KnockOut

wasn’t there anymore. And she knew he would never be there again. She told me they spoke every single day, only I refused to accept it as being real even though I knew in my gut that it was, even then. I couldn’t figure out why Martin had never told me about this gift of his, never told me about his family, refused to even speak of them. Now, of course, I understand.
    “He didn’t want me to know about any of it, even this so-called gift that terrifies.”
    Ethan took her fisted hand, smoothed out her fingers. “Autumn isn’t her father. She’s herself, and what she can do is a miracle.”
    She gave a hard laugh. “Yes, a real miracle.”
    He pulled her against him and pressed her against his chest. “Thank you for telling me. I’m very sorry. How long ago did he go to person?”
    “Nearly three years ago, up in Ossining. He refused to let either Autumn or me come to see him. He wrote to me every single week, although, of course, he must already have known everything that was going on, since he spoke to Autumn every day.
    “By the time he died, I couldn’t even remember his smile, and I felt guilty because maybe I didn’t want to remember.” She sighed. “It was all so pointless.”
    He smoothed his thumb over her eyebrow, traced his fingertips over the line of freckles. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, you look familiar to me.”
    She closed her eyes. “I did a TV commercial for a new kind of potato chip. It was a way to make some extra money.”
    “Was that you in the wheat field, chewing on this square, lacy chip?”
    She grinned. “The director wanted the light just right so it would show up my freckles; he said they made me look like the girl next door. Do you know, those chips are quite good.”
    “I remember I bought a bag because of you.”
    He shouldn’t have said that, he should get down to business, but not just yet. He leaned down, kissed her mouth. She tasted of oat and apricot PowerBar. “I’m very sorry for all that’s happened to you, Joanna, both you and Autumn, but we’ll get through this. I’m heading out now to find a good spot to watch for Blessed. It’s the perfect night for it, hardly any moon but enough light for me to see. You watch over Autumn, all right?” He kissed her again and rose.
    Joanna slowly got to her feet and faced him. He supposed he expected her to blast his plans but all she said, her voice quiet and calm, was “Yes, it’s time. I’m going with you. I don’t want to leave Autumn, but she’ll be safe enough here. I’m hoping she’ll stay asleep She’s a really good sleeper.” She pulled her gun out of the back of her jeans.
    “Mama? What’s going on? Is Blessed here?”

48
    BRICKER’S BOWL, GEORGIA
    The car lights made the trees lining the Backman driveway shadowy; a light breeze made the leaves flutter.
    The air was heavy, and star jasmine sent out its seductive scent.
    Only forty minutes had passed since they’d left the burning car with its two dead killers inside. Savich and Sherlock, with two agents from the Atlanta field office behind them, saw the huge house, lights dotting the downstairs and the front veranda. Savich pulled the Camry to a stop, the two agents in the Toyota pulling up beside him. The four of them walked lockstep up to the Backman porch. Standing there were Sheriff Cole, and Mrs. Backman at his elbow, both now lit by several lights suspended off the overhang. Tonight, Shepherd looked like a tough old boot. Tonight, she looked like a very old witch with her white hair loose around her heavy face.
    As for Sheriff Cole, he was still in uniform, looking determined. His hand rested on his gun. Was the man insane? There were four federal agents standing in front of him. He felt Sherlock move closer He heard the two agents breathing fast.
    Sheriff Cole slowly lowered his hand from his gun, held it loosely at his side, and gave them all a full-bodied sneer. “Well, now, Miz Backman, isn’t this ever a treat? I thought we’d got rid of these outsiders.”
    Savich said, “Nope, the outsiders are back. Best keep your hand away from that weapon of yours, Sheriff.”
    “Nosy bad pennies,” said Shepherd Backman. “You can’t get rid of them.”
    Sherlock said easily, looking from one to the other, “Mrs. Backman, your mistake was to try to get rid of us. The two men you sent to kill us are dead. We’re here to arrest you for conspiracy to murder two federal agents.”
    To Savich’s surprise, there wasn’t a