“Did you watch the tapes?” Rob wanted to know. I noticed he was keeping his own gaze on the road, as well.

“I did,” I said.

Rob waited for me to go on. When I didn’t, he said, “Were the ones with Hannah…I mean, was there more than one—”

“There was just one video of her,” I said.

“Good,” Rob said softly.

“Multiple copies of the same video,” I added, even though I didn’t want to. Still, I had to make sure he understood.

Rob swore under his breath. Then, giving a chuckle that was completely devoid of humor, he said, “And you really think I’m not going to kill him when I see him?”

“You’re not,” I said. “Because, for one thing, he’s not worth going to jail for. And for another, those guys back there? They’re armed.”

“Yeah,” Rob said. “Well, they’re not going to be around forever. Randy’s going to have to go somewhere alone sometime, and when he does—”

“Rob.” My voice was sharp enough to cause him to turn his head to look at me, finally.

“You’re not going to lay a finger on Randy Whitehead,” I said angrily. “You’re going to let me handle this. That’s what you brought me here from New York for, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Like hell,” Rob said. “This isnot what I brought you from New York for. I brought you from New York to find my sister, and you—”

“There’s a spot,” I said, pointing. Finding parking around the square was notoriously difficult, which was why so many people preferred to do their shopping at the mall, even though it wasn’t anywhere near as historically picturesque.

“—found my sister,” Rob went on, swinging the massive truck into the narrow spot as neatly as if he were driving a car half its size. “For which I thank you. But I can’t sit back and let this guy get away with what he did to her. I can’t do it, Jess. You can’t ask me to.”

“I’m not,” I said, unsnapping my seat belt. “Randy’s going to pay for what he did. Just not with his blood. And you’re not going to go to jail—or worse, the bottom of some lake.”

Rob glared at me. I wouldn’t back down, though. I just glared right back. After a few seconds, Rob turned and pounded the sides of his fists on the steering wheel—just once, apparently to get the urge to hit something out of his system.

“Feel better?” I asked.

“No,” he said sullenly.

“Good,” I said. “Let’s go.”

We climbed down from the pickup’s cab, then waited for the light in order to cross the street to the Fountain Building, which also housed the local bank and a yoga studio. On the way, we passed Underground Comix, the store where my brother Douglas works. The sign in the door readCLOSED . I knew they didn’t open until ten, and it was still only nine thirty.

I noticed that when we got to the building’s entrance, the men from the sedan were already waiting for us. They’d apparently found parking closer by.

“Mr. Whitehead in?” I asked them.

The driver, who clearly used Just For Men in order to color his gray, since no one had hair that black, nodded.

“Both Mr. Whiteheads will see you,” he said.

“Great,” I said chipperly, and led the way through the atrium lobby to the offices of Whitehead Construction.

The plump, middle-aged receptionist must have been given the heads-up that we were on the way, since she didn’t ask who we were. Instead she said, jumping up nervously, “Mr. Whitehead will see you right away. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water? Soda?”

“I’m fine,” I said graciously. Who said I didn’t learn any manners when I was overseas?

“I’m good,” Rob growled.

“Well, then,” the receptionist said. “Follow me.”

She led us into a large, sunny office, one corner of which was completely taken up by an enormous, modern-looking desk, where Randy Whitehead Senior sat. In front of the desk had been arranged four matching chairs, also modern, made of black leather and chrome. In one of the chairs sat Randy Whitehead Junior. In the other, looking very small but stylish in tight jeans and a black halter top, sat the girl I recognized from Apartment 1S, and later, from the videotapes markedKRISTIN .

“Well, well,” Randy Whitehead Senior said, climbing to his feet and putting on a gigantic grin when he saw me. “Are you telling me this little bitty thing here is the one who’s been causin’ all this ruckus?”

“Her friend’s not so little,” Randy Junior muttered with a hostile glance in Rob’s direction, which Rob ignored.

“Hello, Mr. Whitehead,” I said coolly, crossing the office and holding my right hand out towards the senior Randall Whitehead. “I’m Jessica Mastriani. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“And you, and you,” Randy Senior boomed. He pumped my hand up and down, then looked questioningly at Rob, who just stood there, glaring back at him. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Sure,” I said. “Mr. Whitehead, this is Rob Wilkins. Your son, Randy, is acquainted with Rob’s younger sister, Hannah.”

A glance at Randy Junior told me that the blow had hit home. He’d stood when I entered. Now the younger Mr. Whitehead sank back down into his chrome-and-leather chair, looking up uneasily at Rob, who, even when standing, towered over him by a good four or five inches.

“Oh God,” Randy Junior moaned under his breath.

Kristin, noticing her boyfriend’s pale demeanor, chimed in with, “Who’s Hannah? What’s going on, Randy? Who’s Hannah?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Randy Junior muttered.

“You must be Kristin,” I said to the dark-haired girl and held out my hand. “Jessica Mastriani.”

“Oh,” she said, bewilderedly putting out her own hand. “You’re a friend of Randy’s? He’s told you about me?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “I’ve seen your video.”

“Video?” Kristin looked puzzled. “What video?”

I glanced at Randy Senior and noticed that his smile lost some of its strength.

“Oh, you don’t know about the video Randy made of you and he having sex?” I asked. “The one he’s distributing all over southern Indiana, and—if I’m not mistaken, across state lines…which is a felony, I think.”

Kristin laughed, a tinkling sound in the quiet office, the walls of which were decorated with framed aerial photos of famous golf courses. “Randy and I never made a video,” she said. “What’s she talking about, Randy?”

“All righty, then,” Randy Senior interrupted in that same booming voice. “I understand from my son here, Miss Mastriani, that you stole some property of his. And apparently you confirmed this fact to my two associates here—” He nodded towards Just For Men and his companion, who’d taken up positions flanking the office door, as if they suspected Rob and I might make a run for it. “I’ll admit I wasn’t completely aware of the extent of Randy’s little enterprise until last night when he explained it to me. I take it this all has something to do with this young man’s sister?”

He looked questioningly at Rob.

“Myunderage sister,” Rob pointed out in a voice so cold, I was surprised it didn’t freeze Randy Senior to the spot.

Instead of freezing, the older Mr. Whitehead took a deep breath, then slowly lowered himself back into his chair.

“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “Thatis unfortunate.” Then, noticing that Rob and I were still standing, Randy Senior said, “Where are my manners? Sit down, you two, please.”

Rob stayed where he was, but I sat down, then reached up and tugged on the back of Rob’s shirt until he lowered himself into the chair next to mine.

Kristin, meanwhile, kept saying, “Randy? What’s going on? Who’s this Hannah person? Why is that man there so angry? What are these videos they keep talking about?”

“Miss Mastriani,” Randy Senior said in the same affable tone as before, “before we go any further, I have to tell you how truly honored I am to meet you. When Randy here told me he’d met Lightning Girl—the one that television show is based on—well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. For one thing, that show is one of my wife’s favorites—right, Randy?”

Randy Junior, who still looked as if he might throw up on his own shoes at any second, said, “Yeah. Right.”

“And for another, well, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you did for this country during your tour in Afghanistan. That’s the kind of sacrifice only a true patriot would make, and Randy’s mother and I—well, if there’s one thing we admire, that’s patriotism. Love for this great country of ours is something we tried to instill in our son—didn’t we, Randy? I mean, where else but in America could the son of a dirt-poor farmer like myself end up owning more property than anyone in this great state with the exception of the Catholic Church?”

Randy Senior laughed heartily at his own joke, and Just For Men and his friend joined in. I smiled politely. Rob continued to glower. Randy kept on looking sick, and Kristin just looked confused.

“And I’d like to add,” Randy Senior said, when he’d recovered from his laughing fit, “that the wife and I are big fans of your father’s restaurants. Why, we eat at least one meal a week at Mastriani’s. And I’m addicted to the burgers at Joe’s. Aren’t I, Randy?”

Randy nodded, still looking as if he didn’t feel well. I said, “Well, that’s all just great, Mr. Whitehead. But that doesn’t get us any closer to resolving the situation we have here. Your son’s behavior has upset my friend here very much. I mean, his sister is a very young, inexperienced girl. And your son not only violated her—”

“I did not,” Randy Junior cried. “She wasn’t even a virgin when I met her!”

Rob started up from his chair, but before he could lay his hands on Randy Junior, Randy Senior thundered, “Shut up, Randall!”

“But, Dad,” Randy Junior cried. “I didn’t—”