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Holmes put his phone back into his pocket and stared out the cabin window. He was having second thoughts about the plan. They were about to face one of the most ruthless and diabolical killers he’d ever known, using the woman he loved as bait. It was her choice, but now he was sorry he’d gone along with it.

Suddenly he started to feel the signs of a panic attack. His face was sweaty. His heart was pounding. He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. No! Not now! He put his head down between his knees and tried to control his breathing, one breath at a time. Slowly the panic eased. But not his fears.

Would Marple’s disguise hold up long enough to fool Paul?

And what if it didn’t?

It was one thing to gamble with his own life. It was another to gamble with hers.

CHAPTER 80

A LIGHT SNOW was falling outside the lodge. Helene Grey couldn’t sleep. No sense in trying. She knew that Poe would be in a communications blackout, but she had to do something to occupy her mind—something to make her feel like she wasn’t totally helpless. The man she loved could be flying into mortal danger. He’d given her a tracking code. The least she could do was follow his progress.

She sat in a swivel chair in the darkened comms room with the tracker app on the big screen. As she watched, an airplane icon trailed by a narrow white stripe progressed across a map of the United States, moving slowly but surely toward Texas. Grey had a sick feeling. God only knew what was waiting for Auguste and the others at the end of the line. Oliver Paul had killed so many people. Five months back, he had almost killed her too. Her and her unborn babies.

The man was a savage. A psychopath. And his wife was no better.

Grey heard the door open behind her, then the sound of jingling dog tags. She turned as Baskerville ran to her side and started nuzzling her arm, begging to be scratched. Virginia was right behind him, holding two steaming mugs. “I couldn’t sleep either,” she said. “I made you some peppermint tea.”

Grey felt a twinge of discomfort. Virginia was not exactly the person she wanted to see right now. She reached up to take the mug and tried to think of something innocuous to say. “You did a terrific job with Margaret’s hair today.”

“That was the easy part,” said Virginia, pulling up another chair. “She did her own makeup. Then the hip padding, the body language, the accent—I mean, I could have sworn Agnes Matts was right here in the room.”

“Let’s hope Oliver Paul thinks so too. At least long enough for somebody to take him down.”

Virginia shuddered. “That man is pure evil. His wife too. The world will be better off when they’re both put away for good.” She sipped her tea and stared at the screen for a while. “You must worry about him—Mr. Poe, I mean—when he’s off on a mission like this.”

“I was on dozens of these operations,” said Grey. “Jets, helicopters, guns. I know all the things that can go wrong.” She let out a sigh of frustration. “I quit my job to have these babies, and now all I can do is fret from a distance. I should be there.”

“I worry too,” said Virginia. “All the time.”

I wonder, thought Grey, does Virginia worry about the same things? About the same man?

She rested a hand on her bulging belly and glanced over at the young assistant—slim and fit, face unlined, lips full, hair shiny and straight, tinged with neon green. She was about the same age as Annie had been.

Grey recalled looking down from the upstairs window that morning, watching Virginia and Auguste huddling around the Hummer like two kindred spirits, then seeing him take her arm, like nobody was watching.

It’s not like it was the first time she’d seen them together. The two of them were always conspiring about something. Usually something with four wheels. Or, Grey wondered, is it something deeper?

Maybe it was just pregnancy hormones messing with her mind, or maybe not. It would destroy her if her worst fears were confirmed, but she needed to know—before the babies came. And that could be soon. Grey closed her eyes for a moment, then looked over. “Virginia, there’s something I need to ask you.”

Virginia turned to face her. She set down her mug. “I was wondering when this would come.”

Grey felt the blood rush to her head.

“It’s true,” said Virginia softly. “I love Mr. Poe. I always have.” She reached over to squeeze Helene’s hand. “But not in that way. Not ever.”

Grey stared at her for a few seconds, then let out a long breath, like air escaping a balloon. She shook her head, a little relieved and a little bewildered. “How did you know what I was about to ask?”

“I could read it on your face,” said Virginia. She smiled. “Also, I’m a little bit psychic.”

Grey could have left it there, but she decided to press her luck. “Do you think he loves you?”

This time, Virginia chuckled. “He definitely loves that I know my way around a V-8.” Then her expression sobered. She leaned over. “That’s nothing compared to the way he loves you, Detective Grey. Believe me, I know.”

Grey relaxed a little. She really, really hoped that was true.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” asked Virginia.