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"Trisha Rains," the TV reporter said as she finally came on the line.

"This is Karen Dawson. I saw you out at Leonard Land's house."

"The mystery woman the cops wouldn't let me talk to. Nice to finally hear from you." Her voice was aggressively friendly and Karen winced slightly. "Do you have any idea where Carlos Chacone is hiding?" Trisha asked without any warm-up or chitchat.

"Before we get into that, I need to know a few things. I'm taking a lotta chances right now. I'm legally and physically at risk. I need to know if you and I can have the right kind of relationship."

"I'm not going to commit a crime to do my job, Doctor."

"You know I'm a doctor?"

"I have your whole resume right here. 'Awesome Dawson,' the `Michigan Miracle.' Since the cops wouldn't let me interview you, I ran a background check. A Ph. D. in psychology before you were twenty. I'm glad you weren't busting the curve in any of my college courses."

Karen let that one go and pushed on. "I don't want you to break any laws, Trisha, but I need to know that you and I are going to have a First Amendment relationship… that you're going to protect me as a confidential source and not divulge anything until I give you permission."

"That goes without saying."

"Yeah, but let's hear you say it anyway."

"As long as you don't bullshit me, girlfriend, I'll protect you as a source."

"I think I might know how to lure Leonard Land out into the open, but I need your help."

Trisha Rains was skeptical at first, but when she heard Karen's plan, she warmed up.

They agreed that they would talk again before six that evening.

After she hung up, Karen returned to The Swallow Inn with food, soft drinks, fresh bandages, and a thermometer. Fifteen minutes later, she had Shirley Land's newspaper picture in her purse and her car keys in her hand and was ready to leave.

Malavida had given up trying to argue with her. She refused to listen to his logic. She brought some Gerber baby food and bottled water to the bed, where he was glaring at her, and put them on the bedside table.

"Till your intestines heal, this is what the nurse told me you were gonna get in the hospital. I hope you like creamed corn."

"I hate creamed corn and I want you to slow down and listen to me."

"I should be back by midnight. If not, I'll call and check in with you," she said. Then she picked up the thermometer, shook it down, and paused, waiting for him to open his mouth.

"Karen, you can't mind-fuck this guy. You heard Lockwood, there's a big difference between doing a paper profile and a field encounter, or whatever he called it."

"Who says I'm mind-fucking him?"

"I sorta got the hang of how you think. You're about six-tenths kamikaze."

"Look, Mal, I'm not going to do anything stupid or dangerous. I know how twisted Leonard Land is. Give me some credit, I'm smart enough not to wave a red cape at a psychopath,."

They locked gazes. She was still holding the thermometer. "Open, please. I have to find out if you have a fever before I leave."

"What if I don't cooperate?" he said.

"There's more than one place I can stick this, buddy," she said, waving it ominously, a smile on her lips, and he finally opened his mouth. His temperature was normal.

Her mind kept turning back to John Lockwood. Uneasiness about his condition hung in her thoughts like a dark mist. At least she knew he was alive. That gave reason to hope, but she had to keep moving. She was the last knight on the battlefield, the only person left who had a clear picture of what they were facing.

Ever since she had been a child, Karen Dawson would risk everything to win. Her playmates and siblings had learned early not to challenge her unless they were willing to deal with the consequences. She was now working all alone, and she had accepted that. She also knew that to make her plan work, she would need the cooperation of the police. She figured that by now, they probably suspected she was an accomplice in Malavida's disappearance. She had to find a way to overcome that.

Her plan hinged on her now-extensive criminal profile of Leonard Land, as well as her research into his mother's past. She thought she knew enough about his bizarre upbringing to manipulate him. The biggest influence in Leonard's life was Shirley Land. Shirley was responsible for what he had become. Karen had looked long and hard at the woman's picture in the old newspaper obit. Shirley was unremarkable, with a short, uncomplicated hairstyle and a narrow face. It was hard to think that this woman, long dead, was a torturer who had killed one foster son and turned the other into a monster. Karen studied Shirley's plain face… The picture was black and white, but from the photo, she looked strawberry-blond. Karen thought she could pull off the physical part, but she knew the important thing would be what she said.

"Be good," she said to Mal, who glared at her from his bed as she set down the thermometer.

"Karen…"

"Yeah?"

"When I first laid eyes on you in the attorneys' room at Lompoc, I had you down as bait. I thought you were a patsy I could play for a sucker. I didn't care what happened to you or Lockwood. As a matter of fact, I was out to wreck Lockwood."

She was listening. Her remarkable brown eyes showed her brilliance.

"But that's changed," he went on. "I don't know how it happened so fast. Maybe it's like a wartime romance… I don't know, but I've become attached to you. I don't want to see you get hurt." She looked down at him and said nothing.

"It's. Lockwood, isn't it?" Malavida said, hurt flooding his eyes.

"Lockwood doesn't know I'm alive, he's so tortured by Claire's death. That's all he's dealing with," she said, and reached down to take his hand. "Let's put all this behind us, then see what happens."

"You can't go after The Rat. He'll kill you. In a week, I'll be up… I know it. We can keep going then. You need somebody watchin' your back."

"It's Saturday, Mal. We're in his killing zone. We wait a week, somebody else is going to get hacked up. We have to keep the pressure on. If I'm not back, or don't call by midnight, you're on your own," she said and kissed him lightly on the lips, then left the room.

Malavida could hear the van starting; he listened as it pulled away, the tires crunching on the shell drive outside. Then he leaned over and got the phone. His computer was still on the coffee table and his external 14.4 modem was on the dresser. He knew he was going to have to find a way to get his jukebox hooked back together. He was like The Rat: His best weapon was his computer. He struggled in pain to move his broken body to the edge of the bed. He tried to sit. His stomach muscles had been cut and resewn during the surgery, so he had to use his arms to get upright. He reached for the headboard and pulled himself to a sitting position. A searing bolt of pain shot through his intestines. "Shit," he groaned, hoping he hadn't ripped the whole stitched-up mess loose. Then he struggled to his feet.

"I wanna know where the hell Carlos Chacone is!" Fred T. Fred growled, the minute he heard her voice on the line.

"How would I know?" Karen lied. She was in a phone booth that faced a Cuban market. Heat lightning flashed on the horizon.

"Hey, listen, lady, that Mexican had more plumbing hangin' off him than I got in my entire bathroom. He didn't get up outta bed and walk away, draggin' all them tubes and plasma bottles. You helped him."

"I sure hope you can prove that, Captain," she said. There was a long, ugly silence on the line, as the rumbling sound of thunder finally reached her.