The girl nodded absently, and then her eyes grew wide. "You called me Jessie!"

"Oops! I made a mistake. Your name is Megan." Spencer doubted she would ever think of the pair as Karen and Megan again, but she needed to help them keep their cover.

"How did you know my name was Jessie?" the child demanded.

"It slipped out when you broke the glass," the tall woman answered calmly. "Remember when your mom shouted at you because she was afraid you would hurt yourself?"

Jessie nodded.

"She called you Jessie, so that's how I knew it was your name."

"But you can't tell anyone, 'cuz it's a secret."

"I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Thoroughly scolded, Spencer turned back to her work. When she printed the news story, she took a deep breath before taking the next step. Accessing the server was an enormous risk. If the feds knew about it they'd be watching, and they might trace the number right to Viv's front door.

No one except Spencer and Henry knew of the server's existence. When they routed things from work out to Vienna for remote access, they routinely cleaned up the log file at Margadon so no one would know. The company's security team would have a fit if they knew that internal documents and programs had left the local network, but both programmers knew their server was secure, and that the information was not at risk. Besides, they never stored company data, just bits of their code. The way they saw it, Margadon's security measures were overkill.

So the big question was: If Henry did send the files, did he have time to erase the entry in the log file before he was killed? Of course he did. He did that automatically after every upload or download, just as she did. It was part of their procedure, just like logging off. Routine.

With another deep breath, Spencer typed in the URL for a public proxy, a site that allowed her to surf the web anonymously. It wasn't foolproof, but unless those guys had an expert watching the server, they weren't going to find her anytime soon.

From the public proxy, she opened the browser and keyed in the FTP for the server. Her index finger hovered over the "enter" key as she gathered her nerve. Henry was a slave to detail, the most meticulous person she'd ever met, she told herself. No way would he have left the record in the log file. She tapped it and waited for the directory of files to appear.

There it was, a folder of documents sent Friday night at 11:33, about ten minutes before Henry had called her at Elena's. He had probably called James by that time, but that gave him plenty of time to clear the log file. Had he not, the feds would have taken this folder down, she realized with relief.

With a few clicks of the mouse, Spencer downloaded the files he had posted. They were programs, page after page of the documentation and Visual Basic commands that managed the inventory at Margadon. Henry had uploaded more than eighty pages that he thought were relevant to the problem, eighty pages that he would have wanted her to see.

Spencer logged off when the download was complete, hurriedly reloading the paper tray. Anxiously, she sent each of the documents to the bubble jet printer and waited for the output. At four pages per minute, this was going to take a while.

The first twenty six pages were the global program they'd written to execute all of the appropriate modules. As she glanced at the intricate routines, she couldn't help but remember the fun they'd had together when they wrote this. It was when she was seeing Elena, and Henry had....

"What are you doing?"

Spencer was surprised to find that she had a small visitor over her shoulder.

"I'm just printing some things to read later. Is your show finished?"

Jessie nodded and yawned. "What's it about?"

"It's about...it's a mystery story, like a puzzle with words. I have to figure out all the pieces."

The little girl had come to stand closer and was now leaning against the programmer. Spencer reached out and swept her into her lap.

"Are you getting sleepy?"

Again she nodded. "When's Mommy coming home?"

Spencer looked at her watch. It had been more than a half hour since she'd accessed the server. The fact that their door hadn't been broken down by the feds was a good sign.

"Not for a little while, but I'm finished here." Still holding the four-year-old, Spencer stood and scooped up the last of her papers. A few more clicks, and she shut down the computer. "Why don't we go back to the trailer and I'll read you a story that's more interesting than this one? You wanna do that?"

The sleepy child nodded one more time, seemingly very much at home in these long arms of the woman who had frightened her only a few days ago. They walked quietly into the kitchen, where they said soft goodnights to the dogs, and then exited to the trailer.

"I can't believe this! I come every Wednesday night, and I'm lucky if I win once a month. You win on two cards your first night."

"Beginner's luck," Ruth explained, feeling a little guilty...but not a lot. It was about time she got a break. "Tell you what. I'll spend my winnings on dinner, if we can cook and eat at your house."

"You've got yourself a deal. And I'll go you one better. You spend your winnings on a fat turkey, and I'll do all the rest. Thanksgiving's the week after next, you know."

For the first time, it hit Ruth that Manassas was her new life, that she wouldn't be sharing holidays anymore with her parents, or with Skip's family. With a few simple words on a whim, Viv Walters had just made her part of a new "family," and it felt better than any family Ruth had ever had.

Once she'd gotten Jessie settled for bed, Spencer began the task of retracing her partner's steps. For some reason, he'd uploaded two copies of their global program, or so it seemed. Something was obviously different, but damned if she could see what it was. The longer she looked at it, the more confusing it became.

Among the other documents were several pages of macros, the shortcuts they'd written so that the program would run more efficiently and error-free. The last few pages were unfamiliar, but just as she was starting to review them, she heard the Taurus pull up in the muddy drive.

"Did you have a good time?" she asked the smiling blonde.

"I cleaned up," she bragged. "I won the Coverall and the Eight States."

"I take it that's a good thing?"

"It's a very good thing," she proclaimed, digging out her winnings as she swaggered across the room. "It means I paid forty-five dollars for three cards and I won $132, so that's eighty-seven in the clear."

"And you obviously had a good time. Can't beat that."

"Where's Jessie?"

"Bathed, storied, and sound asleep," Spencer answered smugly.

"You're kidding." She was mystified that Jessie had gone to bed without a fuss, but she was pleased. What was more confusing to Ruth was how quickly she'd come to trust a virtual stranger to care for her daughter. But it was obvious that she did. There just wasn't anything about Spencer Rollins that was threatening.

"Nope. She got tired, so I put her to bed. Hope that was okay."

"Sure. So were you able to get online?" It was a stupid question, she knew, since Spencer had stacks of papers all over the counter.

"Yeah, but it's going to take me awhile to find what Henry was talking about." Spencer turned back to her work as Ruth settled in the recliner.

"You mind if I watch the news?"

"No, go ahead."

Ten minutes into the broadcast, the Margadon story was updated to include video of police recovering the body of James Thayer from the Chesapeake Bay. Thayer had been sought as a suspect in the murder of Henry Estes, but it now appeared that Spencer Rollins had committed both murders. She was last seen in the Manassas-Centreville area of Virginia, and was presumed armed and dangerous.

Spencer grew nauseous as she watched the clip, just as she did every time she was reminded of her friend's horrid death. It was beyond belief that anyone would think her capable of such a vicious act. But more than proving her innocence, she wanted the animals who had done this brought to justice.

"Oh, my god!" Ruth shouted suddenly, leaping from the chair and out the door.

"What?"

"Viv! She was going in to watch the news."

Ruth raced across the yard and pounded on the back door, shouting for her landlady to hurry.

Inside, Viv Walters had just gotten the fright of her life when she saw the picture of the woman wanted for murder. At once, she'd grabbed the phone, intent on calling 9-1-1. Only the pounding on the door stopped her, as she realized the danger for Karen and her little girl. Hurriedly, she threw the bolt to let the frantic woman in.

"I just...," she pointed absently at the television, the shock apparent on her lined face.

"It isn't true, Viv. Spencer didn't do it," Ruth said, gasping for breath.

"But they said...."

"No, it isn't true."

Behind her tenant, the tall stranger was approaching slowly from the trailer. Fear gripped the older woman as she imagined the worst.

"She's right, Viv. I didn't kill those people," Spencer said softly.

The calm in her voice was contagious, and the older woman began to relax. "Why are you hiding then? Why don't you just go to the police and tell them you're innocent?"

"Because the guys who killed her friend are the police, and they're trying to kill her," Ruth explained. "It's true. I know it's hard to believe, but they're after her, Viv. She's staying here because nowhere else is safe."

Spencer could see that the older woman wasn't convinced. "I'll leave if you need me to. Karen can take me tomorrow and put me out on a street corner if that's the way you want it. You both have already done more for me than I have a right to ask. But just please don't call the police tonight." Her request was as much for Ruth as it was for herself.

"What are you going to do?"

The programmer waved the papers that she'd printed earlier. "I have to prove that somebody else did it. That's why I needed your computer tonight. I have the evidence in these printouts, Viv, but I haven't figured it out yet," she pleaded. "I'm so sorry that I lied to you, but I'm not lying now."

Spencer led Viv to the kitchen table, where she explained in the simplest way possible how she came to be hiding out with Ruth, and what she needed to do to exonerate herself. She showed her bruised ribs and the scar on her arm as proof of the chase.

"These people are dangerous, but they aren't as smart as they think they are. I need some time, Viv, but I'm going to bring them to justice. Please trust me. I promise that I'm not the person they say I am."

Over the years, Viv had gotten pretty good at sizing people up. You had to do that when you rented to strangers. There was nothing about Spencer Rollins that remotely suggested that she was capable of something like this. "I believe you," she said simply.

Ruth watched the exchange, feeling guilty now about her own lies to the obviously compassionate woman. She wanted to come clean about her own secrets, but her situation wasn't like Spencer's. Regardless of how she justified it, there was no misunderstanding or conspiracy about what she had done: She had kidnapped her child.

CHAPTER 17.

CLUTCHING HER DOLL, Jessie shuffled sleepily down the hallway toward her mother's room. Yesterday, Spencer had gotten her breakfast while her mommy slept, but today, Spencer was still asleep on the couch.

"Mommy?" she called softly.

"Hey, sweetie. Come on in." Ruth lifted the blanket and Jessie crawled onto the bed, snuggling against her mother's warmth. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine."

"I'm sorry I got home so late last night, honey. But I won."

"You did?"

"I certainly did. And I'm going to buy us a big fat turkey for Thanksgiving, and we're going to eat a big dinner at Viv's house. Won't that be fun?"

Jessie smiled in agreement. "Will Spencer be there too?"

"Maybe, if she wants to. You like Spencer, don't you?"

The little girl nodded. "She's funny?"

"Oh yeah? What does she do that's funny?"

"She tickles me, and she makes you laugh."

"Yes, she does. I think she's funny too. You think we should go wake her up?"

"Uh-huh. And she has big feet."

"Big feet?"

"Yeah, come see."

Holding her daughter's hand, Ruth walked into the hall, at once covering her mouth to suppress the laugh. Indeed, Spencer Rollins had big feet, so big in fact that they hung over the end of the couch, blocking the path to the living room. Tiptoeing back into her room, the conspirators laid their plans.

Each armed with a cotton swab, they crept back down the hall, stooping low to take turns trailing the swabs softly across the instep of the bare feet. Mother and daughter worked hard to contain their giggles as the toes curled, the feet twitched, and the legs jumped.

"Someone is going to be very sorry," a deep voice threatened from around the corner.

Jessie squealed and ran into her room. Ruth followed and huddled with her daughter on the bed, bracing for the inevitable onslaught. And Spencer made good on her word, suddenly appearing in their doorway, her face etched in mock fury. After five full minutes of frenzied tickling, the woman with the big feet returned to the living room, avenged and now wide awake.

"My granddaughter's been kidnapped, and I want to know what you're going to do about it!" Roland Drummond, Sr. bellowed. He was furious at the ineptitude of the local police, but that paled next to his opinion of the social worker who had persuaded the judge to allow unsupervised visitation. Ruth Ferguson didn't care about that child; she was obviously bitter about the divorce, and only wanted to hurt and embarrass his son.

"I assure you, we're doing everything we can, Roland," the sheriff pledged. "I've contacted the FBI, and they're sending an agent over this afternoon to go over all the details. Once they put their pictures out there, there won't be anyplace to hide. I promise you, we'll bring 'em back here."

"And when you do, I want that woman in jail! She ought never see the light of day again for this."

Skip hung back, perfectly content to watch his father take the lead in berating the investigators. Over the last few days, it occurred to him that the best possible outcome from all this would be that they never found either one of them. Sure, it would mean that his ex-wife would get undue satisfaction from thinking that she'd beaten him. But the real truth was, if they never found her, he wouldn't be saddled with a child to raise, but he would have the support and sympathy of the community instead. Having Ruth run off with Jessie was exactly the freedom Skip was looking for.

Off and on all day, Spencer studied the printouts, still not sure of the paper trail her partner had created. Why would he post two copies of the same document? The answer was that he wouldn't. Something was different in these two sets of twenty-six pages; she just had to find it.

In the meantime, she examined the program Henry had appended. It was amateurish at best, but still, James was incapable of writing it. Either he had subbed it out, or another person was involved in this conspiracy.

"You making any progress?" Ruth asked, returning with Jessie from a tour around town with Viv.