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over the city. It was still raining outside. It was still gray. The cars on the street were smeared brake lights against the wet glass.
    The phone kept ringing. Lind tried to ignore it. He was awake now. He didn’t need to answer the phone.
    Except that wasn’t right. If he didn’t answer, the phone would stop ringing. Sooner or later, it would stop ringing for good. And then hewould be alone with the visions, with nobody to help him. Nobody to make the visions go away.
    Lind shivered. Felt the first wave of panic insinuate itself into his brain. It grew there, a pounding blackness, just behind his eyes. Quickly, Lind crossed from the window and picked up the phone.
    “Hello,” he said. “I’m ready.”

    TEN MINUTES LATER, Lind drove out of the parking garage and back through the city to the airport. He parked in the short-term lot and walked into the terminal to the Delta Airlines counters. He waited in the frequent-flier line, and when he reached the front, the girl at the counter smiled and waved him over. “Hi,” she said. “On the road again?”
    She was a pretty girl. She had big eyes and clear, pale skin, mahogany hair that fell just to her shoulders. There was a hint of mischief in her smile.
    “Duluth.” Lind slid his fake ID across the counter. “Richard O’Brien.”
    The girl smiled at Lind another moment. Then she blinked and shook her head a little, looked down at her computer, and started to type something. She stopped and looked up again.
    “It’s just I’ve seen you before.” She looked away quickly, blushing. “You’re always flying somewhere. What kind of business are you in?”
    Lind shifted his weight and looked around the terminal. Felt the jackhammer panic inside his skull again. He squinted. Closed his eyes. Rubbed his temples. “Insurance,” he lied. “That’s what I do.”
    “I’m sorry.” The girl’s whole face was bright red now. “I just wanted to— I was just making conversation. I’m sorry.”
    She thrust a ticket into Lind’s hands. Lind grabbed it. Forced a smile and then walked away quickly. He could feel her eyes following him as he hurried toward security.

14
    S tevens was at his desk at the BCA headquarters in Saint Paul when his phone started to ring. He was typing a report, hunt-and-peck style, a cold case he’d just closed on Friday. It seemed to be taking forever.
    Distraction
, he thought as the phone rattled beside him.
Thank God.
He reached for the handset.
    “Stevens?”
    Stevens sat up straight. “Carla.”
    “The one and only.” Windermere paused. “Listen, I hate to take you away from whatever it is you BCA people do over there, but I need you in Brooklyn Center for a while.”
    Stevens frowned. Looked around the Investigations department. It was pretty quiet for a Monday. Not much going on. “What’s up?”
    “Long story,” said Windermere. “Anyway, listen, I’ll get you back to work in an hour or two, tops. Just come on in, would you?”
    Stevens looked at the report on his desk, and then across the office to Tim Lesley’s door. Lesley was the Special Agent in Charge of Investigations, and he’d be waiting on the report. Right now, though, Stevens figured he could use a break. “Sure,” he said. “On my way.”
    “Good. And, Stevens?”
    Stevens paused. “Yeah?”
    “Bring lunch.”

    FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, Stevens parked his Cherokee in front of the FBI’s regional headquarters in Brooklyn Center. An imposing, five-storystructure ringed with high fences and security checkpoints, the building was markedly more secure than the Bureau’s old offices, housed as they were in a commercial skyscraper in downtown Minneapolis. The FBI had just moved in a month or so prior, and Stevens was halfway into the city before he realized his mistake.
    Was a hell of a time finding the place anyway. Stevens missed his exit off I-94, had to retrace his route along surface roads, past a couple truck-stop motels and light industrial