"No, no, no," Hope whispered. "Just leave it there. Don't do anything stupid."

She knew the boy and the guard wouldn't listen even if they could hear her. All they could see was that gun on the floor, and all she could see was tragedy pulsing there between them.

The gym teacher broke from his trance, staggering back as if just now realizing he stood between the two young men. As he backed away, he looked over his shoulder, gaze fixing on a carousel of bookmarks. Then he redirected his

"stagger" that way, grabbing the carousel as if for support. He wrenched and it toppled into the guard's path.

At the last second, the guard saw the falling carousel and veered out of the way. The boy cast one last glance at the gun, then ran for the doors.

The gym teacher fumbled with the bookmark carousel, as if trying to right it, but only making it worse, blocking the guard so he couldn't follow the boy. The guard finally extricated himself.

The old man waved toward the doors. "He went – "

"The gun," Hope said, pointing. "It's still there."

The guard looked from the gun to the doors. A manager crept over, slinking around the shelves as if trying to assess the situation without getting involved.

"You can't leave the gun there," Hope said. "There are kids in the store."

The manager stepped out then. "She's right. I'll call the police. He didn't steal anything, did he?"

"I don't think so, but – "

"Good. Let the police handle it then. Just get that thing out of here."

Hope backed away, waving for Robyn to head toward the doors before anyone stopped them for a statement. As they escaped, Hope looked for the gym teacher. He was gone.

FINN

Finn had passed the photo of Jasmine Wills all around the station before finding a detective visiting from another precinct who thought the man in the background resembled a guy he'd interviewed as a witness a few years back.

"But my guy died before the case came to trial," the detective said. "Arrogant son of a bitch. Wouldn't give me the time of day, so I was looking forward to putting him on the stand, just to screw up his week. Guy was some head honcho for the Nast Corporation. You heard of it? I hadn't. One of those companies that doesn't seem to produce anything except other companies. My guy's name was Chris, I think. Your guy looks like he could be his brother. I'd pay a visit to the company tomorrow, flash the photo around. From what I heard, the whole damned family works there."

Finn looked up the case. It was almost seven years old. A carjacking. The witness had seen the whole thing, but didn't bother to call the police. Unfortunately for him, a civic-minded passerby had been busy writing down the license numbers of all the not-so-conscientious people who drove off. Kristof Nast. Now deceased, as Finn verified.

Now Finn was trolling the Nast Corporation Web site, searching in vain for photos of the executives while Damon continued roaming the department, eavesdropping. Madoz arrived, looking for an update. Finn gave it to him, then showed him the photo.

"That's Irving Nast," he said without hesitation.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. Works for the Nast Corporation. Vice president of something or other. He's the CEO's nephew. I had a case a couple of years ago, one of their employees was killed in a hit-and-run. The widow had this nutty conspiracy theory.

Claimed the company did it."

"Orchestrated a hit-and-run?"

Madoz laughed. "Yeah. Apparently the guy quit his job the week before. Definitely a hanging offense." He shook his head. "Total bullshit, but I had to follow through. I think the widow was hoping they'd pay her to shut up. Anyway, my liaison with the firm was Irving Nast.

Nice enough guy. Confused as hell about the whole thing, but cooperated fully. Wish they were all that easy."

"Did you have a home number for him?"

"I think so. Let me grab the file."

Finn called Irving Nast's home number and got his wife. That made things tricky. Nast had cooperated with Madoz, but he might be less inclined to do so when the matter involved a potential indiscretion with a very young woman.

Without admitting why he was calling, Finn was able to get Nast's wife to tell him where he was – at the office for a few hours – but couldn't persuade her to part with a cell phone number. So a drop-by visit was in order.

As Finn drove to the Nast head office, Damon's fingers drummed against his leg. He had been like that since the shooting, disappearing into his thoughts, sometimes so much that he faded, once vanishing completely for a few minutes before surging back with a fresh spurt of energy.

The woman's death had bothered him, Finn knew, but more than that, watching her husband's shock and grief had reminded him of Robyn. Last night, Damon said he expected he'd be kept away if Finn found Robyn. But Finn knew he'd hoped that being allowed into the fair meant the barrier had been lifted. He'd expected to see her. Now that

disappointment kept pulling him under.

Damon balled his fist and shook it. When he rested his hand on the door handle, though, it took only a minute before he started drumming again. His fingers made no sound, and the unnaturalness of it made Finn turn the radio up another notch. It didn't help. He could still feel the weight of Damon's mood.

"How'd you two meet?" he asked finally.

He had to say it twice before Damon responded, "Huh?"

"You and Robyn. How did you meet?"

Damon's eyes lit up, but the smile was hesitant as he studied Finn, judging whether he was just being polite.

"Did you go to college together?" Finn asked.

Damon shook his head. "She was a friend of my younger sister."

"So your sister introduced..."

"Not exactly." Damon's hand moved to his lap, fingers still now. "We met at her wedding – my sister's, that is. Her fiancé was this hotshot stockbroker, liked to throw his money around, so he insisted on a huge wedding. Robyn was more of an acquaintance than a friend, but she made the guest list. They had this wedding planner who was big on forced mingling. You know, putting guests at a table where they don't know anyone? Bobby got the seat next to me.

Everyone else was from the groom's side – coworkers and friends."