"Reba, go back to the hotel," Nic tells her in the same firm, controlled voice she uses when Buddy throws a tantrum. "You've had enough whiskey for one night."

"Well, 'scuse me, Miss Teacher's Pet." Reba is careening toward unconsciousness, and she talks as if she has rubber bands in her mouth.

Nic feels Scarpettas eyes on her and wishes she could send her a signal that might be reassuring or serve as an apology for Reba's outrageous display.

Lucy has entered the room like a hologram, and Scarpettas subtle but deeply emotional response shocks Nic with jealousy, with envy she didn't know she had. She feels inferior to her hero's super-cop niece, whose talents and world are enormous compared to Nic's. Her heart aches like a frozen joint that is finally unbent, the way her mother gently straightened out Nic's healing broken arm every time the splint came off.

Hurting's good, baby. If you didn't feel something, this little arm of yours would be dead and fall right off. You wouldn't want that, would you?

No, Mama. I'm sorry for what I did.

Why, Nicci, that's the silliest thing. You didn't hurt yourself on purpose!

But I didn't do what Papa said. I ran right into the woods and that's when I tripped…

We all make mistakes when we're scared, baby. Maybe it's a good thing you fell down-you were low to the ground when the lightning was flying all around.

4

NIC'S MEMORIES OF HER childhood in the Deep South are full of storms.

It seems the heavens threw terrible fits every week, exploding in rageful thunder and trying to drown or electrocute every living creature on the Earth. Whenever thunderheads raised their ugly warnings and boomed their threats, her papa preached about safety, and her pretty blonde mother stood at the screen door, motioning for Nic to hurry into the house, hurry into a warm, dry place, hurry into her arms.