It was another half hour before Keller arrived at the church. She’d been delayed because she needed to tell Stan the news about Danny Pine before the media picked up the story.

The church was not picturesque. No old-time steeple with pristine grounds. Just a modern-looking structure that could’ve passed for a bank were it not for the stained-glass windows and sign out front. Lining the road were satellite trucks and makeshift tents made of tarps to protect equipment from the imminent rain. Reporters milled around, holding paper cups of coffee and primping in hand mirrors, waiting for the ceremony to end.

Keller pulled in next to several other vehicles parked illegally in the grass at the far end of the overflowing lot. She walked quickly, and the reporters paid her no mind. The air was strangely still, the sky an unusual shade of green. She felt an electric current in the atmosphere.

Inside, the front entryway of the church was quiet. She could hear voices coming from behind the two large doors that led into the nave of the church. She debated waiting it out, not wanting to interrupt the ceremony, but a man in a dark suit came out of one of the doors, and headed toward a sign for the men’s restroom. Reaching to catch the door before it closed, Keller was startled by a piercing sound—a wailing siren—coming from outside.

What the hell?

Keller realized that it was a tornado siren. The Pine family just couldn’t catch a break.

The doors opened and mourners started filing out. They headed to a stairwell near the restrooms. Keller found herself in the queue, pushed quietly along to the basement stairs. The old man in front of her grumbled as he made his way down one painful step after the other.

“Overreacting as always,” the old man said. “It’ll be gone by the time we get down there.”

Keller imagined that this was how it was everywhere. If you lived in Manhattan, you were immune to terror warnings. If you lived in San Francisco, you didn’t get jarred when the ground shook. If you lived in Florida, you took hurricane watches in stride. And if you lived here, you calmly shuffled to lower ground when funnels threatened to fall from the sky and destroy everything in their path.

She must’ve looked rattled, or maybe it was plain she was an out-of-towner, because once they reached the church’s basement an elderly woman put a hand on Keller’s arm. “Don’t worry, dear. We get these all the time.”

After a few minutes, mourners filled the entire basement. Keller stood near a bulletin board pinned with announcements—community bake sales, an AA meeting schedule, a poster for the Cub Scouts—and tried not to knock over the folded metal chairs leaning against the wall. Looking for Matt, she scanned the crowd.

In the far corner, a small group huddled around Matt’s aunt. A black woman stood next to Cindy, and Keller could make out someone’s head—the grandfather, probably—who was sitting down. She didn’t see Matt.

In the other corner, she spotted a group of college-aged kids, an interesting ensemble. A drop-dead gorgeous blonde, a mischievous-looking Indian kid, a Korean guy who was so tall that he had to crouch to avoid his head hitting the ceiling, a black kid with kind eyes, and a tiny woman with mascara that had run down her face. Matt’s friends from NYU, she assumed. Matt wasn’t with them, either.

She needed to talk to him. It was the absolute worst time to tell him about his brother, but she didn’t want him learning about the attack from the feed on his phone. She was becoming an expert at delivering bad news to Matt Pine.

She looked over to another small crowd. The governor was standing in the center, holding court. The only surprise was that there was no camera on him. No footage for the sequel to “A Violent Nature,” though Keller imagined the aunt had banned the Adlers from the ceremony. The minister was making his way through the mourners to speak to the governor.

“All right, folks,” the governor said in a loud voice, slicing through the noise. The minister was standing next to him. “The warning has been lifted. If I can ask everyone to head back upstairs.” He directed an arm to the stairwell. “Single file, please.”

The crowd parted to let Matt’s grandfather and aunt head up first. Led by a caregiver, the grandfather looked disoriented, confused.

Keller watched everyone else go as she looked for Matt, hoping she could pull him aside. No, she decided, she’d ask him to meet her after the services. Wait until then to tell him about his brother. She checked her phone to see if Danny’s attack had made the news. Nothing yet.

Two emails, back-to-back, grabbed Keller’s attention. First, the liaison had sent the prison visitor log for Danny Pine. She could review that later. Second, the computer team had found who had sent the video of the party to the Free Danny Pine site—a local Adair woman whose name Keller didn’t recognize.

Keller glanced toward the stairwell. The line up the stairs had stalled. Killing time, she dispatched a text to the field office to get background on the woman who’d sent the anonymous tip. Next, she clicked on Danny’s visitor log. It was not extensive. Visits from his parents. Lawyers. But one name jumped out at her: Neal Flanagan. The name was so familiar, but Keller couldn’t place it. Where had she heard it? She decided to use every cunning FBI agent’s secret crime-fighting tool, and typed the name into Google.

Newspaper stories lit up her phone.

Flanagan was embroiled in the former governor’s sex scandal. A fixer who’d arranged parties for the governor and his wealthy benefactors. Underage girls. Drugs. A grand jury had indicted Flanagan, and everyone expected him to turn on the former governor and others in his circle.

Why would this creep visit Danny Pine? Just two weeks before his parents were killed by a professional. She thought of her meeting with the filmmakers. They said Charlotte had a secret life, older men. Several of the newspapers quoted the lead prosecutor, an AUSA out of the Lincoln US Attorney’s Office. Keller tapped out an email to Stan. She needed to talk to Flanagan pronto.

CHAPTER 56

MATT PINE

Matt walked along the road, the sky dark and green, a single raindrop splashing his face, the preamble of more to come. The sirens had stopped, at least, no funnel clouds forming, so the only thing Matt risked now was getting drenched. He should return to the church. He didn’t want to look back and regret skipping the ceremony. But would he, really?

He sauntered along with no destination. Papillion Road was a slice of asphalt that led to nowhere. He’d cut across the church’s playground for the Sunday school kids and through a side fence that bordered the grounds to avoid the reporters camped out front.

The shoulder was rocky. It reminded him of his death march in Tulum. Was that really only three days ago? Was that possible? His feet hurt in the tight dress shoes. He owned only one suit and one pair of nice shoes. Before leaving New York, Ganesh had plodded over to Matt’s dorm and packed them for the funeral. It was a thoughtful gesture, and Matt would never take his friends for granted again. He’d taken too much for granted in his life, so no more.

From behind him, a car tapped two fast beeps of the horn. Matt turned and looked at the vehicle, which was trailing him. The windshield was speckled with rain, and he couldn’t see who was driving. He was in no mood to talk to a reporter. The vehicle crawled up beside him, the window humming down.

“Um, you know there’s a tornado warning, right?” Jessica Wheeler looked at him from inside the car, a tiny smile on her lips. She was dressed in black, her hair pulled up, a strand of pearls around her neck. She must’ve seen Matt slip out of the church and followed after him. “Where’re you headed?”

“Nowhere.”

“You and me both,” she said. The car kept the slow pace of his walk.

Matt stopped and the car came to a halt as well. He looked inside.

Jessica pointed her chin at the passenger seat.

Matt really wanted to be alone—at least, he thought he did.

Jessica just sat quietly, waiting for him to decide.

His feet did hurt, he supposed. He climbed inside, and was met with the smell of Jessica’s perfume, a pleasing, spicy fragrance.

She shoved the stick shift into gear and they drove.

The rain was still coming down in tiny drops, not yet a downpour. The windshield wipers wisped back and forth, an arc of brown from dirt and drizzle.

“Wanna talk about it?” Jessica finally asked.

“Not particularly.”

“Okay. Wanna drink about it?”

“That sounds more enticing.”

She nodded, looked in her rearview, then made a sharp U-turn right in the middle of the road.