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“What kind of a name?” She tried to sound calm, but she wasn't.

“You know,” he said miserably. “The ‘H’ one.”

She smiled sadly at him. “It doesn't start with an ‘H.’ Unless you mean harlot.”

“It wasn't that one,” he said miserably. He didn't want to tell her.

“Darling, I'm so sorry.” She put her arms around him, and wanted to run away again. But she knew she couldn't run away anymore. She had to face it with them.

It happened again at his school, and again the day after. And Charles and Grace got into a fight over it that night. She wanted to take the children back to Connecticut, and he told her she couldn't run away. They had to stand and fight, and she told him she refused to destroy her family over his “damn campaign.” But that wasn't what it was about, and they both knew it. They were just frustrated at their own helplessness, and needed to scream at someone, since they couldn't do anything to stop what was happening.

But Matthew didn't understand that, and when Grace went to tuck him in, she couldn't find him. She asked Abby where he'd gone, and she shrugged and pointed to his room. She was on the phone with Nicole and she hadn't seen him. And Andrew hadn't seen him either. She went downstairs to Charles in the den, still annoyed at him, and asked if he'd seen Matthew.

“Isn't he upstairs?” They exchanged a look and he suddenly caught Grace's concern, and they started looking for him in earnest. He was nowhere. “He couldn't have gone out,” Charles said, looking worried. “We'd have seen him.”

“No, we wouldn't necessarily.” And then in an undertone, “Do you think he heard us fighting?”

“Maybe.” Charles looked even more upset than she did. He was worried about kidnapping if Matt was wandering the streets somewhere. Washington was a dangerous city after dark. And when they went upstairs again, they found the note he had left in his room. Don 't fight over me anymore. I'm leaving. Love, Matt. Mom and Dad, I love you. Say bye to Kisses for me. Kisses was their chocolate Lab, because when they'd gotten her Grace had said she looked like a little pile of Hershey Kisses.

“Where do you think he went?” Grace looked panicked as she asked him.

“I don't know. I'm calling the police.” Charles's whole face was tense, and his jaw was working.

“It'll wind up in the tabloids,” she said nervously.

“I don't care. I want to find him tonight, before anything happens.” They were both frantic and the police reassured them that they would find him as soon as possible. They said that kids his age wandered off all the time, and usually stayed pretty close to home. They asked for a list of his best friends and a picture of him, and they set out in the squad car. Charles and Grace stayed home to wait for him, in case he came back. But the policemen were back with him half an hour later. He had been buying Hostess Twinkies at a convenience store two blocks away and feeling very sorry for himself. They had spotted him at once, and he didn't resist coming home. He was ready.

“Why did you do that?” Grace asked, still shaken by what he'd done. She just couldn't believe it. None of their children had ever run away. But they'd also never been under that kind of pressure.

“I didn't want you and Dad fighting over me,” Matt said sadly. But it had been scary outside, and he was glad to be back now.

“We weren't fighting over you, we were just talking.”

“No you weren't, you were fighting.”

“Everybody fights sometimes,” Charles explained, and pulled him down on his knee as he sat down. The police had just left and they had promised Charles not to tell the papers. There had to be something private in their lives, even if it was only their eight-year-old running away for half an hour. Nothing else was sacred.

“Mommy and I love each other, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know … it's just that everything has been so yucky lately. People keep saying stuff in school, and Mom cries all the time.” She looked guilty as she thought about it. She did cry a lot these days, but who wouldn't?

“Remember what I told you the other day,” Charles explained. “We have to be strong. All of us. For each other. We can't run away. We can't give up. We just have to stick together.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, only half convinced, but happy to be home again. It had been a dumb idea to run away and he knew it.

His mother walked him upstairs and tucked him in and they all went to bed early that night. Grace and Charles were exhausted and Matthew was asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow. Kisses was lying at the foot of the bed, and snoring softly.

But the following week, another photograph was released and this one showed Grace full face, staring into the camera, with glazed eyes and a look of surprise on her face, with her eyes wide-open as though someone had just done something really shocking and deli-ciously sensual to her. They were the most erotic series of photographs she had ever seen, and little by little, bit by bit they were driving her crazy.

She called information then, and wondered why she had taken so long to do it. He wasn't in Chicago. Or in New York. He was in Washington, they told her finally at Thrill It was perfect. Why hadn't she thought of it sooner? She knew she had absolutely no choice. It didn't matter what happened to her anymore. She had to.

She opened the safe and took Charles's gun out, and then she got in her car and drove to the address she'd jotted down on a piece of paper. The kids were at school, and Charles was at work. No one knew where she was going, or what she intended to do. But she knew. She had it planned, and it was going to be worth whatever it cost her.

She rang the bell at his studio on F Street, and she was surprised when someone buzzed her in without asking who she was. It meant either that they were very big and busy, or extremely sloppy. Because with a lot of valuable equipment around, they should have been more careful, but fortunately, they weren't.

It was all so easy, she couldn't imagine why she had never thought of it before. The door was open, and there was no one there, except Marcus. He didn't even have an assistant. He had his back to her, and he was bending over a camera, shooting a bowl of fruit on a table. He was all alone, and he didn't even see her.

“Hello, Marcus.” Her voice was unfamiliar to him after all these years. It was sensual and slow and she sounded happy to see him.

“Who's that?” He turned and looked at her with a surprised little smile, not recognizing her at first, wondering who she was, he liked her looks, and … then suddenly he realized who she was and he stopped dead in his tracks. She was pointing a gun at him and she was smiling.

“I should have done this weeks ago,” she said simply. “I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. Now put down the camera, and don't touch the shutter or I'll shoot you and it, and I'd hate to hurt your camera. Put it down. Now.” Her voice was sharp and no longer sensual and he put the camera down carefully on the table behind him.

“Come on, Grace … don't be a bad sport … I'm just making a living.”

“I don't like the way you do it,” she said flatly.

“You look beautiful in the photographs, you have to give me that.”

“I don't give you shit. You're a piece of slime. You told me you never took my clothes off.”

“I lied.”

“And you must have had me sign the release when I was practically unconscious.” She was icy cold with fury, but she was in complete control now. It was entirely premeditated. This time it really would be murder one. She was going to kill him, and looking at her, he knew it. He had driven her too far, and she had snapped. She didn't care what they did to her this time. She'd survived it before. And it was worth it.