"It's not on, is it?" she asked, about to march out of this dive. "You didn't turn it on and leave it running like in the movies?"

"Oh, for crying out loud!" He retrieved the tiny device again and set it on the table. Its record light was dark, but to prove his point, he turned it over, opened the back, and removed the batteries. "Satisfied?" he asked.

"I guess."

"Good, but I would like to take a few notes." He dropped the disabled recorder into his pocket again and pulled out a notebook and pen. When she was about to protest again, he leaned across the table. "Look, we had a deal and I'm holding to it, okay? I'm not planning to blast your story all over the place, but I'd like to remember some points for a story about Justice when they catch him."

Laura didn't like it. "You're making me regret talking to you."

To her shock, he reached across the table and grabbed one of her hands. "Trust me," he said, and his fingers were incredibly strong and warm. She felt an unlikely current of electricity slide through her veins and quickly retrieved her hand. His smile seemed as sincere as it was engaging. "I won't do or print anything you don't want me to. I promise. Unless it'll help catch the bastard."

There was the dilemma, the real reason she'd agreed to the interview. If Frost could help put Justice behind bars, then she'd do anything she could to help him and that included allowing him some insight into Siren Song. Once more, he was staring at her with his damned eyes.

Practiced charm. Again.

"But you'll let me know first? Right? Before you do anything?" This wasn't going exactly the way she planned. Not at all.

"Yes."

She stared at him, wondering, really, if she could believe him.

No way, not with him scribbling notes. But there it was; he already had clicked his pen and flipped open his notepad.

"Back to your mother. Mary. Give me some background content. What was she like?"

"I don't really know, honestly. She was a bit of a mystery to all of us. Catherine says that she and my mom fought about us all the time. Different philosophies about raising us. Catherine wanted austerity and my mother wanted free love."

"How old were you when your mom died?"

"Ten, almost eleven, I think. I don't really know. I was just a child, and it was kind of a taboo subject."

He made a note, then said, "And that's about the time Catherine locked the gates."

"I think so, yeah."

He shook his head. "That's wild."

More than wild, she thought as she took another sip from her cooling coffee, it had been necessary.

To keep the demons at bay.

CHAPTER 12.

Justice awoke with a jerk that nearly lifted him off the makeshift bed he'd constructed of Cosmo's heavy overcoat and his own Halo Valley uniform scrunched up and used as a pillow. The old oak floorboards beneath were hard as metal. His heart pounded harshly against his ribs as he sat up. Light filtered in gloomily through cracks in the siding and the one, dirty, cobweb-shrouded window on the western side of the building.

He needed transportation . . . he could- The smell of sick perfidy filled his nose.

One of them was nearby!

The pregnant one.

His lips curled of their own accord.

The stench of her was calling to him to send her and her growing monster into the black abyss from where they sprang.

He felt his pulse jump, his heart begin to pound, and he began to sweat, though it was still the cool of the morning, the single window showing a foggy morning shroud through its dirty panes. All drowsiness left him, and he had a sudden sizzling vision of the thick and twisting evil that ran through the roots of their family tree. A snake that bored into them and poisoned their blood. It had been there for years. Generations. And it had found a home in the female heart and womb, sent straight from hell to do Satan's bidding.

His flesh crawled. He'd seen it in the woman who'd given birth to him. Smelled it in the flesh of his sisters. Whores every one. Hiding like snakes under rocks . . . except the scent of this one was too strong. She was nearby.

He let the excitement build. He'd spent years in a fogged and frozen state, impotent, unable to do what needed to be done. Then there had been Jezebel. Outside the gates of their evil manse, he'd tracked her. Until she'd been allowed inside. Welcomed. Into the very heart of Siren Song, the vile spot from which he'd been tossed out like garbage. Along with the bitch who'd birthed him. He'd been forced to live through her subsequent pregnancy and the twisted mass of human flesh she'd borne. His sisters. The ones who had been closest to him by blood, much closer than the women who lived in the lodge now, who, he knew, were cousins of his, connected through the ancestors who had built the lodge . . .

Sisters . . .

He shuddered, thinking of them all. He'd been uncertain and inadequate until he'd caught up with and stabbed Jezebel. Then he'd known. His path was clear. But the mother bitch had descended into madness and was laughed at in the town. Reading palms and cards for money. Lying to feed herself. Wishing she could be back with them.

Though he'd never been told the truth-oh, no, it had been that witch of a mother's intention to keep him forever in the dark, but he'd learned. She, that whore who'd borne him, had been cast out because she had lain with one of the black-hearted bitch's men. He hated her as much as the rest of them. He'd almost killed her once. Now he had been given a second chance to get the job done.

It was God's will.

He heard the scrape of talons on the roof, and then a solitary raven's call. He blinked, rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw. He needed transportation. He was no more than a man himself, no matter what names they called him. Psycho. Schizo. Homicidal maniac. Nutcase. It scarcely penetrated any longer, though once upon a time it had hurt like they were driving nails into his eyes and ears every time one of his sisters rained their epithets down on him.

Bastard.

Stupid.

Retard.

Sicko.

They were no better. In fact, far worse.

He was more than willing to perform God's will. His mission. He embraced the duty of killing them all. Each and every one, so the sickness that twined through them was banished forever.

He could count on no one else, he thought as he stood, feeling his full bladder and rotating his neck until it cracked. Justice was the only male in the family who'd lived to adulthood. The sisters had managed to kill them all. Every last male child. Aside from him.

Anger slid through his bloodstream and his teeth clenched at the unfairness of it all. His fists clenched until his veins showed in his wrists.

He was determined to avenge his brothers' deaths.

And he was determined to be the last member of their cursed tribe left on earth.

Savvy pushed through the glass doors of Seagull Pointe and walked across a strip of industrial-grade blue carpeting to the front desk. She wasn't in uniform, as she wasn't exactly a deputy. She'd been a detective in Gresham, and she was a detective at the TCSD, and she didn't like the conspicuous nature of the tan uniform. But she did have her badge, and she held it in front of the girl at the counter that separated the office area from the reception foyer. The lingering scents of coffee and bacon, leftover odors from a recently served breakfast, hung in the air, and a few of the residents still sat at tables in the dining area, a large room that jutted off the back of the main entrance. The receptionist stared at Savvy's card as if she had no idea what to do.

"Detective Savannah Dunbar with the Tillamook County Sheriff's Department," Savvy said. "I'd like to see one of your patients, Madeline Turnbull."

"Oh . . . uh . . ." She looked over her shoulder, as if hoping someone with more authority would appear, then, realizing that she was on her own, glanced at the clock mounted near the door. "Uh . . . let me call the director." The receptionist, who looked all of eighteen and whose name tag read KERI, punched a button and waited. For nearly two minutes. "Uh . . . He must not be in." She licked her lips nervously; talking to anyone official obviously worried her. She was off her stool and said, "Just a sec. I'll get Inga for you."

Whoever the hell Inga was, Savvy thought. She waited a few minutes and eyed all the plaques of excellence displayed proudly near the sign in/out sheet and a vase of silk flowers-roses and carnations.

Keri reappeared with Inga, presumably, and without bothering with introductions, slunk back to her stool.

"I'm Inga Anderssen," the newcomer said. A middle-aged woman with blond hair going to gray, Inga was trim and direct and eyed Savvy carefully. "Our director, Darius Morrow, is unavailable. How can I help you?"

Savvy explained again about her mission, and Inga simply shook her head. "I'm afraid that's impossible. Madeline can't answer any questions for you. For the most part, she's unaware of her surroundings."

"I would like to meet her, all the same."

"The media has already tried." Inga's voice held a certain amount of satisfaction. Clearly, the press had failed and she had prevailed.

"I understand why you would want to keep the media out, but I'm here in an official capacity."

"And I told you, she's unavailable."

While Keri shuffled papers on the other side of the desk and an elderly couple pushed matching walkers down a hallway snaking off the central reception area, Savvy and Inga sized each other up. Savvy was very aware that her youth and looks worked against her more times than not in her job. "Are you going to make me get a court order?" she said with a smile, though her voice brooked no argument.

Inga looked her up one side and down the other. She wanted to battle. She really, really did. But it was clear to both of them that in the end, Savvy had the law on her side. With a pressing of her lips, followed by an indifferent shrug, she said, "Fine. This way," then led Savvy down a hallway to the right, which in turn led to the nursing home part of the establishment. The assisted-living rooms were in the opposite direction, according to the signs posted on the walls.

Inga slowed at one of the rooms, then entered, leaving Savvy to follow.

Madeline "Mad Maddie" Turnbull lay in a hospital bed, her skin gray against white linens. The room was bare, not a personal item to be seen. No pictures in frames, no bouquets, no knickknacks from her previous life. A chair with a toilet seat and receptacle was parked beside the bed and a tray table angled toward her with a glass half filled with water and a straw. Even the window shade was drawn, and the room seemed cloying and dark, almost tomblike, the smells of urine and antiseptic unmistakable.

Madeline's eyes were open and staring straight toward the ceiling tiles. Savannah had seen a similar look on her father's face as he entered a twilight world of unreality that just preceded his death. She didn't know anything about this woman, but she would bet it was a matter of weeks or days before she was gone, not much longer.

"I'm Detective Savannah Dunbar," she said, introducing herself to the silent woman. "Until yesterday your son, Justice, was a patient at Halo Valley Security Hospital. He escaped last night and is still missing."

Madeline lay quietly, her chest barely rising and falling. No reaction to the news.

"He may try to see you." Savvy waited, but nothing happened. The closeness of the room started to press upon her, and she experienced a roll of nausea. She was surprised to feel a physical reaction because she hadn't believed she could be so susceptible to atmosphere; she prided herself on her professionalism, in fact, and had always been the one with the strong stomach. But now the feel of imminent death and the smells of chlorine and sweat and something sweet she couldn't identify made her head swim a bit.

Hearing a soft beep behind her, Savvy looked to Inga Anderssen, who examined a small pager she had pulled from an inner pocket. "Are you almost done?"

"Yes."

"I'll take this outside," the older woman warned, then swept out. Savannah heard her make a cell phone call to someone and begin instantly berating them for their care of another patient.

She blocked out the sound and turned back to Maddie. "We're alerting the staff here, and they'll make sure you and the other patients are safe. If, for any reason, he should manage to contact you, press your call button. Let us know immediately."

She waited, counting off the seconds in her head until it would be safe and prudent to leave without seeming to rush from the room. She heard Inga Anderssen winding up her call in the outside hallway and half turned toward the door herself.

"It's a boy," the woman in the bed said.

"Pardon?" Savvy glanced back, her heart nearly stopping. She'd thought the woman was almost comatose, but her words were clear. Maddie's eyes had rolled to the side, pinning her in a way that was almost eerie. A ripple of unease rolled across Savvy's arms.

"Do you want to know your future?" the older woman asked.

"Detective?" Inga's voice from the hallway caused Savannah to jump as if goosed.

The nurse had pushed open the door farther and was frowning at her, her expression fierce. "Are you finished?"

Savvy glanced back at Madeline, whose eyes were gently closing, as if her efforts had exhausted her. She stared at the near-dead woman a long moment, before turning back to Inga. "She just spoke to me."

One of Inga's eyebrows quirked. "What? No."

"She doesn't speak?"

"Not a word."

"Well, she did to me."

"Must be your winning ways," Inga said, disbelieving. "Hear that, Maddie? The officer thinks you spoke with her."

The woman on the bed was barely breathing.

"Yeah, right. She's a regular Chatty Cathy. What'd she do? Want to read your fortune?" Inga was chuckling, and Savvy, seeing that Mad Maddie had once again slipped into that twilight world between life and death, left, walking past the brittle nurse and into the hall. She skirted around an old guy in a wheelchair and walked swiftly toward the outside doors. The cold of the morning slapped her hard in the face, but she kept going, refusing to give in to the urge to run. So Mad Maddie had slipped out of her coma and said a few words. So what?

"Jesus, get hold of yourself."

She was across the parking lot and had just reached her department-issued Jeep when her cell buzzed. Expelling a pent-up breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, she answered, "Dunbar."

"Burghsmith and Clausen found the van," Lang stated curtly. "The one from Halo Valley that was transferring Turnbull."

"Good. And what about him?"

"No sign of the escapee yet, but it looks like we guessed right. He's heading to the coast. The van was found miles west of Halo Valley."

Savvy glanced over her shoulder and around the near-empty parking lot, as if expecting Justice Turnbull to leap from the shrubbery. Of course he didn't.

Lang asked, "How'd it go with Mad Maddie?"

Frowning, Savvy glanced back to Seagull Pointe's front doors. "She's bedridden. Not really aware. I told her about Justice, but I don't know how much went in."

"She respond?"

"I thought she said something to me, but . . ." No, you know she said something! ". . . The nursing staff says she's not responding at all."

"Get on back here, and we'll go to the site where they found the van together. The way it looks, I guess, is that Turnbull drove it up the mountain a ways and pushed it down a ravine. So he musta caught a ride with someone. I suppose he could've headed back to the valley at that point, but he woulda had to drive right past Halo Valley and all our people. And, anyway, we know he has unfinished business here. Think he'll try to see his mother?"

"Maybe." Again that ripple of unease slid over her, which was ridiculous. She was a cop, for God's sake, nerves of steel and all that.

"He tried to kill her once before," Lang reminded, sounding like he was talking more to himself than Savannah.

"The staff's on alert, and they're very protective of Madeline. They tried to stop me from seeing her. She should be okay."