She headed to the bathroom where she brushed her teeth and tried to tame her hair, which was now several inches longer than she was used to wearing it. Something on the counter glinted as she moved the toothbrush around in her mouth, and she stared at the mirror. She closed her hand over the shiny metal object without looking. She turned it in a 26 a her hand, knew what it was, and jammed it into her pocket. Someone coughed, a man, and she paused, listening, then remembered Sarah telling her that a male agent might be here today. Annie walked out of her bedroom but didn't see anyone. Sighing, she walked down the hallway to the large kitchen and looked into the living room.

"Morning," she said, startling the man bent over a laptop.

"Good afternoon." He stood. "I'm Mike Easton, FBI, working with Agent Moore." He held out his hand, and she thought about Sarah last night. Apparently, all FBI agents were tall. "Please, just do whatever it is you need to do," he continued. "I walk the house about every twenty minutes, inside and out. A crew will be here soon to install temporary motion sensors outside, but it shouldn't take them long. Just a heads up, all right?"

Annie nodded, thinking of all the time and money being wasted on her. She was home and safe. She started the coffee and walked around the house. No doubt about it, Mary's personal belongings were gone.

Does that mean I get the furniture, Annie wondered as she checked her desk. If Mary had wanted to leave her any information, it would be here, but there was nothing. Well, what was there left to say anyway?

Mary had just quit asking, quit talking, quit arguing, and found Meg.

And left.

Annie tried calling her mother, but got her voicemail and left a message. She walked back into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, looking out over Lake Michigan. Steam rose off the frozen lake as the sun warmed it, something she loved to watch. The white snow against green pines and coppery oak trees was soothing. Any color but sand, she thought. The clock showed one o'clock, and she turned to the laundry room. First load of clothes in and boots cleaned and put away, she went into her office. Annie soon had some of her parents' old rock playing, and then she booted up her laptop. The music warmed her some, cutting into the curl of loneliness creeping into her mind. She heard the doors to the deck close and remembered there was someone else in the house.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all, having people around.

Annie reread a page of notes from her final piece in Baghdad but finally gave up. She couldn't concentrate, and switched to e-mail.

There was nothing from Kerry in Baghdad, and that bothered her. The network had her in Iraq almost ten months out of last year, and she a 27 a hadn't been home in over three months. There was a missed holiday season in there somewhere, not to mention Mary. Annie slid her hand into her pocket, feeling the ring, turning it with her fingers. "I wouldn't want to live with me," she muttered. She stared at the laptop again. The U.S. involvement in Iraq was confusing and dangerous. It had never been about weapons of mass destruction or democracy. It was about money and politics, maybe oil. Worse, she had a sliding suspicion that revenge had also played a big part in the beginning, and that feeling grew each time she went back. I love my work, Annie thought, but it's changing, evolving slowly into something I'm not happy with. The Jaish al-Basca list was a new wrinkle in her life, but she couldn't believe they'd bother with her, not here, in the U.S.

The doors opened in the kitchen, and she heard the agent come back into the house. The phone rang just as the music ended.

Her mother's voice sparkled on the telephone. "Welcome home, honey. Want to have dinner with us tonight?"

"I've died and gone to heaven," Annie said, amazed that there were still moments when her mother's voice would bring tears to her eyes.

Her mother laughed and asked how she was.

"Homesick, Mom. I'm just glad to be home." Annie checked out the refrigerator while talking to her mother. "Do you want me to bring anything?"

"No, just be there by six. Love you, honey, have to go." As they hung up Annie spotted the carton of eggs.

"Cool, eggs. Beats crackers and dried fruit." She pulled them out.

A white object on the table caught her eye, and she reached for Sarah's business card. Annie called and left Sarah a message, following her instructions to notify her if Annie needed to leave the house. Annie walked into the living room, clearing her throat first so she didn't startle the man working at the big coffee table. He looked up with a smile, and she told him that she would be going to her parents' for dinner and she had left a message for Agent Moore. He frowned at her.

"If Sarah's not back by then, I'll have to go with you," he said.

Annie nodded, then walked back into the kitchen. She saw her mail, neatly stacked and weighed down by a statue of a crow. Annie picked up the statue, rubbing the carved heavy hardwood with her thumb.

Black with green undertones, the statue was a beautiful piece of work.

a 28 a Rebecca had given it to her when they had shared a house during their final year of college. Annie picked up the phone one more time and left Rebecca a message too. "What is it with me and voicemail today?"

She looked through the mail and pulled out a newsletter from Charlene's Angels. She was pleased to see that some of her own e- mailed comments from Iraq had been included. Iraqi women were struggling. Annie remembered the last woman she had interviewed. A teacher before Saddam's government began to decline in the eighties, she was now washing linens at the hospital. Her English had been excellent, and Annie had gone to her house later and met her husband and her children. The notes were on her computer, and her mind swung back. The family was stuck in what remained of their house with very little food and infrequent electricity. What little water they had was unfit for drinking. They had given their children Valium until the supplies had run out. Annie had shared some of her own bottled water with this family when possible, and she wasn't the only journalist or military person doing this. Looking around her kitchen, Annie felt her heart sag.

Watching those people struggle just to make it from day to day had saddened her. She had hoped the American presence would enrich and help them, but it wasn't happening. Her worst fear was that it never would. The last Iraqi official she had interviewed said it would take his country at least twenty-five years to recover from the Americans.

Annie frowned down at her cooling eggs. It always took her several days to adjust to being home, something Mary had never understood.

She straightened and tried to redirect her mind. She wasn't on call here.

She had brought home gifts for each of her nephews and nieces, as well as Rebecca's two kids, and she wondered how tall they would be when she saw them next. Once again, the unfamiliar sensation of loneliness threaded through her. Alone is not the same as lonely, she thought and then realized this was the first time she had come home and Mary had been gone, out of town. I wonder if this was how she felt, she thought as she cleaned up her dishes.

Annie struggled again trying to get her coat on over the sling and finally got the zipper to engage. She stepped out into the snow on the deck and took a deep breath of the cold air. The sunlight was shallow but felt good. Leaning on the railing, she looked down the bluffs to Lake Michigan. Annie loved the lake, its restlessness and the fact that she couldn't see across it. It seemed to go on forever. This land was a 29 a once fully covered with trees, mostly oak, maple, and pine. Her family had owned the land for over one hundred and fifty years, and each family member that had lived here had taken care of the trees, saving as many as possible.

Annie walked through the snow to the back of the deck, checking out the roof and the loft above it. Her mother's uncle had come home from war in the forties and torn down the existing house, building this spacious log cabin with a loft for a stained glass studio. Long and graceful, glassed in on three sides, the loft was modeled after the widow's walk common to the Great Lakes and the East Coast. He had salvaged pieces of beautifully colored glass that had been part of the family business and used them to line the bottom of the studio windows.

When Annie and Mary had bought the house she had remodeled it as her painting studio but kept the stained glass, installing shutters to cover them when she painted to use true light. When she wasn't painting, she would open the shutters to a storm of color.

She stretched to see the boathouse but could only see the dock.

They'd had so many parties on this lawn. Her mother's uncle had loved to entertain. In the winter this had been the "official" sliding hill for their sleds, toboggans, or whatever the family could find to make the trip down the long hill. She and Mary had planted a row of blue spruce, and she checked them out. Surprised at their height, she smiled. Guess I get the trees too.

The old plum tree at the side of the deck looked as if it was wintering well, and she envied its simple, safe quiet in the snow. I wonder if I could run away, just disappear, she thought, kicking snow off the edge of the deck. It'd be easy, just pack a couple of small bags, pick up my car keys and walk out the door, stay in motels. I could see my country again, forget the FBI and my job. Annie moved to the right and kicked more snow, running the possibility through her mind. She'd let her parents and Rebecca know where she was, but no one else.

A crow screamed above her, startling her, and she watched the large bird glide down toward the lake. This was beginning to feel a lot like three years ago, that black hole in the earth, and she held her injured arm with her right hand, rocking slightly. The last time she had stood here, the leaves had turned and she didn't want to leave. Annie's artist mind re-created the scene in her memory. God, I love this land, she thought, and was surprised to feel tears on her cheeks. "Dammit,"

a 30 a she said softly. "Stop." But she couldn't and then frowned as the FBI agent stepped out on the deck.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Booker, but you shouldn't be out here alone."

"Not even on my own deck?"

"Not alone," he said. "Just let me know where you're going and I'll tag along."

She turned her back. This was impossible. Time to pack a bag.

Annie wiped her eyes and checked the tree line up to the house. She looked again at the loft and squinted against the sun rocketing off the large panes of glass. Something looked different. All the shutters were closed. Mary might have done it if the winds had been strong off the lake. Had one of the FBI agents been up there last night? She had been so tired she couldn't remember.

Annie studied the snow, watching a spot melting into a tiny puddle on the wood. It would be ice before the sun went down.

v Hamel stood in the woods, watching the house and the two people on the deck at the back. He had been there quite a while, taking the measure of the property, and he would stay longer. He was dressed in white camouflage, the anorak blending into the snow. He barely moved, quieting his breath. The closest house was over a half mile away, the distance between them filled with woods. The reporter and the man had looked right at him but had not seen him against the snow. He smiled inwardly at his unexpected good luck. He had just found out she was back in town, and he had come out here to check it out for himself.

a 31 a a 32 a

ChAPTER FivE.

Agent Easton drove to them to Annie's parents' home and parked behind her father's company pickup.

"Do you go inside with me?" Annie asked, tightening her jaw. It irritated her even though she knew he was just doing his job. He looked at her and dialed Sarah.

"She's on her way," he said, and they waited in silence.

When Sarah drove up, Mike said a few words to her and drove away.

"How was your day?" Sarah asked, studying Annie's expression.

"Glad to be home," she answered. "Sarah, my parents know nothing about this, about you, so bear with me, please."

Sarah nodded, following her to the family entrance on the enclosed back porch. Sarah stopped to look at an old red bicycle with a crow painted on the front fender. "What's this?"

Annie stopped and ran her hands over the handlebars. "Remind me later tonight, when we go home, and I'll tell you about this. It's special. Mom and Dad keep it around for the grandkids."

A mouthwatering aroma greeted them as they reached the door.

"Yum," Annie said, "Dad's fried chicken."

"Hi, sweetie," her father said, bending down for a kiss. "Missed you." His thick gray hair shone in the light.

"Daddy, this is Agent Sarah Moore from the FBI." Annie did the introductions while her father took their coats. When he came back he looked pointedly at Annie's arm, raising his eyebrows in a question.

"I'm fine," Annie said. "I'll start with wine. How about you, Sarah?"

a 33 a Sarah declined, and Annie petted Maggie, their four-year-old golden retriever. "How's business, Dad?"

"Fine, but you know the nursery business in Milwaukee in the winter. Slow and ramping up for spring, but the new location is growing, so I can't complain."

Annie looked out at the greenhouse in the backyard. "Spending time out there?"

"As much as possible. Your mother's on her way, so we'll eat soon." Annie watched him look at Sarah and could see that he had decided to wait until her mom came home to ask about her.

"Great, I'm starved," Annie replied.

The garage door hummed, and Maggie barked at the back door as Annie's mother bustled into the room. "James, that smells delicious.

Hello, youngest daughter. Give me a hug." She held out her arms and gave Annie a careful hug around the sling on her arm, pushing her hair off her forehead a bit. "Need a haircut, huh?" She smiled at her and then frowned. "But you've lost way too much weight."

She stepped back, taking one last look and then noticed Sarah.

"And who's this?"

Annie went through the introductions again and her mother reached out her hand, smiling. "Let me get my things into the office and we'll eat." She gave Maggie some attention, then exited through a doorway.

Annie's dad raised his eyebrows, remarking dryly, "So laid back, isn't she?" Annie and her dad laughed.

"Actually, she's perfect and so are you," Annie replied just as her mother entered the room.

"You look good, Mom. How is the clinic going?" Annie asked, watching her mother's expression, knowing she was trying to decide how she could tactfully ask about the FBI agent. Annie grinned. This was fun.

Her mother shot her a look and answered Annie's question. "Good, very good. Hired three new doctors and another psychiatrist to help me out. Thank God. I was having trouble keeping up."

"Never thought I'd hear those words out of your mouth, Mom."

Annie took another look at her mother. More gray hair than the last time I checked, she thought.

a 34 a "Just a good front, my dear. How hungry are we? Do we have a little time?"

Years around her mother had taught Annie what to say. "Let's talk. And have more wine."

"Not that I'm impatient." Her mother laughed. "Don't you wonder how I never manage to send my patients off the closest bridge?" She turned to Sarah. "Are you here officially, or as Annie's guest?"

Annie spoke before Sarah could open her mouth. "Officially, and I don't think it's anything other than just odd. There's an extremist group in Iraq called Jaish al-Basca, a group that I've known about for a few years. When I flew into New York City, the FBI met me at the airport and we went to Bill Simpson's office. It seems my name is on their latest Web site. Mine and seven others. All women and all reporters."

"Web site?" her dad said, looking startled.

"Actually," Sarah answered, "let me take this one, if that's all right with you, Annie."

Annie nodded, got up, and began setting the table for another person as Sarah began. She wanted to hear what they said, officially.

"Your daughter's name, along with the other female reporters, appeared several weeks ago on this particular Web site. We regularly monitor domestic Web sites, but in this case, our intelligence in Iraq first alerted us and we began to watch it. Sometimes our citizens' names will appear once and then just disappear. This time, Annie's name was initially one of three, and then it grew to eight names. Her network is concerned, and we're not going to take a chance."

"Annie," her dad began, "this sounds serious."

"I think the FBI sounds like a good idea," her mother finished his thought.

Annie sat down and took a drink of wine, looking at her dad over the rim of her glass. He looks older too, just like Mom, she thought.

"I'm sorry, you two. The FBI is new to me too. Mom, I should have said something on the phone to you earlier. I don't want to worry either of you."

Sarah spoke up. "We don't like to be in a citizen's private space, but the alternative is not nice. Would it be all right if we have dinner first?"

Annie's mother broke into a smile. "Wonderful idea. Are you all a 35 a as hungry as I am? Here, James, let me help." They got up, putting food on the table, and she asked about Annie's arm.

"The doctor said to tell you that little pieces of concrete got into the muscle, but it's healing. Wait, I've got some information." She reached in her pocket for the paper the Army doctor in Baghdad had given her.

"Here, Mom, this was for you. The stitches haven't been looked at for two days, actually longer. Maybe before I leave tonight?"

Her mom nodded. "Yes, I've been wanting to see it anyway." She leaned toward Annie. "Jack Keegan, what a loss, honey."

Annie stopped. Her throat constricted, and she hoped she wouldn't cry. Her parents had been close to Jack and his family. Annie cleared her throat. "Did you get to the funeral?" she asked.

"Yes, we flew in for two nights. Nancy said to thank you personally for calling her."

Annie had felt it was her responsibility since she had been with him. "I called her again when I got back the other day." She stopped, unable to say another word.

Her dad told a humorous story about a fishing experience last summer with Jack, and her mom changed the subject, launching into stories about the grandchildren. Annie got her mind together and led Sarah into a conversation about growing up in Scottsdale, Arizona, and she complained again about the Midwest climate.

"And I miss the hot food," Sarah confessed.