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"A third hundred," he said, "if your records and your memory say you took us to Oak Ridge."

As the driver appeared to study the road ahead, his hand hooked itself over the seat, palm up. Allen slapped the bill into it. The money joined the other hundreds in the driver's shirt pocket.

"Four-fifteen," he said into the mike.

"Go ahead, four-fifteen," a woman's voice squawked.

"Got a fare to Oak Ridge. Let you know when I'm back."

"Ten-four, four-fifteen. Hey, Manny, you know anything about the excitement in the vicinity of Church and Market?"

"Negative, Nora. What's up?"

"Sounds like a bank robbery."

Manny's shoulders stiffened. Allen glanced nervously at Julia.

"Frank's been screaming at me through the box for ten minutes. Says someone shot up his steed."

"Wow," he intoned stoically to Nora, then clipped the mike to the radio. "Those hot C-notes you been feeding me, Jack?" He kept his eyes on the road.

"No," Allen said. "The bank wasn't robbed. If it was, our deal is off and you can come clean about where you really took us. Okay?"

He didn't answer immediately. "That's Oak Ridge, right?"

Allen sighed. "Right."

"Funny how that town looks more and more like Maryville every day."

forty-five

They made the half-hour drive into Maryville in

relative silence. The driver queried them for knowledge of the events back on Church Street, but they claimed ignorance. When they responded to his attempts at small talk in monosyllables, he flipped on his radio to a country station and didn't speak again.

A few times, Stephen groaned quietly. He simply smiled reassuringly when Allen or Julia turned to him.

Allen's head ached with disturbing thoughts. What had he gotten himself into? In the space of one day, he'd been driven from his home, nearly murdered several times, and thrown into a fugitive run with the brother he hadn't seen in two years and a streetwise federal agent.

He glanced at their profiles. They were deep in their own thoughts. As he watched, Stephen closed his eyes slowly, exhausted and hurting. As much as Allen begrudged his brother's choices, he admired what he'd just done. The fact that Stephen had held his own with an obvious warrior boggled his mind.

And Julia. He shook his head in wonder. Even while the killer was battling Stephen, her decisive action was stunning. Running toward the guy as he was about to crush Stephen's head, firing off round after round, driving and holding him back so they could make their escape—all while the killer was shooting back! Some of it was a product of her training, sure, but either you were born with courage or you weren't; no amount of instruction could instill raw bravery. Reliving those harrowing moments heightened his sense that something special had occurred.

He'd heard about men in combat who found themselves surrounded and outnumbered. Later they'd claim that everything had come together in that moment: with bullets and shrapnel whistling past their heads, they instantly remembered minute details of every evasive maneuver they had ever learned in training or in the field, they could accurately predict every inch of terrain they had never seen, their marksmanship became flawless, their feet sure. Only after escaping certain death did they realize that they had done things they could never, ever repeat or explain. But they had survived.

What Julia and Stephen had done back there was something like that.

His eyes traced the contours of her face, turned in profile. The strong forehead, straight nose, full lips. She was gorgeous—not in a fashion-model way, but with the kind of delicate beauty that shocks school-age boys into realizing there are things about girls worth noticing. Still, Allen found himself appreciating her for qualities the mirror could not reflect: the quickness of thought and fearlessness that had saved them from the killer. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt desire for a woman because of her strength of character, intelligence, compassion, or other uncaressable trait. The realization that he felt that way now made his stomach tumble, a thrill he had not experienced in years. He was vaguely aware that his attraction for her benefited him in a more valuable way as well: it took his mind off the predicament they were in.

Thirty minutes after leaving Knoxville, the taxi rolled into Maryville. Julia stared out at the passing buildings. She seemed to seek out each street sign as they passed it, nodding as though committing the name to memory—familiarizing herself with a locale from which they may have to escape. Very professional. He smiled, but the necessity of her precautions made him unable to hold it.

She noticed his attention and smiled, sweet but absent, then returned to her reconnaissance.