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“That’s what I did!” Ray shouted to the sky. “I survived!”

“Two months after his rescue and return to the United States, Ray got in a fight in a bar. This wasn’t the first such incident, but it was the first time he killed somebody outside his duties as a military pilot. Nasty temper, Ray. However, there was enough evidence to suggest that the victim was drunk and fell and hit his head in what amounted to a mere scuffle. The incident occurred on base. The military chose not to prosecute. Ray was given a medical discharge. His temper became the civilian world’s problem.”

Viv’s features hardened.

“Not that Amanda and Viv haven’t killed also,” the voice said.

What?” Ray looked at them.

“Amanda had to kill to survive the Paragon Hotel,” the Game Master continued. “As for Viv and Derrick, I told you about their heroism on Mount Everest. I neglected to explain why they were so determined. On a previous expedition, they led climbers across a glacier. Everyone was in a line, connected by a rope. A chasm opened. The climbers at the back fell into it, dragging the others with them. Everything happened so fast, there wasn’t time to use ice axes to hook into the side of the chasm. The gap kept spreading. People kept dropping, their weight dragging the next people on the rope. Viv and Derrick slid across the glacier, desperately trying to keep from being pulled into the chasm. They were the last two. At the final moment, Viv… or perhaps it was Derrick… cut the rope. The climbers attached to it fell a thousand meters. None of them survived. An investigation stopped short of finding fault. After all, were Viv and Derrick supposed to let themselves get sucked into the chasm and die along with the others rather than do anything they could to save themselves? When it comes to survival, difficult choices sometimes need to be made — and made quickly. It has nothing to do with heroism. Isn’t that correct, Viv?”

“Yes.” Viv scowled at Ray. “Nothing to do with heroism.”

Ray picked up the can of pears.

“Get your hands off that,” Viv warned. “We’ll stone you to death if we need to, but you’re not eating what’s in that can.”

Ray ignored her. He turned the can, examining it. When he looked at its bottom, something attracted his attention. Immediately, he pulled out his GPS receiver and programmed numbers into it. He looked dismissively at Viv and dropped the can. Then he picked up the empty can of peaches and stared at its bottom. Again, he programmed numbers into his GPS unit, then headed away down the sagebrush-dotted street.

Amanda hurried to the cans. She upended them and saw a sequence of numbers marked LT on one and LG on the other. “More latitude and longitude directions.”

Viv glared at Ray, who walked faster along the street.

“Help me,” Amanda said. “I’m still learning how to use my receiver. You need to program these numbers for me.”

Viv didn’t blink, just kept watching Ray, who studied his receiver and turned to the left, heading down the remnant of another street. When she did blink, tears streamed down her face.

“You need to help me,” Amanda insisted. “I need to smash this can open, but I can’t do that until you program the numbers. Otherwise, I might destroy them.”

Viv turned toward Derrick, stroking his arm. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Help me!” Amanda said. “Don’t you want to get even?”

With a furious glance toward Ray, Viv came to her feet and stumbled toward Amanda. Revenge was as effective a motive as any to get her moving, Amanda decided, but she herself wanted to punish more than Ray. The Game Master, she thought.

“Okay, they’re programmed.” Viv stared at Ray’s receding figure.

Amanda put the can of pears into the rubber glove. She picked up two rocks and pounded. Once. Twice. Harder. The lid broke inward.

“You first,” she told Viv.

“Not hungry.”

“Then you won’t have the strength to pay him back.”

Eyes raw, Viv nodded with determination and gripped the can, drinking. “I took two swallows.”

“Okay.” Amanda raised the lid to her mouth and tasted the warm, sweet pear juice.

They went back and forth until they drained the can. Amanda shoved it back into the rubber glove and used the rocks to split it open. Four pears. They each took two.

“Chew them slowly.” Viv sounded weak.

Amanda understood. She might get sick if she ate too fast.

Viv turned toward her dead husband.

The wind blew stronger. The storm clouds obscured the mountains to the west, their shadow entering the valley.

3

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” Balenger demanded. He and Ortega stood outside Professor Graham’s faculty building. The trees of Washington Square were across from them.

“Wrong?”

“When you came into the office, we almost had an argument. At the library, you talked about another part of the investigation. You wouldn’t be specific, but your tone made clear I wasn’t your favorite person. What on earth’s the matter?”

“You mean other than the way you act like you’re running the investigation? This morning, I mentioned that my partner and I made some inquiries yesterday. Perhaps you wonder why you haven’t met him.”

“I assumed today was his day off.”

“He’s been checking your background.”

Balenger was taken by surprise.

“Earlier, you told me this happened to you once before. Your wife was kidnapped. The same man also kidnapped a woman who looks like her.”

“Amanda. So what’s your point? Psychopaths often fixate on women who resemble one another. The victims tend to remind the killer of his wife or his mother or another female who so traumatized him, he’s been getting even ever since.”

“And what makes you such an expert?”

“If your partner’s been checking my background, you already know the answer. When I was in law enforcement, my specialty was investigating sex crimes.”

“Ever been to a psychiatrist?”

Balenger felt heat rise to his face. “I assume your partner told you what happened to me in Iraq.” A car drove by. Balenger waited for the engine noise to recede, using the time to try to calm himself. “In the first Gulf War… Desert Storm… I was a Ranger.”

“Nineteen ninety-one. Check,” Ortega said.

“I got headaches. Muscle pains. Fever.”

“Gulf War syndrome. Check.”

“Some people said it came from a disease spread by sand fleas. Others said it came from the depleted uranium we use in our artillery shells. The army doctors tried various treatments. When those didn’t help, they suggested I talk to an army psychiatrist to see if the illness was psychological, a form of post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“That was the first psychiatrist,” Ortega said.

Balenger almost walked away, but he kept telling himself that Amanda was all that mattered. I’ll do anything to get her back, he thought. “After the war, I became a police officer in Asbury Park.”

“Where you took psychology courses about sex crimes.”

Balenger worked to keep his voice steady. “Then my wife disappeared, and after a year, when the authorities couldn’t find her, I quit my job so I could look for her. Eventually I needed a lot of quick money so badly that I signed on as a private security operator in the second Iraq war. Twenty-five thousand dollars a month. All I needed was a couple of months guarding convoys and I’d have enough cash to keep searching for my wife. You could have asked me about this.”

“Tell me about your second time in Iraq.”