My hands are shaking so badly that I barely get the keys into the ignition. Recriminations ring in my head. Why did I discount the rumors about Frey? The ones he so glibly denied? How could I have trusted a man I didn't know with any girl's life, let alone one who may be my niece? What the hell was I thinking?

By the time I pull into the parking lot at Valley Vista High, I'm in such a state, I know if I face Frey now, if he understands what I'm feeling, he'll be bound to either attack or flee. Either way, I will have lost Trish. There was nothing in his projected vision to give me a hint where she is being held. I have to make him take me to her. Maybe there are other girls in danger. The only way to know for sure is to see for myself.

I force myself to sit in the car, hands on the wheel, not moving a muscle until I clear my mind. The dashboard clock reads 2:45. I concentrate on it, focus on the numerals, and listen for the click detectable only to a nonhuman ear as each minute ticks away. At 2:55, I draw a deep breath and hold my hands in front of my face. The trembling has stopped. My heart is no longer battering my ribs. The struggle now will be to neutralize my thoughts. I've done it before. But this time is different. I only had myself to protect when the showdown came with Avery. Now there's another life, an innocent, and if Frey sees through my deception, she will be the one to pay the price.

A bell clangs in the schoolyard, and like horses from a starting gate, the students rush from their classrooms and head for the parking lot.

I wait another five minutes. Then I climb out of the car and make my way to Frey's classroom.

He's waiting for me at the door, his coat over his arm and his briefcase clutched at his side. His eyes narrow a little when he peers into my face. "Are you all right?"

I nod. "Had a rough day."

"What happened?"

I gesture toward the car. "Can we talk on the way?"

He doesn't seem to be reading anything other than my desire to get on the road. He nods and follows me as I retrace my steps to the car.

He hesitates at the gate to the parking lot. "Do you want to see your mother before we go?" he asks.

I already have my keys in my hand. I use the remote to unlock the doors. "No. I'll talk to her later."

He lets it go without comment and settles himself into the passenger seat. Just as I put the Jag in reverse and turn to check that there's no one behind me, he lays his hand over mine on the gearshift.

His touch triggers an involuntary reaction. I jerk my hand away. Immediately, I regret the lack of control. He's really looking at me now, an enigmatic specter of doubt hardening the lines around his mouth and eyes.

"You can't keep it from me, Anna. You may as well not try."

But it seems I can. I'm doing it. For the first time, I don't feel powerless against him. But I also don't know how long I can hold him off. I forge the thought carefully. It's Carolyn.

Trish's mother?

Yes. She was killed this morning.

That seems to distract him long enough for me to get us on the road. When he's back in my head, his tone is thoughtful, concerned.

How will you tell Trish?

He doesn't ask how it happened. He assumes it was an accident, I read that from his own projections. I don't correct him, inquiring instead, Where are we going? You haven't told me.

His reply is offhand, To Balboa Park.

Balboa Park? The idea spins around my head throwing off questions like sparks from a flare. The municipal park is a big place, but it's a public place. Where would he be hiding Trish in the park? The only answer I come up with makes me grind my teeth in frustration and concern. It would be difficult to hide a child in the park, but not a body. There would be lots of places to hide a body.

Frey grabs my arm, and the unexpected contact makes me jump. I snap my head around to look at him. What?

He's looking in the passenger side mirror. I think we're being followed.

My eyes dart for the rearview mirror. If Williams let those Feds go to follow me - But it's not the Ford Fairlane behind us. It's a Volkswagen.

Frey starts to swivel around in his seat, but I grab his arm. Don't. If someone is following us, it's best we pretend not to know.

He rights himself in the seat. What are we going to do?

My eyes are on the car in the mirror. It looks familiar, though I can't place it. What makes you think we're being followed?

From the corner of my eye, I see Frey shrug. He answers out loud, his tone hesitant. "I noticed the car when we left school. There's a guy driving. He followed us onto the freeway. If he were a student, he'd live in the area and would have gotten off already. We're almost to College Avenue and he's right behind us."

"Doesn't necessarily mean he's following us."

"Do you want to take that chance?"

No. "We'll go to my office," I say. "Can you get the license plate number? I can't see it in my mirror."

Frey squints as he tries to make it out. "No. Damn it. The plate's too dirty. Maybe we should forget about going to see Trish today. Take me home. If he follows when we take the Friar's Road exit, we'll know for sure he's after us."

I stifle the urge to howl in annoyance. But then, reason takes over. Frey is right. And if I take him home, we can spend some quality time alone together.

The anxiety lifts and I nod at him. I'm on the 94 Freeway, and instead of heading downtown, when the junction with 15 North approaches, I take it. The Volkswagen does too. At the Friars Road exit, I don't signal but cut across three lanes of traffic to a cacophony of horns and rude gestures.

The Volkswagen is right behind me.

Is this guy arrogant or just plain stupid?

And as soon as I ask myself that question, I remember where I've seen that car before.