LUKE AND WOODY made it back to Long Beach around 3 p.m. Kelsey Cox still had not been recaptured, and the freeway system was a mess. The highway patrol had shut down the northbound side of the 710 because of the accident, the death of one of the drivers, and the subsequent search, and they still had it closed. The southbound side was slow because of looky-loos, and that would make them late for their meeting with Orson and the woman he’d talked about on the phone.

Tapping on the steering wheel, frustrated with the slow-moving traffic, Luke turned to Woody. “Why don’t you give Orson a call? We’ll probably be at least half an hour late.”

“Sure thing.”

While Woody called Orson, Luke wondered about Kelsey Cox. The area where she escaped was industrial, gritty. He couldn’t see how she’d evaded everyone; she’d stick out like a sore thumb in the area wearing an orange jumpsuit and sporting blonde hair.

Woody hung up chuckling.

“What’s funny?”

“I think Orson is sweet on this new victim.”

“Orson is a professional.”

“Not saying he’s not being professional; just saying that he seems to like this woman.”

“We’ll see,” Luke said, not willing to let on that he was curious. When they finally made it past the tie-up, he stepped on it, keeping to barely legal speeds.

When they arrived in the conference room, Orson was by himself.

“Well? Where is she?” Woody asked.

Luke stayed quiet because he could see that his friend and boss was unsettled. Luke had served with Orson overseas and had known him to be unflappable even in the hottest firefight. But something had him antsy and Luke wondered if it was, indeed, the new victim.

“She’s in the ladies’ room. Glad you guys could finally make it.”

“Not our fault.” Luke held his hands up. “Blame the CHP. Better yet, blame the prisoner break.”

“The what?” Orson looked bewildered.

“Haven’t you watched the news? Some prisoners escaped from the county bus.”

Orson shook his head. “I’ve been busy working, not watching TV or playing on the Internet.”

Luke rolled his eyes and was going to continue the ragging session when Faye walked in.

“Hi, Luke, Woody.” She turned to Orson. “Here are the copies you requested. If it’s okay with you, I want to head home for the weekend.”

Luke noticed the way Orson looked at her and heard the tone of his voice.

“Thank you, Faye. You’ve been such a big help. Drive carefully.”

Faye looked at Luke. “Sorry we didn’t have much of a chance to visit, but you know how bad traffic can be this time of day.”

“It’s bad already because of the escape.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” Orson stood. “Luke just told me. Someone escaped from the jail bus. You might want to wait until tomorrow to go home.”

Faye frowned. “I better go call Caltrans. Maybe I’ll be back in a minute.”

Luke didn’t watch her go; instead he watched Orson. It wasn’t the victim Orson was sweet on. But he didn’t have a chance to talk to his boss about it.

As soon as Faye left, the door opened and another woman walked in.

Luke had to bring a hand to his chin, praying that shock wasn’t obvious on his face. The woman looked like a Photoshop before and after. The left side of her body was normal. Luke saw a foot, leg, hand, and half of a normal, unscarred face. But as she moved into the room, he saw a hook where her right hand should be and a prosthetic limb where the right leg would be. It was metal, something like what he’d seen on soldiers who’d lost a limb, with a tennis shoe where her foot would be. Long, dark hair barely hid the twisted scarring on the right side of her face.

Was this woman a veteran? Luke wondered. Was that why Orson was on edge? She looked like some of the guys he knew who’d been maimed by an IED. A second, uninjured woman walked in behind her, a woman who looked to Luke as if she were a helper or a nurse.

Orson cleared his throat. “Luke, Woody, I’d like you to meet Victoria Napier. Fifteen years ago her husband tried to kill her. He did kill their children, twin boys aged six, but his attempt on Victoria failed.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Napier extended her left hand and Luke shook it. Her voice was harsh, hoarse, as if her vocal cords were damaged. Up close Luke could see the scarring on the right side of her face clearer, and he noted that her ear was gone; her hair hung over a lump of scar tissue.

“I can’t hear out of the right ear,” she said as if she sensed Luke’s perusal. “Or see out of the right eye. But my hearing and sight are perfect on the left.” She turned to Woody and shook his hand.

“Stuart Napier shot Victoria, their two boys, then set their house on fire,” Orson explained as they took their seats around the conference table. “Victoria almost died several times. She eventually survived with the serious injuries you can now see. It was five years before she was released from the rehab hospital. Stuart disappeared without a trace after the crime.”

“And for the last ten years I’ve been looking for him. I didn’t die like he wanted. And I won’t go quietly. I must find him and see him punished for the sake of our boys. They deserve justice.”

Orson passed out the FBI wanted poster on Stuart Napier.

“He disappeared from Florida,” Woody observed. “What makes you think that he’s in California?”

“One of the things we fought about in the weeks leading up to the day he murdered my children was moving to California. He’d been a wine-making hobbyist for years. He wanted to try his hand at wine making on a large scale. Wanted to sell everything in Florida and buy a vineyard in California. I’ve made my way across the country, painstakingly checking vineyards and wine-growing operations. I know that this is where he’ll be found.”

Now Luke’s jaw almost dropped for an entirely different reason. Talk about grasping at straws. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me for saying, but wine grapes are grown all over the world. Why, he could be anywhere after all this time. I —”

“Mr. Murphy, are you married?”

“I’m a widower.”

“Oh, well, sorry to hear that. My point is that Stuart and I were married for fifteen years and I know him very well. First of all, he’s a germaphobe —neurotic about it, really. He would not go to another country because he’d be afraid of the water or the food or of catching something for which he was not vaccinated. Second of all, he’s obsessive compulsive, meaning since he had the vineyard idea on his mind, there is no way he could deny that compulsion. He’s working at a vineyard somewhere, I know it.”

The intensity in her voice rocked Luke back.

“Even if I concede that point, there must be thousands of —”

“Approximately eight thousand in the country —3,674 in California alone.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover,” Woody said.

“It is,” Napier conceded. “But in ten years I’ve been able to pare it down.”

Orson spoke up. “On her own, using private resources, Victoria has been through almost every vineyard in the country and parts of Southern California. Her search has taken ten years.” He emphasized the last two words and Luke heard the compassion in his voice. “The FBI has given her minimal help. They think . . . uh, well —”

“It’s okay. They think I’m nuts,” Victoria said, a tight smile on her face. “Consumed with grief. The sad widow is crazy —that’s their opinion.” The smile disappeared, replaced by intensity that was serious —more so because of the disfigured face.

Luke winced.

“I’ll find him,” she whispered. “I’ll find him with or without your assistance. It will take me longer without help, but I’m determined. I’ll find him if it’s the last thing I do.”