the ones granted by the

Bill of Rights. What if one day they were gone? If she woke up to discover she couldn't express her views, see the movies or read the books she chose to. Or if skipping worship Sunday morning or drinking one too many margaritas might land her on a Most Wanted list.

"It's not been until recently that things have gotten really weird," Gwen continued. "For a long time before that it was quiet."

"Recently? What do you mean?"

"In the last eight months to a year. About the time the accidents and suicides began. Trudy said that after Elaine disappeared she thought about going. But she couldn't afford to leave."

Avery hadn't considered that. It cost money to pick up and move. One couldn't simply carry a trailer on their back. Apartments required security deposits, first and last month's rent, utility deposits. Then there was the matter of securing a job.

Not like the moves she had made, ones where she'd lined up a job, and her new employer had covered her moving expenses. She'd had money in the bank to fall back on, a father she could have turned to if need be.

To a degree, people like Trudy Pruitt were trapped.

Now she was dead.

"According to what Trudy told me, most of the citizens fell in like sheep. They were frightened of what

Cypress Springs was becoming, only too happy to head back to church, rein in their behavior or spy on their neighbors if it meant being able to leave their house unlocked at night."

"What about her? She didn't fall in line with the rest."

Gwen's expression became grim. "I don't think she knew how to be any different. And...I don't think she felt any motivation to change. She hated this town, the people. Because of her boys."

"But she didn't say anything about them? About their deaths, Sallie Waguespack's murder?"

"Nothing except that they didn't do it. That they were framed."

"How about Tom? Did she say anything about him?"

"I asked. She didn't know anything about him but what she'd read in the paper. She told me she didn't

have a doubt The Seven killed him."

"He hadn't interviewed her?"

"Nope. She found me, actually."

Avery pulled to a stop at a red light. She looked at Gwen. "Did she say who The Seven were?"

"No. She said revealing that would get her dead."

She got dead anyway. The light changed; Avery eased forward.

The square came into view up ahead. "Drop me at that corner," Gwen said.

"You're sure? I could park around the corner, give you a hand cleaning up?"

"It's better this way. The less possibility of us being seen together, the better."

Avery agreed. She stopped at the next corner. "Call me tomorrow."

Gwen nodded, grabbed the door handle. "What's next?"

"I'm not sure. I need to think about it. Lay out the facts, decide which direction to go."

Gwen opened her car door and stepped out. Avery leaned across the seat.

"Gwen?" The other woman bent, met her eyes. "Be careful."

She said she would, shut the door and walked quickly off. Avery watched her go, a knot of fear settling in her chest. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling suddenly as if she was being watched, but seeing nothing but the dark, deserted street.

But they were out there. The Seven, their spies. A killer.

Being careful wasn't going to be enough to keep either of them safe, she thought. Not near enough.

CHAPTER 39.

The Gavel stood alone in his dark bathroom. Naked. Trembling. He stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. The man who stared back at him barely resembled the one he knew himself to be.

He was sweating, he realized. He pushed the hair off his forehead. He leaned closer to the mirror. Were those tears in his eyes?

He stiffened, furious. He wasn't a child. Not some weak-bellied girl who fell apart anytime the going got tough. He was the strong one. The one whose will, whose determination, carried them all.

Without him, Cypress Springs would have been lost. They all would have been lost.

He bent, splashed his face with cold water, then straightened. Rivulets of water ran over his shoulders, down his belly, beyond. He breathed deeply through his nose. His chest expanded; he felt the oxygen feed his blood, the blood his muscles. He swelled in size, stature.

He smiled. Then laughed. They didn't understand. His eyes were everywhere. While his generals scurried pathetically about, he saw everything, knew everything. Did they think he didn't hear them whispering to one another, exchanging furtive, knowing glances? Making their plans? His enemies, it seemed, were growing in number. Rage welled up in him. Those he trusted turning on him. Those he had turned to for support-indeed, for love-planning his demise. He had given his life for them. The things he had done, the chances he had taken-that he continued to take-to make their lives, their world, a better place. All he had done for them. Was absolute loyalty too much to ask for in return? He narrowed his eyes. Apparently so. And for that, they would pay dearly.

This was his town. He was their leader. Nothing and no one would change that.

Not Gwen Lancaster. Not Avery Chauvin. Tonight, he had stood in the shadows and watched as the two women formed an unholy alliance. One of Cypress Springs's favored daughters had proved herself an outsider. And traitor.

A spear of sadness pierced his armor, he fought it off. The urge to open his arms again, to forgive. Forget. Such emotions were for the weak. The self-indulgent. The unencumbered. None of those applied to him.

His every instinct told him to silence Gwen Lancaster, do it quickly, before she caused more damage. But there were rules to be followed, a proven system to be adhered to. To willfully ignore either would be a step toward anarchy.

It only took one, he thought grimly. One spoiled fruit. One self-indulgent individual on a misdirected campaign.

How was it that only he had great resolve? Why had he been cursed with this perfect vision? This absolute knowledge? He had been born to lead. To show others the way.

It was lonely. He longed to turn from his gift, his call, but how could he? He opened his eyes each day and saw the truth.

He didn't enjoy killing. He had hoped, prayed, that each of those found guilty would take his warning to heart. His lips twisted. But they had been stupid. Ignorant and small-minded.

Liar. Killing the last had been a blessing. A pleasure. The woman had left him no other option. Meeting with outsiders, calling insiders. She had forced his hand. She should have been silenced years ago. He had allowed others to sway him.

A mistake. One of several recent mistakes his generals loved to discuss. That they used against him. Who did they plan to replace him with? Blue? Hawk?

Laughable. He would show them. Soon they would see.

They would all see.

CHAPTER 40.

Hunter sat bolt upright in bed, the sound of children's screams echoing in his head. For a moment he couldn't think. Couldn't separate himself from the nightmare.

With his mind's eye he saw the car careening out of control. The fence going down. The children's terror.

The one child standing frozen in the path of his two thousand pounds of steel and glass.

The woman, throwing herself at the child. Saving the boy. Sacrificing herself.

He became aware of the light streaming through the blinds. The soft hum of traffic, of the

Monday-morning delivery trucks in the alley. Sarah's puppies whimpering, hungry.

Hunter leaned over the side of the bed and looked at her. It seemed to him she was doing her best to block out their cries. "You're being paged," he said to her.

She lifted her head, looked at him.

"I'll get up if you will."

She stared at him a moment, then thumped her tail once. "I'll take that as a yes," he said and climbed out

of bed.

He pulled on a pair of shorts and headed to the bathroom. Teeth brushed, bladder emptied, he beelined for the kitchen. Sarah beat him there. She stood at the door, anxious but patient. He grabbed her lead off the hook, clipped it onto her collar and then together they stepped out into the bright, warm morning.

He and Sarah had their routine. A quick trip out to the nearest patch of grass to take care of her immediate needs, then back for her to feed her pups and him to guzzle coffee. Later, they would take a longer walk or a run.

Sarah did her business and they started back. They rounded the corner. His steps faltered. The dog whined.

Avery waited at his door.