I lock the door before calling Ryan out of the bedroom.

"Who were those guys?" he asks. "And why were they saying those things about Mr. Frey?"

He looks confused and a little frightened. "They're federal agents. They think Mr. Frey has something to do with what's happened to Trish's mother and to Barbara."

He frowns. "Why would they think that?"

"It's a long story, Ryan. And not important because you and I know he isn't involved in any of it. The trick is going to be proving it."

There's another trick, too. Getting Ryan home without those two following us. "I'd better get you home. We'll have to take the stairs. They'll be watching the elevator and the front door, I'm sure."

"But your car is parked out front."

I smile at him. "I have another car. One I use for work, mostly. It's in the garage downstairs. I think we can scrunch you down in the back seat and get out without them knowing."

He slips the laptop into his backpack and slings it over his shoulder while I grab a denim jacket from the coat closet and slip it on over my 't-shirt.

"I wish I could talk to Trish," he says softly.

I pick up my purse and fish car keys out of its depths. "You will, Ryan. Soon. I promise. Now I'm going to take you home and call my friend on the police force. He'll tell us what we need to do to find out who owns that computer. He may need you to bring it in. Will you be okay with that?"

Ryan's mouth draws into a firm resolute line. "If it will get Trish back, yes. But I won't let him keep it. I won't let anybody keep it. When we get these guys, I'm going to destroy it so no one will ever again see what they made Trish do."

His naivete touches me. I don't have the heart to remind him that the videos are already out there. The best we can hope for is that they will get lost in the sea of porno available on the Net and eventually fade away.

The hallway is empty when we leave the apartment. I lead Ryan to the stairway at the end of the hall. We make it to the garage without incident.

My "other" car is a Ford Crown Vic. It's the same model most cops use. Ryan climbs into the back and I throw an old blanket over him. I keep a few tricks of the trade in the trunk, a long brown wig, a pair of oversized glasses with tinted frames, a straw sun hat. I put them all on. Instant disguise.

When we exit the garage, the Blues Brothers are parked right across from the Jag in that same old Fairlane. I should have asked them what kind of budget their department has to make them drive an old car like that. Or maybe driving something so unorthodox is their clever idea of concealment. It certainly isn't your typical cop car.

I'll have to ask them the next time we run into each other. This time, however, the car is the only clever thing they have going. They don't give me more than a passing glance when I cruise by.

When we're safely away from the apartment, I ask Ryan for his address. He doesn't live very far from the cottage. In fact, he lives on the bay side of Mission, maybe two miles away. I drop him off about a block from home, in front of the Mission Cafe.

When he scuttles out from under the blanket, he does a double take at the way I look. Then he grins. "Pretty good disguise. You must have to sneak away from guys a lot."

Since I'm not sure what he means, and I'm very sure I don't want to, I let it pass.

"Remember to be careful, Ryan," I tell him as he gets out of the car. "Keep those dogs of yours close."

The grin vanishes. "Don't worry. I'll be home all night. With the dogs. Be sure to call after you talk with your friend."

I nod that I will and watch until he's turned the corner. Then I reach for my phone.

When I try to contact Williams at his office, I'm told he's already left for the day. Probably tired of being hounded by reporters after Mrs. Bernard's press conference. There's no answer at Frey's, either.

I'm debating whether I should check in with my mother when the phone rings. I glance at the caller ID.

"Good timing, Mom. I was just about to call you."

"I've been trying to call you all afternoon. Your phone has been off. The police were here, Anna."

Her tone is accusatory and her speech clipped, as if she's biting off each word to control her anger.

I try to diffuse the hostility with curiosity. "About Barbara?"

"And about Carolyn. Why didn't you tell me Trish's mother was killed?"

I close my eyes in exasperation. "I should have, Mom. I'm sorry."

"The police think you are involved. You and Daniel Frey. And a teacher told me he saw you and Frey leave school together this afternoon. Was he right?"

There's something about my mother's disapproving tone that makes it impossible for me to lie to her - at least to lie to her about this. "Yes, I was with Frey this afternoon."

She sucks in a breath. "Does he know where Trish is? Do you?"

God, now what? If I tell her the truth, she'll make me go to the police. If I don't, she'll detect it with her mother's intuition and I'll be in worse shit with her than I am now.

"Mom, I can't answer that. Not yet. You have to give me a little time to work this out."

"Work what out?"

"Please. Just trust me. You know I would never put a child's life at risk. I've talked to the police. They don't believe I'm involved anymore." A half-truth. The Feds think I'm involved big time. Which makes me add, "You may hear from a couple of Federal Agents."

Another quick intake of breath. "You mean the two from the FBI?" She says it more like a statement than a question.

I grit my teeth. "They've already been in touch with you?"

"Oh yes. Agents Donovan and Bradley visited me at school. They have the impression that you and Frey are lovers. Want to clarify that for me?"

I rub a hand over my face. "I'm sorry, Mom."

"I'm sorry, too, Anna. I'm beginning to regret letting you get involved in this at all."

The disappointment in her voice makes me cringe. There's a long moment of silence before she speaks again.

"I'm giving you twenty-four hours. Get Trish back by then, Anna. I don't care how you do it. But I want to see that child safe and in our home where she belongs. Do I make myself clear?"

She doesn't wait for an answer. She doesn't have to. She breaks the connection and leaves me scalded by the heat of her command.