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the symptoms that accompanied them.
    None of which had kept her from doing her job—and never would.
    "Whose DNA was up on that mountain?" she asked Clemens as he wiped chocolate chip smears from his lips.
    "That's the problem." He pulled out a stack of folders, shoved their paper plates to one side and lined up his DNA samples. Even she could see that of the four only two matched. "This is Wright's. This is your Unsub's. And this is Durandt's—verified by this exemplar collected from his home." He slid another photostat of DNA bands from the folder. "When Wright's DNA didn't match the Unsub's, I ran Durandt's, thought maybe the case numbers had gotten mixed up. But I got nothing."
    "What do you mean? He's a victim. His DNA had to be in the database."
    He shook his head. "See what I mean? This case is freaky weird. Samuel Durandt wasn't in any of our records. Like someone wiped him clean."
    She frowned, slid the DNA sample from his hand and laid it beside the others. Now there were three identical DNA patterns. "So where's the problem? You must have found his file somewhere—Durandt matches Durandt matches Durandt."
    "Except this one isn't Sam Durandt. It belongs to someone named Stanley Diamontes." Clemens tapped the last DNA sample.
    "And who the hell is Stanley Diamontes?" she asked, one hand massaging the pressure point at the base of her thumb, certain she wouldn't like the answer.
    "Well, unless Sam Durandt has an identical twin brother, Stanley is Stan. Wait. It gets worse." He slid another DNA sample and laid it on top of the Unsub's. It was a match.
    "Our unknown subject has a name. Do I want to know who he is?"
    "No, but I'll tell you anyway. Leo Richland. United States Federal Marshal. Richland has been missing for two years. Last seen in Fairfax, Virginia, two days before Josh and Sam—or Stan—Durandt were presumed murdered by Damian Wright."
    Caitlyn sucked in her breath as the flashing bright lights returned with a vengeance and nausea twisted her gut. The gray and black lines on the DNA evidence blurred before her.
    "That's all I've got. I figured since Logan is retired, the case belongs to you, so..." His voice trailed off. He closed the folder and slid it across the wooden picnic table to her.
    Sam Durandt wasn't Sam Durandt? And instead of Damian Wright killing him and his son, a US Marshal had? A US Marshal who'd gone missing under mysterious circumstances and who had no earthly reason being anywhere near Hopewell, New York on the day Sam and Josh were murdered.
    She blinked as sunlight blared off the glossy white folder. Reached for her sunglasses and somehow fumbled them on without poking an eye out. She never allowed her migraines to hit her at work, could always block them, keep them at bay. But this one had snuck beneath her guard.
    "Thanks, Clemens," she said, trying her best to keep her voice clear of the vise of pain tightening behind her eyes.
    "Don't thank me," he said. "I'm thinking I just gave you the equivalent of a ticking bomb." He brushed the crumbs from his lap and stood, grabbing his briefcase. "Good luck, Caitlyn."
    She sat, staring at the closed folder with its Department of Justice crest emblazoned on the front. A crisp breeze scattered the paper plates holding the remnants of their lunch, blowing the trash into the grass. Caitlyn ignored it, allowing Clemens to rush after them as she struggled to contain the migraine before it totally crippled her. She focused on her breathing, using the DOJ crest as her focal point. Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity, the words beneath it read.
    Finally, she forced the blasts of pain to recede enough so she could stand without wavering. She was certain it would ambush her later, ten fold.
    The glossy folder almost slipped from her sweaty grasp as she walked back toward Jefferson Hall.
    Jesus, Logan, what the hell have you gotten me into?

CHAPTER 6
    September 15, 2005
     
    They caught him. Oh my lord, my hand is shaking so badly I can barely