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Dix shook his head. “Unbelievable, the loony actually performed an embalming rite on her. That is something her parents will never find out about.”

Sherlock said, “You should go personally and speak to the techs, Dix. That might keep it under wraps longer, particularly if you guilt them about the parents finding out, and what it would do to them. Dillon will get MAX on the embalming process, and find out if this MO has ever appeared before.”

Dix stretched his back, crossed his legs at the ankles. “When I left New York, I thought I’d left the crazies behind. Was I wrong, or what? If Ruth hadn’t gone into Winkel’s Cave treasure hunting on that particular day, Erin Bushnell would have simply disappeared forever. No one would have had a clue what happened to her—did she pick up and leave with no word for anyone, or run off with some guy no one ever saw, or—did someone take her away?” He stopped dead, looked down at the floor, his hands frozen in fists on his thighs. Ruth saw he was pale, markedly so. There was something very wrong here. Then she knew. “Dix, what happened to your wife Christie?”

Dix didn’t answer for the longest time, didn’t move, didn’t look at any of them. Finally, he looked up at Ruth standing beside him. “My wife—Christie—she disappeared nearly three years ago.”

“And you don’t know what happened to her, do you?”

He shook his head. “She was simply gone one day, like Erin Bushnell would have been if you hadn’t happened along. We conducted a huge criminal investigation, did everything humanly possible—I even hired a private detective I’d heard about out of Chicago—but no one ever found a single clue, a single lead, nothing. For nearly three years.”

He looked up then at Savich and Sherlock. “From the minute Ruth found Erin Bushnell, I’ve been asking myself if this was what happened to Christie.”

Savich cleared his throat and glanced briefly at his wife. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to live with that uncertainty, the pain of not knowing. It’s got to have been really rough for you and your boys. But you’ve done a remarkable job with them. And I’ll tell you the truth: I’d be thinking along the same lines as you if it were Sherlock. But the fact is, I think it’s highly unlikely that Christie’s disappearance had anything to do with Erin Bushnell’s murder.”

Ruth felt tears burn her throat and swallowed them. She smiled at him. “Dix, did I ever tell you how very grateful I am that they dumped me in your woods? Hey, I never would have met your boys otherwise and had the opportunity to bleach the blue out of your boxers.”

There was quiet laughter. Ruth thought it felt very good.

As he helped Sherlock on with her jacket, Savich said, “We have a very unbalanced individual here, guys, but someone functioning normally enough to send those two men here to the house after you. It would behoove all of us to be very careful, you in particular, Ruth. He’s tried to kill you once, and he may try again.”

“What would be his reason now?” Ruth asked. “We found his cave, we found Erin, and I’ve told you everything I know. Why would he mess with an FBI agent now?”

Dix said, “Savich is right. You’re being logical, Ruth. I doubt we can say the same thing about someone who pumped embalming fluid into Erin’s body. Fact is, we can’t be sure about anything he might do.”

“That’s a cheery thought,” Ruth said.

Dix said, “Savich, what are the chances of your profilers at Quantico taking a shot at this?”

“I’ll call Steve in the morning.”

After Savich and Sherlock left, Dix walked Ruth to Rob’s bedroom. He paused by the closed door of Rafe’s room to listen. “It’s too quiet,” he said. “Usually I can hear at least one of them snoring.”

She lightly laid her hand on his arm. “I am very, very sorry about Christie. You believe she’s dead, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Yes, I know she is. There is no way Christie would leave me and the boys. Not willingly. Someone took her, someone killed her. I just don’t know who.”

There was nothing she could say, and so Ruth simply pressed against him, held