Reeve lowered his voice, as if in the privacy between a human and the Almighty, he was offering up a genuine prayer.

Janie had a prayer.

The prayer was not to G.o.d.

It was to Hannah.

Dear Hannah, don't show up in our lives. My parents can't go through that. They'd have to see what became of you. And they and you would have to face a trial and the media. Hannah. there's only one thing you can do for the mother and father you abandoned.

Stay lost.

S * S.

Horror spread down Janie's body like snakebite.

The poison was cold, crawling through her system.

It was cold inside her head, too. Air-conditioned nightmare Reeve Shields had sold her over the air.

While she had been heartsick over a page in the yearbook, Reeve-her Reeve-had been using her as evening entertainment for a whole city. A joke between a.s.sa.s.sins.

There was n.o.body in the world you could trust. Your parents turned out to be somebody else entirely, and the boy you loved, your worst enemy.

Brian felt older than his sisters. He could be the parent here, the coach or teacher. The designated grown-up.

Janie had melted into the bed. Her face had a flat look, as if she had abandoned it.

Jodie looked like a losing tennis star. Ready to rip the net and bring her tennis racket right down over the head of her opponent and wrap it around his throat and strangle him while she was at it.

Brian stared at his two flaking-out sisters. Reeve, he thought. But we all loved you. You made it possible for us to forgive Janie for wanting to be a Johnson instead of a Spring. You were my hero, Reeve.

Brian felt destroyed around' the edges. He picked up the telephone. He hit nine to get an outside line. Twice Derek Himself had given the phone number for WSCK. Brian was not usually strong on numbers, but he would never forget these seven.

S * S.

Reeve set up two Visionary a.s.sa.s.sins back to back. He was very attached to the a.s.sa.s.sins.

Vinnie was out in the hall talking to somebody Reeve didn't recognize. Derek had actually retreated to another room to study. Cal had a date.

The phone lit. Reeve was as exhausted as if his mind had been vacuumed. Broadcast took a lot out of you. He stared at the silent, visible ring of the phone. Then he picked it up. He was mildly surprised when the tape reel next to him began turning. Derek must have been recording.

"Hi there," he said briskly into the receiver, finding his jock voice for another moment. "WSCK, We're Here, We're Yours, We're Sick. How can I help you?"

The caller was a woman.

Not a girl. Not a college kid. Not young.

The voice was tired. The vocal cords rasped from too much smoking. The speech was slurred, as if the caller had had too much to drink. "This-this is the radio station?" said the caller.

Derek would have said No, this is the high command, give me your lat.i.tude and longitude so I can drop a bomb on you. We have too many stupid people in the world.

But Reeve said courteously, "Sure is. What's your name?"

There was a pause, as if the caller needed to think about this, or needed to be prompted. Needed Reeve to say Yes, your airtime has started, the world is listening, go ahead.

And yet, not that kind of pause.

Not a person uncertain about whether it had started.

A person choosing to start something.

"I," said the voice, "am Hannah."

CHAPTER.

NINE.

Reeve turned to Styrofoam.

Hannah.

No. Absolutely not. It was not probable. Statistics were against it. It was not logical. It was- It was the worst thing that could happen. He felt so light. He might float off the chair and tap against walls, a lost object in a s.p.a.ce flight.

Hannah.

Vinnie was still in the hall, still talking to the stranger. Not even enough time for a change of posture had pa.s.sed.

n.o.body was paying attention to Reeve. The reel-to-reel tape, in its slow, old-fashioned way, circled on. It was taping silence now. Neither Reeve nor his caller spoke.

He said to himself: It's not Hannah. It's some college soph.o.m.ore joking around. It's Cordell paying Pammy to lower her voice.

But could Pammy's high, annoying burble be transformed into that rough smoker-drinker voice?

He tried to calm himself.

It was Visionary a.s.sa.s.sins. They'd hired a voice. For the a.s.sa.s.sins, the more attention, the better. They, too, could up the ante.

It's giggly girls with nothing else to do. Junior high kids listening after they're supposed to be in bed. Kids in the student center, sick of video games. The professor's wife, filling in her chart.

But not Hannah.

He felt cold from the inside out.

He needed to swallow and couldn't. He needed to throw up and couldn't. He needed to think and couldn't.

"I need to know one thing," said the voice. "Just one."

They all said that. But this voice shivered on the words. It was not a demand. It was a plea.

Reeve disconnected. With the slightest pressure from just one finger, he got rid of the voice.

Then he stared at the phone. Why did I do that? I know so much that almost n.o.body else knows. I could have asked a single question myself, and if it's Hannah, or if it's not-I'd know.

She's gone now. I can't ask.

His mouth was full of something. A towel. Probably his tongue.

And what if it is Hannah? What then, stupid? he said to himself. His pulse whacked in his temple. It felt like a golf ball under the skin. Hire a real Visionary a.s.sa.s.sin to do away with her? Invite her for dinner? Suggest a friendly local FBI agent?

If it was a listener trying to increase the action, he thought, she'll call back.

He waited. His heart beat as fast as a hummingbird's.

This is a college town, he reminded himself. Boston in November equals bored college kids with nothing better to do than listen to a dumb college radio station and make dumb calls.

Around him, clocks with sweep hands ticked off seconds.

Then, once more, the clear plastic b.u.mp on the telephone twinkled.

He tried to wet his lips. Couldn't. Tried to look away long enough to find his c.o.ke. Couldn't.

Should he answer?

One more ring and the answering 'machine would pick up. He could not have Vinnie notice anything amiss.

Vinnie would love it, thought Reeve. He'll make it be Hannah even if she's not Hannah. In fact, Vinnie is the likeliest person to set this up.

His eyes flickered to Vinnie out in the hall. Vinnie was not subtle, could not act. If he was in this, it would show. But Vinnie continued to wave his clipboard at the stranger.

Reeve picked up the phone, finger poised over the Disconnect b.u.t.ton. Reeve had large hands: hands meant for circling basketb.a.l.l.s or carrying one end of a piano. A voice on a wire had reduced his hand to quivers.

Janie loved his hands. Loved resting her thin fingers against his big ones. He could not think of Janie now. He could not allow himself to think what he might have loosed upon Janie.

It's not Hannah, he repeated to himself. That call was a joke.

And what was selling Janie? he thought. A joke?

He had been building a bomb here, as carefully as a terrorist in a bas.e.m.e.nt. And hadn't even realized it.

But who would be blown up?

Not me, he thought. I'm the talk show host. Nothing happens to the host. Hannah isn't my daughter. She isn't my kidnapper. She's theirs.

Reeve managed a swallow. Dry, no c.o.ke.

Hannah would explode Janie, and both families.

It'll go away, Reeve told himself. I didn't really do anything, and n.o.body really listens to this station. It isn't Hannah, and I'll stop doing janies. I'll attend cla.s.s, I'll study, eat at McDonald's instead of the cafeteria, pick up my mail in the dark of night, sleep in the park. "This is WSCK! We're Here, We're Yours, We're Sick, how can I help you?" Only his fingers quivered, not his vocal cords.

"I just have one question, Reeve." Chipper, perky voice. Demanding, in a Hills College way. "I wanna know if Visionary a.s.sa.s.sins look like their songs. Somebody told me that in real life, they're wimpy, weedy nerds. I picture them as big, lean thugs. What's the truth?"

Reeve's horror faded to nothing. He felt thick and somewhat silly. His racing pulse dropped, and his sweat dried.

"Ah, the elusive truth," said Reeve. "Only if you see the a.s.sa.s.sins live will you come close to the truth." He disconnected.

Well, that was a relief. No Hannah. Just an ordinary evening in the life of a deejay.

He'd have to put a third CD on. He couldn't fill his lungs enough to talk on the air. Couldn't wet his lips. '

He felt like somebody who's just missed having a fatal car accident and has to pull over until the jelly-legs go away. He took two extremely deep, calming breaths, the way he used to do in high school before a wrestling match.

High school. Talk about remote. He'd been a kid then, with kid-sized problems.

This is a kid-sized problem, too, he reminded himself.

The phone lit once more.

He tried to plan what to say to the fake Hannah, but no plan came to mind. He'd have to wing it. This time he would not hang up. He had to hear the woman out, find out who was behind her nonsense.

"Hey! You've reached WSCK! We're Here, We're Yours, We're Sick, how can I help you?"

"Reeve? This is Brian Spring. Jodie and I are here in Boston for her college interviews. We heard your broadcast."

Reeve had been braced for a fake Hannah. Not a real Brian Spring. Reeve's head splintered. Brian and Jodie? But they would tell Janie.

"We're at the Marriott. We're not alone, Reeve. Janie came up with us," said Brian. "The Marriott. Room six sixteen. You better come here."

Janie was here.

Janie had listened.

It felt as if the blood had been siphoned right out of his body.

He had thought Hannah's voice the worst-case scenario.

No. Janie hearing his worst janie was.

An hour ago, Reeve had considered it his best.