Ruth looked around to see if she could spot Thor and Maggie.

"They're my Labradors. I had to lock 'em up on the back porch so they wouldn't jump all over you when you got here. Labradors are like that. Never met a soul that wasn't their best friend. Now if you'd been a man calling about the trailer, I might have had 'em out here with me, you know, just for show."

"You've had some trouble?"

"Oh, no! And I'm not liable to have any as long as they're here. They're sweet, but I don't think they'd ever let anybody hurt me. You want to meet 'em?"

"Maybe later," Ruth said tentatively. "Could we see the trailer?"

"Of course. Right this way."

As they rounded the house, two big dogs let loose with a cacophony of rich, throaty barks. Through the screen at the back door, they could see a black and a yellow Lab, eager to get out and meet these new friends.

Viv led them across the muddy back driveway to the trailer's wooden porch.

"You'd have this spot to park in. I keep my Jeep in that shed over there."

As she opened the door, Ruth got a nasal clearing blast of disinfectant, welcome, she considered, in light of the previous renter. Viv stepped in and flipped on the overhead light switch to reveal a small living room and kitchen area finished in the standard dark wooden paneling. A couch, a recliner, and a straight back armchair practically filled up the entry, and the dining table was a built in bar with two stools and room for a third. A quick perusal of the cabinets found an array of mismatched plates, bowls, glasses and mugs. A few aluminum pots and pans were stored beneath the stove. A tray of assorted silverware and utensils lay inside one of the drawers, and the other held dishcloths and hand towels.

"It's fully furnished, except for sheets and towels. You'll have to get them yourself."

"Just sheets and towels?"

"Yep. Everything else is here already. I mean, it's not the best stuff, but it beats nothing at all, I guess. My daughter used to live here with her husband, but then she ran off with another man, and her husband didn't want to stay, so I inherited everything. That was almost fifteen years ago."

Ruth would have guessed that, given the wear on the counters and appliances.

"Now like it said in the ad, it's got two bedrooms and one bath." Leading the way down a darkened hall, Viv once again flipped a wall switch, this time getting no response. "Damn light bulb! Oops! I did it again. Sorry."

Ruth took it in stride, sure that her daughter had picked up these words and worse from Skip. But even at four years old, Jessie had the discretion not to use them in conversation with her mother.

The first bedroom held a twin bed and had a built in dresser, a stack of drawers, and a closet. Next was the bathroom, a simple tub and shower combination, with a toilet and sink, all in harvest gold. The back bedroom had windows on both sides, a double bed against the end wall, two nightstands, and a dresser with six drawers. Given the motif, Ruth found herself immensely glad that the carpet was gone. It had probably been shag...brown and orange shag.

"So it's a hundred and fifty a month including utilities?" Even for a place like this, that seemed like a pretty good deal.

"That's right. You got water, electricity, and Jerry from the church ran the cable over here and spliced it in, so you have that too."

"And your ad also mentioned some errands and light chores. Could I get an idea of what that involves?"

"Well, it isn't a whole lot, really," Viv began casually. Now her salesmanship was creeping in. "See, I can't drive at night because I don't see so good. I get most things done during the day, so it usually don't make no difference. But on Wednesday nights I like to go to bingo down at the church and I need a ride. Now you can drop me off and come back for me, or if you want to try your luck, you can stick around." A crooked grin popped out as she scuffed her foot on the vinyl floor.

"That's all you need? Just a ride to bingo?"

"Well," she hesitated, "once in awhile I need a little help around the house. You know, those things that are easier with two people, like holding a ladder...or picking up something heavy...or giving the dogs a bath."

Ruth gulped noticeably.

"They're usually pretty good, but they get excited and sometimes I need help holding 'em still," she explained.

Ruth stood there quietly and looked around. At one-fifty a month, she wouldn't have to worry about making the rent for a while. If she could get Jessie into a pre-school or daycare, she could start looking for work. Even a low-wage job would be enough for the time being if she lived here.

"Would you mind if I talked it over with my daughter?"

"No, not at all," Viv answered. "I'll just wait outside."

Ruth had made up her mind, but she wanted Jessie to like it and to feel at home. Kneeling down, she pulled her daughter close.

"So what do you think, punkin? How would you like to have that little room with pretty flowered sheets?"

"It's dark in here."

"I know, but it won't be when we open the windows." She walked over and tugged gently on the bottom of the shade. Abruptly, it flew to the top with a snap. "Oops, glad I didn't have my nose over there," she teased, covering her nose.

That made Jessie laugh, and she covered her own nose as well.

"What do you say, honey? We can make it pretty, and there's a closet for all your toys in the little bedroom. I think we'll like it here."

"Do you think Daddy will find us here?" the girl asked seriously.

"No, sweetie, I don't. Not if we keep our secret...Megan. Okay?"

Finally, Jessie nodded her agreement. This wasn't as big and bright as the house she'd shared with her father, but it already felt a lot happier than that one.

Together, the pair walked out onto the porch, just as the rain began falling more steadily.

"Viv?"

The gray-haired woman opened her back porch door. "Did you decide?"

"Yeah, we're going to take it. I think Megan and I are going to like living here," she shouted across the back yard.

Viv smiled and waved them in. "Well come on in here and say hello to these hounds so they'll know you're the good guys."

CHAPTER 8.

SPENCER THROTTLED BACK when she exited onto Lee Highway heading west. Her sudden move had caught both the deputy and federal agent unaware, and she was long gone before they got back into the flow of traffic. This time, though, she wasn't going to take any chances running up on another law enforcement officer from behind. She was a sitting duck on these interstates and highways, exposed and at the mercy of the exit ramps and crossroads. She'd have a better chance of staying out of sight on a two-lane road, especially if she could get off road quickly and into a place where she couldn't be pursued.

At the first chance, Spencer turned off the highway, heading south onto a two-lane road with moderate traffic. She needed to find a place to regroup. Her shoulder-length brown hair was wet and stringy, and the blood on her arm had soaked through the nylon, discoloring the white sleeve. She wasn't going to be able to walk into any old public building and hang out unnoticed.

When the road ended, she turned west on 620, away from the city. That road became New Braddock Road, and traffic picked up a bit. Not good, she realized, looking again for something more out of the way. Most of the surface streets looked like they looped back into residential areas, which meant there was likely no thru-way. It wouldn't do at all to get trapped in a place like that.

From highway to back road to dead end and back, she rode in the rain, searching in vain for a place she could stop. Her eyes were peeled for a closed business, a parking garage, or even a dugout on a little league ball field. She needed a place where she could sort out this mess. What was this all about? Had Henry really stumbled across something sinister? And how were the feds involved?

Finally, she ended up in the one place she hadn't wanted to be: on a road leading back to the interstate. No doubt, the highway patrol and every other badge on earth had her description by now. Cynically, she imagined also that their orders now were "shoot to kill." Spencer couldn't risk being out here anymore. She needed to get off the road now. After dark, she'd venture out and try to call Elena again.

On her left was a large wooded area; on her right, an open field. Straight ahead was I-66 and behind her was a town, filled with stoplights, traffic, and inevitably, police. The lesser of evils was the woods on the left and she turned down a side road to find the best place to sneak in without being seen.

Most of the leaves on the taller trees were gone, but the scrub pines and rhododendrons offered a little cover down low. Still, she'd have to go pretty deep into the woods to be completely hidden to anyone driving by. Spencer had given up on finding shelter, but the rain had lessened somewhat. There was a poncho in her other saddlebag, and she could drape it over the bike to make a tent.

Picking her way up the bank and over a fallen log, the tall rider chuckled at the image of her coworkers trying to get their fancy Harley's in here. Hell, could their big touring bikes have jumped the fence at Margadon? Hell, no! Could they have climbed the curbs and medians? Doubtful! Could they clear underbrush like the Kawasaki? Not fucking likely! Her last twenty hours on the dual purpose KL650 could have been a sales video. Take that, Harley Davidson!

Spencer was winding slowly back into the woods when she heard the dreaded sound, a siren closing in fast. Eager to get deeper into the cover, she accelerated a bit, turning back to see if she could catch a glimpse of the cruiser through the trees.

That was pretty unwise for someone without a helmet.

The instant she turned back around, she was smacked in the face by a stiff branch of a barren white oak. Lying flat on her back as her bike crashed ahead into the shrubbery, Spencer lay there for all of about eight seconds, marveling at the fact that she knew what hit her. Then she took an unplanned nap.

For the second time that same day, the injured cyclist awoke to rain in her face. Immediately, her right hand - now the only one she could lift - went to her forehead, where it found a sticky mass she knew was congealed blood. That had been a nasty spill, and she'd obviously been out for hours, as the last traces of daylight were nearly gone.

Spencer struggled to sit up, reeling at the dull ache from her newest injury. Moving only slightly brought shooting pains that seemed to wrap around her head, and she was almost overcome by a wave of dizziness and nausea.

It was just twenty-four hours ago that she had bid Henry Estes goodnight and walked out of Margadon, her mind already on the fun-filled night ahead. Since then, she'd seen her friend murdered; she'd been chased all over Maryland and Virginia; she'd spent the night outside in the cold rain; and she'd been shot at, for god's sake. Bruises and a punctured arm were bad enough; but now, she worried that she might have a concussion, or even a fractured skull.

More now than ever, she needed help.

Spencer struggled to her feet and reached out for a branch to steady herself. That branch! Fuck, no wonder it hurt so bad, she thought. It was as big as a baseball bat.

Her bike lay in a heap a few feet away, but that didn't matter now. She was in no condition to ride.

As the woods darkened around her, Spencer saw that straight ahead - where she had first thought was deeper into the woods - there was a glow of lights. Apparently, if she'd continued on, she would have emerged on the other side, back at the edge of the town she'd passed.

Steadying herself now on a tree, she stooped to the side pocket on her bike, pulling out the black poncho and dropping it over her head. It didn't matter that she was soaking wet already; the poncho would cover the blood on her arm, and the hood would hide her wet hair and battered face. It was hard not to look like an idiot when you were out wandering around in the pouring rain, bleeding like a stuck pig. At least with the poncho, she could hide the worst of it and maybe not call undue attention to herself.

Slowly, Spencer stumbled through the woods in the direction of the light, not knowing what she'd find when she finally got to the end. With luck, there would be a phone, and a place where she could be warm and dry while she waited for Elena to come pick her up.

Nearing the edge of the woods, the source of light came into view. It was a Wal-Mart, the giant discount department store. Even in the pouring rain on a Saturday night, the store was doing a good business, evidenced by the crowded parking lot. By now, her instincts demanded that she watch out for a dark sedan with government plates, and for law enforcement vehicles of any type. Seeing neither in the darkened lot, Spencer scooted down the embankment, finally reaching the edge of the paved lot on the side of the store.

Tentatively rounding the building, she spotted a pair of payphones mounted on the outside wall next to the vending machines. The slim overhang high above offered little shelter from the rain, which now was coming down much heavier than before. At the entrance, she could see the shoppers gather, all waiting for the deluge to let up so they could run to their cars with their packages.

Spencer knew she must look like a fool out in the rain, but she had no choice. Dropping two quarters into the phone farthest from the door, she placed her call to Elena's home number. Anxiously, she counted the rings, almost hanging up before she finally heard the response.

"Hello?"

"Elena?"

"Spence, is that you?" The agent had spent the whole day trying to find her friend.

"Yeah," she sighed with relief. "God, Elena, I'm in so much trouble."

"Where are you? I'll come get you." Elena knew that no matter what had happened, it was all some kind of mistake. The FBI had questioned her that afternoon about her ex-lover's whereabouts the night before. They were convinced that Spencer Rollins had killed her coworker, but Elena knew better and said so.

"I'm in Virginia, at a Wal-Mart near I-66. I'm not sure exactly." Spencer looked around for a clue as to what this area or city was called. "Elena, Henry's dead. I saw the guys that did it. I think...I think it was the feds. And now they're after me."

Like she had this morning, Spencer related the truth as she knew it and waited for her friend's response. And like this morning, it never came.

"Elena?" Not again! "Elena?"

At that instant, the programmer realized what she'd just done. The fuckers had found her cell phone and they were probably the goddamned FBI. That meant they knew about Elena, about all the calls they made to one another. And if they were looking for her, all they had to do was wait for her to call her friend. They had listened in to every word, and both times they had cut her off just as she started to explain what had happened. By tapping Elena's phone, they'd found her this morning at the gas station, and goddamn it, that's how they were going to find her right here.

Suddenly panicked, Spencer hung up the phone and stepped back, looking at once toward the parking lot entrance for the telltale police car. Hurrying as fast as she could with her injuries to the nearest row of parked vehicles, she ducked low as she looked for a hiding place.

Her first choice was a pickup truck with a small camper top, but it was locked. Likewise with the SUV two spaces over and the van parked next to it. Finally she reached a red station wagon and gave the door a yank. To her surprise and relief, it opened; and she quickly crawled into the back, covering herself with a black tarpaulin that was already spread out.

Waiting anxiously to see if she'd been spotted, Spencer listened to the sounds around her. Only occasionally would a door slam or an engine start. The rain was obviously keeping shoppers inside.

Five minutes passed, then five more. Warm and dry for the first time today, she gave in to her exhaustion.

As soon as the door opened, Elena Diaz charged through. "I need to use your phone." Not even saying hello, she went straight for the kitchen and grabbed the cordless off the wall.

"What did you find out?" Kelly had waited all day for Elena to call her about Spencer.

"They're after Spencer, the FBI. Somebody killed the guy she works with last night, and they say it was her. Did you talk to Kaitlyn?"

"Yeah, she said Spencer blew her off right after they walked out. She got a phone call and said she needed to go."

Elena paced nervously. Spencer had said she was in trouble. And that she was in Virginia, and then the line went dead, just as it had this morning.

"Do you think she killed him, Elena?"

"No, there's no way. But I don't know how to find out what happened. The FBI agents who talked to me today asked a lot of questions, but they didn't answer any of mine." The tall woman practically snarled as she remembered Calvin Akers' cocky attitude. "Listen, I need to call my cousin."

"Sure."

Elena dialed the number and spoke at once in Spanish to a woman, then a man. Hanging up, she turned to her lover. "Spencer didn't do this, Kelly. I don't want you wondering about it, no matter what you hear. She didn't do it."

"Okay." Kelly liked Elena's programmer friend, and she figured they had probably been lovers once. Elena had been lovers with nearly everyone, she was learning.

"Thanks for the phone. I gotta go back to my house."

"You came all the way over here just to use the phone?"

"Yeah, I think mine's bugged."

CHAPTER 9.

"OKAY, ARE YOU ready to make a run for it, Megan?" As much as she could, Ruth practiced saying her daughter's new name.