Chapter 22

They took pictures out of frames, pulled covers off cushions, emptied pots of their plants and dirt.

"She said they were still setting up, still installing, still painting." Eve gave the walls a narrow look. "Maybe he had the same idea as his brother, hid something behind the walls."

"We'll need a bigger scanner."

Odds were low, Eve thought, but... "Let's get one down here. He's shocked, guilty, living a lie now. Comes in here to think, to pray, meditate, whatever. He's taken his brother away, put him away, can't look his sister in the eye. He's head of the family," she continued, wandering the room. "He's done what he believes, or convinced himself to believe, is the right thing. He's got to shoulder this alone. But that's not what they do, right?"

"Scanner and a couple of sweepers on the way," Peabody told her. "What?"

"The shouldering-it-alone thing. That's not it. It's the whole trusting the higher power, right?"

"Well..."

"There's no religious stuff in here though. No crosses, Buddhas, pentacles, stars."

"They're nondenominational. But they have symbols, the elements."

"What symbols, what elements?"

"The plants—growing things, earth. The candles for fire. The mural there of clouds, that says air to me. And the—"

"Fountain. The fountain's water. He found his brother about to drown Lonna. Water."

The thin, clear sheet of water slid down a two-foot section of the wall over what she assumed was a faux stone veneer. It fell soft and musical into a narrow trench designed to resemble copper gone green with verdigris where it pooled over little white pebbles.

"It's a pretty one," Peabody commented. "We always had fountains back home—solar ones—in the gardens. And my dad built this really gorgeous little stone fountain in the solarium. I guess that was our quiet room. It was full of plants and stone benches, floor cushions. Not so different than this, except for the glass walls. We used to—you don't care."

"How do you turn this thing off?"

"We were solar run, almost completely, but something like this probably has a master shutoff in their utility space. It probably has a safety switch somewhere though, in case it goes haywire and starts spewing water everywhere."

Peabody looked up, frowning at the top bar. "It's a nice design—see, that delivery up there looks like the ceiling molding, blends in, so it gives the illusion the water's just flowing right out of the wall. But you'd want the safety switch where you could reach it."

She hunkered down, then began to crawl on all fours around the trough. "I just don't see... wait, here we go. You can barely see this panel." She opened it, turned the little switch inside.

The run of water slowed, dripped, stopped.

"Huh. Good eye."

"Peabodys are handy." And the handy Peabody sat back on her heels. "What this does, is recycles. The water comes down into the pool, then it runs back up through the pipe system behind the wall."

"It doesn't drain?"

"You'd drain it if there's a problem."

"Twelve dead, missing suspects equals a problem."

"Right." Peabody returned to all fours, turned another switch, and with a gurgle, the water level began to drop.

"Peabodys are handy." Eve knelt down, shoved up her sleeve, and began to push through the layer of pebbles. "We need a bucket or something."

"I'll get a bucket or something."

Eve continued to dig through the draining water, the smooth white stones. Probably nothing here, she thought. He probably just sat in here feeling sorry for himself and asking the universe why his brother turned out to be a homicidal whack job.

But then her fingers hooked on something. When she tugged it free, she held up a dripping pendant on a silver chain.

Half a pendant, she corrected, like half a puzzle piece inscribed with NASH on one side, brOTHERS on the other.

"Look here, Peabody," she said when she heard the door open. "A clue."

"Wow, you made a big fucking mess in here."

"Quilla." Damn it. "You can't be in here."

"I just want to see. How come you made such a big fucking mess? Was that in the fountain? Why would somebody put their unity necklace in the fountain? It's all wet."

"Fountains will do that. Unity necklace?"

"Sure. Some of the kids get them with their BFFs. You know, we're two halves of the same whole, or we fit each other just right, some crap like that. It's total lametown."

But even as she said it, Quilla eyed the pendant as if she wanted one.

"Maybe. Do you wear your own name, or the BFF's?"

"Duh. The BFF's. It's the point, right?"

"Okay. Go away."

"Come on, everybody's creeping around out there like they're afraid to wake up some monster. It's boring."

"Go be bored. Peabody," Eve snapped when her partner came in with a big white bucket.

"Oh hey, you really shouldn't be in here right now."

"It's totally not the Quiet Room, not with you guys in here. Are you going to empty the fountain? I could help."

"No," Eve said firmly. "Go."

"Shit, talk about lametown."

She sulked her way out.

"This has a match. It'll have Monty on it."

"They had unity necklaces. That's mostly a girl or a couple thing, and kind of on the young side for men."

"He put Monty's in here, so he put his in here. That way he could keep them, hidden away, but together. Stanch some of the guilt maybe, symbolize cleansing; we'll let Mira chew on that one. Bag it."

Peabody took the pendant, set down the bucket. "Aren't you going to take the stones out?"

"Let me just... got it. And that's the set."

She held up the second half with MONTY inscribed on one side and FOREVER on the other.

"Names on the fronts, ‘brothers forever' on the backs. United, coming and going. But he couldn't make himself wear his, not after what was done. He couldn't allow his brother to keep his. But Jones would always know they were here. He could sit in here, think of his brother, tell himself what he'd done had been for the best."

"It's sad, when you think about it."

"Maybe it's sad, but it's also stupid. Real responsibility means doing what's right, even when it's hard. Dealing with his brother himself, one way or the other? That's self-indulgence. It's stealing a dog."

"A dog? Oh, like DeWinter and Bones. Okay, but the dog's really happy."

"The dog could've been just as happy if the situation had been dealt with properly, by the rules of law. And something's missing."

"Missing?"

"Something to represent the sisters." She went back to digging through the stones. "And wouldn't he also feel responsible for the cousin? Wouldn't he think I sent him to his death, or something like that? He'd need to..."

As she dug, her eyes tracked to the plaque:

In Loving Memory of

Montclair Jones

Beloved Brother of

Selma, Nashville, and Philadelphia

He lives in our hearts.

"‘He lives,'" Eve muttered. "Take that plaque off the wall."

"You want the plaque off the wall?" Scratching her nose, Peabody studied it. "It's screwed on. I need to get—"

"Quilla," Eve said, barely raising her voice.

The girl poked her head in. "I was just—"

"Never mind that. Get me a screwdriver thing."

"I'm on that!"

"This is just adding weight," Eve said as she gave up and started scooping out the wet stones into the bucket. "It's not telling us where Jones is, or confirming his brother's alive."

"I've got one!" Quilla raced in, a battery-operated screwdriver in her hand. "Can I do it?"

"No. Peabody."

"Why don't you hold the screws when I take them out?" With a humming whirl, Peabody set bit on screw.

"How come you want to take it off the wall? It's been up there forever. Matron's going to have six baskets of kittens when she sees what you've done in here. How come you—"

"Quiet. I might forget you're in here where you're not supposed to be if you're fricking quiet."

Quilla rolled her eyes at Eve's back, but closed her mouth firmly.

"Last screw. It's heavier than it looks. Hold that side, Quilla, so it doesn't— There."

Peabody lifted it from the wall. "They went for real bronze. It's got serious weight, and... It's double-sided."

"The cousin's on the back," Eve said.

"Nail, head, hit."

When Peabody turned it around, Eve read:

With deep regret and sorrow, in memory of Kyle.

A man of faith, loyalty, and pure spirit.

"Who's Kyle?" Quilla demanded. "How come he has to face the wall. That doesn't seem fair."

"Really doesn't. Bag it, Peabody. Got something else." She pulled out a little gold heart on a thin chain. "Oldest sister's. It's got Selma inscribed on the back."

Peabody walked over with an evidence bag. "It just feels sadder."

"Screw sad," Eve stated, and dug in again. "And here we are, the missing piece."

Eve held up a ring.

"Wow! That was in there, too? What else is in there?"

"Don't touch anything," Eve snapped at Quilla.

She examined the ring, its entwined hearts with a tiny white stone at their intersection.

"It's pretty," Quilla said, but kept her hands behind her back.

Peabody huffed as she sealed the heavy plaque. "The kind of ring you give a sweetheart."

"Is it?" With that in mind, Eve turned it, aimed toward the light. "Good call. It's inscribed inside. PP=1 heart.

"Let's find out who the second P is. Clear out," Eve ordered Quilla. "And keep it zipped."

"Copy that." She grinned. "This is fucking frosty stuff. I'm going to write about it."

"Everybody's writing about something. Have the sweepers take the evidence in, log it, and seal the room."

"Copy that," Peabody said with a smile. "I'm just going to put the plants back in the pots so they don't die."

"Make it fast."

She walked out and up to Shivitz's station. "Where's Ms. Jones?"

"She's in session."

"Get her out, now, or I will."

"I think you're cold and cruel. I'm sorry for you."

"Think whatever you like, just get her."

With her nose pointed toward the ceiling, Shivitz stalked down a hallway. Moments later, Philadelphia walked quickly back the same route.

"What is it? What happened?"

"Who's the other P on this?"

"Oh my goodness!" For a moment, light bloomed in her eyes. "Oh, where did you find it?" The light still shining, she reached for it. "I thought I'd lost it. I had lost it, years ago. It broke my heart a little."

"Who's P?"

"Peter. Peter Gibbons. He was my first love. We were just teenagers, but we were so urgently in love. My parents didn't approve, of course. We were so young, and he was... he was a boy of logic and science, not faith. He gave me this on my eighteenth birthday, right before I left for college."

Eve said nothing as Philadelphia slipped it on her finger, studied it with a soft smile. "He went off to college, too, but we vowed we'd marry one day, have a family. Of course that wasn't to be. I married a man my father approved of. It didn't work out for either of us. He's a good man, my former husband, but we were never really happy. I wonder if you ever feel for someone the way you feel for your first love."

She looked up from the ring. "Thank you so much, but where did you find it?"

"Where your brother Nash put it, along with your sister Selma's gold heart pendant."

"Selma's little heart—but..."

"And the unity necklaces that belonged to him and your other brother. All of them were buried under the stones of the fountain."

"But that doesn't make any sense." The light went out of her eyes. "Why would he take my ring, why would he—"

"Where's Peter Gibbons?"

"I—we haven't kept in close touch. He's a doctor, a psychiatrist. He runs a small private institute upstate."

"Where?" Eve demanded just as her 'link signaled.

"It's in the Adirondacks, near Newton Falls. The Full Light Institute for Wellness." Pressing a hand to her heart, Philadelphia rubbed it there in shaky circles. "You think Monty's there. You think Nash took Monty to Peter."

"Hold on." She yanked out her 'link. "What?"

"Reporting as requested, Lieutenant. The secondary account, under the name Kyle Montclair, opened fifteen years ago, had an initial deposit of eight thousand even. There've been small but regular deposits thereafter, with all autopayments going to—"

"The Full Light Institute for Wellness."

"I don't know why I bother if you're going to step on my lines."

"It's upstate, near some place called Newton Falls."

"I'm aware," he said dryly. "I completed my assignment."

"I've got another. I need to get there, as fast as possible."

"All right. The West Side transpo center, private air station. Twenty minutes."

"Thanks. Big thanks."

"I need to go with you," Philadelphia said when Eve clicked off. "If what you believe is true, all true, I have to see my brothers. I have to speak with my brothers."

"That's probably a good idea." She glanced around as two sweepers came in with a portable scanner, gestured toward the room.

"I just need to tell Matron."

"You've got two minutes. Peabody," she called as she stepped back toward the room. "With me. Quilla, for Christ's sake, stay out of here."

"What's going on?"

"Lots of official stuff. Look," she said, relenting a little, "you helped, so I'll fill you in later. Peabody, we're moving."

···

She'd expected an air shuttle, which was bad enough. But found herself, churning stomach and all, loading onto a jet-copter with Roarke at the helm.

"In the back," she ordered Philadelphia, and shoved ear protectors at her. "Put these on, keep them on."

"This is the ult," Peabody declared, and harnessed herself in. "I've never been to the Adirondacks. I should've worn snow boots. I bet there's snow."

"We'll survive. Recap." She brought Roarke up to speed, filled in the Peter Gibbons connection for both him and Peabody. It helped keep her mind off the fact she was flying, at great speed, in a toy with blades. It didn't help when they flew, at great speed, over snow-covered mountains.

That looked entirely too big, entirely too close.

"Just some crosswinds," Roarke told her when the copter shuddered.

"He couldn't just stay in the city, there are lots of places in the city, but oh no, he's got to do this in some mountain cabin where there's nothing but rocks and trees. Fucking, fucking big rocks and trees."

"It's gorgeous!" Peabody, her nose plastered to the window, bounced in her seat. "There's a lake! It's all frozen."

"When we crash into it, we'll bounce instead of drown."

Roarke laughed, began to circle.

She gripped the sides of her seat like lifelines. "What are you doing!"

"Descending, darling. There's the institute."

Teeth gritted, she forced herself to look down. It wasn't a cabin in the woods, but a large, sprawling complex in the valley of the really big, snowy mountains. From her reluctant bird's-eye view, it resembled a very large mansion, more, she corrected, an important school.

Then because it made her dizzy, she stopped looking below, just held on until she felt the copter touch smoothly down.

She climbed down to the pad immediately, waiting for her legs to get solid again. She wasn't quite there when several people ran toward the pad from the main building. Even slightly queasy, she recognized security when it charged toward her.

"This is a private institution. I need to ask you to—"

Eve just held up her badge. "Peter Gibbons."

"I'll need your business with Dr. Gibbons."

"No, you don't. He does. He sees me now, or I'll have this place surrounded by cops, and shut down. Gibbons," she repeated.

"We'll take this inside."

"Nobody leaves the premises." She fell in line with him. Peabody had been right about the snow, but the pathways were pristine, cutting neat stone paths through the blankets of white. "How long has Montclair Jones been here?"

"I can't discuss patients with you."

Didn't have to, Eve thought. He'd just confirmed her suspicions.

Inside, the building was church-quiet. Not hospital-like so much as cushy rehab center for the really rich. Plants thriving, floors sparkling, even a gas fire simmering.

"Wait here," security told her. His two companions stood on guard as he walked up a short sweep of stairs.

"Will you let me see Monty?" Philadelphia asked.

"We'll get to that."

"You're going to arrest him. Both my brothers. You're going to put them both in prison."

Eve said nothing, but watched a man hurry down the stairs. Average height, average looks until you took a second study. Sharp eyes of winter blue, a strong jaw added something.

"I'm Dr. Gibbons," he began. Those winter blue eyes widened, then went warm as summer. "Philly." He moved right past Eve, hands extended, gripped both of Philadelphia's. "You look the same."

"No. Of course I don't."

"To me you do. Nash contacted you. I'm so glad. I'm terribly sorry, but he couldn't keep this from you. I couldn't keep it from you."

"You've been keeping it from everyone for fifteen years."

He turned, eyes cooling again when they met Eve's. "No, not what you're thinking. We should go up to the conference room. My office is a bit small to fit everyone."

"Where is Montclair Jones?"

"His room's on the third floor, east wing." At Philadelphia's gasp, he looked at her again. "I'm so sorry. Nash is with him. If I could explain things to you—it's Lieutenant Dallas, correct?"

"That's right. Explaining's a good start. Peabody, I want you on the door of Jones's room."

"Neither of them would leave, but I understand. Security will escort you," he told Peabody.

As Peabody peeled off with security, Eve went with Gibbons up the stairs.

"Just this way. Nash came to my home yesterday evening. He was in a state of deep anxiety, even panic."

"I bet."

Gibbons opened a door, gestured.

It struck her more like a lounge than a conference room, though there was the requisite long table. Gibbons led Philadelphia to a sofa. "Can I get you anything? Your hands are cold. Some tea?"

"No, nothing."

"You're still wearing it," he said quietly.

"No." She looked down at the ring, then up at him. "I... oh, Peter."

"This is difficult for you. For us all." He sat beside her, took her hand in his, then met Eve's eyes again.

"I should start fifteen years ago. We were fairly new at that time. I'd come on board the year before, at the inception. I'd kept in touch with Nash over the years."

"I didn't know that."

"We'd both married, both divorced. You had your life, and I was making mine. Nash contacted me all those years ago, shaken, desperate. He told me Monty was in trouble, that he'd tried to hurt one of the girls in your care, and didn't seem to understand the scope of his actions. The girl was safe, but he couldn't allow Monty to be around the children, couldn't allow him to go on without serious psychiatric help. Of course I agreed to take him as a patient, though we disagreed when he insisted you weren't to know, Philly."

"At the very least, Montclair Jones had committed assault," Eve pointed out.

"Should the police have been notified? Perhaps. But a friend asked me to help his brother. I did. When Monty came here he was like a child. He remembered me, and that helped. He was happy to see me, and assumed you'd be coming any day, Philly, as I was here."

"He always liked you, so much," Philadelphia said.

"And that helped," Peter replied. "He'd been afraid he was being sent away, to Africa of all places. His mental and emotional states were very fragile."

"Like my mother," Philadelphia added.

"He's not suicidal," Gibbons assured her. "Has never been, though we took precautions initially. I took it slowly with him at first. He was passive, obedient. He believed if he behaved, he could go home again, or you and Nash would come here. When we talked of what happened, he said the girl was bad, and he wanted to cleanse her in the waters of home, and once clean she could stay home. They would be home."

"He would have drowned her," Eve said.

"In his mind, he was helping her. Washing her clean of sin, giving her life—not taking it. His mother died in sin. That's what your father believed, Philly."

"I know. I don't. I can't. But our father does."

"And impressed that on Monty, and Monty believed he might end the same way and be cast out from home."

"Oh God. We tried so hard to make him feel safe."

"His illness prevented that. I've told Nash how I feel about the treatment both he and your mother received. We'll talk about that later. But with Monty, whenever I tried to go deeper into the root of that illness, he'd become agitated, often to the point we'd need to sedate him. Instead of progressing, he regressed. Nothing I've done, tried to do, nothing has reached him."

"He killed twelve girls," Eve interrupted. "He never mentioned it?"

Frustration ran over Gibbons's face as he shook his head. "He talked of cleansing rites, of home, and never having to leave it. He no longer talks of going home as he believes this is his home. Through the sessions it became clear that if he were allowed to leave, he would attempt this cleansing again. He sees this as his mission. He sees himself as finally having a purpose, as he sees you and Nash have. To save the girls, to cleanse them, and bring them home."

"Twelve of them," Eve said.

"I suspected there might have been another attempt, but I could never reach him, never bring out what he'd done. I wasn't able to get him to speak about why he had this mission, and the sexual elements of it. I can only tell you now that neither Nash nor I knew, rather than Nash finding him with the first before he could finish, he'd found Monty with the last.

"I could spend hours discussing his psyche with you, explaining my opinion on the whys, the hows, and how he's concealed and suppressed what he's done. But I can tell you he believes he did what was right and necessary, that his brother didn't understand, didn't trust him, didn't believe in him so he was unable to do his work. It's only been in the last few years that he's been able to rebond with Nash to some extent."

"His psyche is something for you and other shrinks to argue over. He killed twelve girls, attempted to kill another. Instead of being brought to justice, he's lived here, in comfort, without consequences."

"I wouldn't agree about the consequences. We didn't know about the murders. When he understood Monty was responsible, Nash came here, and told me everything."

"You still didn't contact the police."

"We were about to when you arrived. Nash wanted to spend a little time with his brother before he, with me accompanying them, brought Monty back to New York and turned him over to you."

Gibbons took Philadelphia's hand again. "Nash was shattered when he came to me last night, Philly. Because he knew he'd have to give his brother to the police. The brother you both love, the brother he feels responsible for. And you'd have to know what Monty's done."

"I need to see them both."

"I know. Monty's nervous about going on a trip, about going back to New York. I've given him something for the anxiety. He won't go to prison, Lieutenant. No doctor, no court will judge him legally sane. He'll never be free, and he'll never know what it is to have a life, to fall in love, have a family, a job, a real home. It's not true justice, perhaps, but it's consequences."

"I need to see him." Eve rose. "I need to speak to him."

"Yes, you do."

"Can't I—"

"No, not now," Eve said before Philadelphia could finish.

"It's best to wait," Gibbons assured her. "He's already having difficultly adjusting to the idea of leaving here. But when the police are ready to take him, it will help if you're there with him."

"We'll have that tea now, shall we?" Roarke suggested with a glance at Gibbons.

"Yes, good idea. I'll arrange it. Lieutenant, I'll take you to him."

She waited until they were out of the room, going up another set of stairs. "In all these years, you never got him to admit to the murders."

"It never occurred to me there had been murders. Lieutenant, he's nonviolent, and as I said, passive. He spoke of girls, plural, but we assumed—and actually assumed correctly—that he saw them as a whole. The bad girls, the lost girls. He would save them. He's delusional, and his upbringing—well, as I said, it would take hours to explain. You're going to find he doesn't see them as dead, but saved. He doesn't understand he killed them. His mind is childlike. There is anger, but it's diffused now. He has duties here, a routine, those who tend to him. He isn't asked to do what he feels unable to do."

He stopped in front of the door where Peabody stood.

"Will you permit me to remain, and Nash? He'd be less anxious."

"We'll try it that way. If you interfere, you're out."

With a nod, Gibbons opened the door.

Nash Jones rose immediately, all but launching out of the chair where he sat watching his brother slowly fold clothes into a small suitcase.

"Lieutenant, I—"

Gibbons shook his head. "Monty, you have some company."

"I'm going on a trip."

He looked like a child in a man's body. His face, soft, going doughy, sat pale under a messy crop of sandy hair. His eyes had a dull, disengaged look to them.

"I'm packing. I can do it myself."

"I need to ask you some questions."

"Dr. Gibbons asks the questions."

"So do I."

"Are you a doctor?"

"No, I'm the police."

"Uh-oh, somebody's in trouble!" He grinned at his brother as if they shared a joke.

"I'm going to read you your rights. Do you understand about rights?"

"It's all right if I have dessert first sometimes, as long as I eat the rest."

Oh boy,Eve thought, but read off the Revised Miranda. "Do you understand any of that?"

"I don't have to talk to you unless I want to."

"That's right. And you can have a lawyer here."

"I have Monty and Dr. Gibbons. They're smart." Carefully, he folded a navy blue sweater into the suitcase. "I can be smart if I think about it."

"Okay. I want to talk to you about when you lived in New York. About The Sanctuary."

"I can't go there anymore. It's not home anymore. This is home."

"But when it was home, you knew Shelby. You remember Shelby."

"She's bad. She said she was my friend, but she was mean to me. She's bad," Monty said under his breath. "I want to pack for my trip."

"You can talk to Lieutenant Dallas while you pack," Gibbons said gently.

"Dallas is a city in Texas. Everybody knows that. I'm a city, too."

"How was Shelby mean to you?"

"How come I have to tell you? Nash made me tell him. He said I had to tell him because he's my brother. You're not my brother."

"You should tell her what you told me." His voice thick with tears, Nash laid a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"You got mad. I don't like it when you get mad."

"I got mad in New York, a long time ago. I was upset, and I shouldn't have talked to you that way. But I didn't get mad today, when you talked to me, when you told me about Shelby, and—and the others."

"Because we're Nash and Monty. Brothers forever."

"Why didn't you tell Monty about Shelby, and the other girls, before?" Eve asked him.

"He was mad, so I didn't tell. Then I had to come here, but Peter's here, so that's good. Then I forgot. They don't have bad girls here, and I forgot about it. I don't even dream about it anymore."

"Why don't you tell me about it, about Shelby?" Eve prompted.

"It's all right to tell her, Monty," Peter urged him. "She won't get mad."

"Shelby said she'd make me feel good a special way, a secret way. She did, but it's bad. She'll get in trouble if I tell you. I don't tattle."

He mimed zipping his lip.

"That's okay. What happened to Shelby?"

"Nothing."He lifted his hands in the air, shook them. "Nothing, nothing. She wanted to stay in The Sanctuary. Me, too, but Monty and Philly said no. But the other place wasn't home, so me and Shelby wanted to stay. Shelby said I could, then she said I couldn't because I was stupid. And it hurt my feelings. She was bad. We're supposed to help the bad girls be good. I helped her be good. And her friend, too. And I helped the girls so they could be good and stay home. Now I'm going on a trip."

"How did you help them?"

"I don't remember." Slyly, just a little slyly, he tracked his eyes right and left. "I don't think about it."

"I think you do. You put a sedative in some drinks. You needed them to be quiet and still."

"I had to." Monty puffed out his cheeks, then released all the air. "They wouldn't understand when they were bad. After, then they'd understand. Once we'd washed the bad out. I filled the tub, nice and warm. Cold water's not fun. I didn't want them to be cold because I had to take their clothes off. I didn't touch. I promise!"

He crossed his heart.

"But they couldn't have clothes in the water, they wouldn't really get clean. I put Shelby in the warm water, and I prayed like you're supposed to. Then she was clean, and sleeping so quiet. I wrapped her up, nice and snug, before I helped her friend. Then I took them downstairs. People would come and tell them they couldn't stay, but I fixed it so nobody would see them, and they could stay home."

"How?"

"I can build, so I made a new wall, so they had a secret place. Like a club."

"Okay." She strolled over, picked up a ratty stuffed dog from a shelf. "Where'd you get this?"

"That's my dog. He was lost. I found him. He's mine. His name is Baby."

"Baby used to belong to somebody else."

"Maybe, but she didn't take care of him. I do."

"You found Baby. You found other bad girls."

"When you're a missionary, you have to go to the people with sin, and help them. But not in Africa. It's scary there. I don't want to go to Africa, Nash."

"No, you don't have to."

"But I'm going on a trip. I have to pack," he told Eve.

"Yeah, go ahead. Pack for your trip."