Helicopters circled the city all night, looking for her. Maybe they thought she had no place to go, and that she would be out on the streets. Maybe they thought she wouldn't be foolish enough to find a place to lie low. Maggie was too tired to be smart, though. She found a mid-price hotel at the edge of town, out by the airport, and decided to treat herself. If they caught up with her, if the management turned her in - she would just have to fight her way out. It was worth it to have a real bed, a real shower, and maybe even a radio. Maybe she could get some music, and drive away the darkness in her head.

At the front desk she told the clerk she wanted a room for one night. She had taken the precaution of putting her disguise back on - hoodie, baseball cap, and even a pair of sunglasses, though outside the sun had already gone below the horizon.

The clerk was a guy not much older than herself. He had long sideburns and the bored, tired eyes of somebody working a job they didn't take very seriously. He gave her a momentary smile and shoved a book at her. "Sure. Just sign in here and give me seventy-nine dollars."

Maggie took a pen and signed herself in as Greta Garbo, because she just wanted to be left alone. The clerk didn't even look at the name.

"I'll just need to see your credit card. We don't charge you yet, not until you check out, but - "

"I want to pay cash," she told him.

He shrugged. "'S cool, but I still need a credit card. So in case you trash the room or something we can bill you later." He looked at her face for the first time, but because he didn't go pale or run away, she assumed he didn't recognize her. "You aren't planning on trashing the room, are you?" he asked, and gave her a smile. It lasted longer this time. "If you are, confidentially," he said, "I'll be glad to help. This place could use a little redecoration. And if you want to party, I can get you anything you want - "

"Look, here's the cash, upfront," Maggie said. She laid four twenties on the counter between them.

He looked down at them and stopped smiling. "It's our policy. We need a credit card. Everybody has one, right?"

Maggie sighed. "Sure," she said. "It's right here." She put another twenty on the counter.

He licked his lips. "You got some ID? Maybe a driver's license?"

Another twenty. She had plenty of them.

"Passport? Birth certificate? Green card?"

Each time he named a type of ID she laid another twenty on the counter. Then she held up another five of them. "This," she said, "is a tip." When he reached for the hundred dollars in her hand she said, "I'll make sure you get it tomorrow. When I check out." Hopefully, if the police came sniffing around he would say he hadn't seen her - because if she had to run again he wouldn't get his tip.

He handed her a key and she went up to the room and took a very long, very hot shower. She shampooed and conditioned her hair with the little bottles the hotel staff provided and went through most of a bar of soap that smelled like vanilla and cinnamon.

There was a bathrobe in the closet. She happily took her field hockey uniform and her disguise clothes down to the hotel's laundry room and put them all in for the longest possible wash cycle.

Back up in the room she sank her toes into the plush carpeting and then fell back on the starchy maroon coverlet of the bed. The air in the hotel room tasted of stale air conditioning and ancient cigarette smoke. It was too cold and too dry but - unbelievably, after the conditions she'd been living in the last week or so - she could change that. She could turn a couple of knobs and make it perfect for herself.

It was like heaven. Room service was more than happy to bring up a steak dinner that cost her another three twenties, including tip. The minibar was full of alcohol she decided she didn't want - she'd been to parties before where kids her age drank so much they got sick, but Maggie had always been a jock and she'd tried to treat her body right. There was no reason to change that now, so she dug a diet coke out of the back of the little refrigerator and sat down to watch some TV.

There wasn't much on. There never was, but it seemed especially bad that night. There were plenty of sitcoms on about normal happy families laughing their way through problems. There were reality shows about people in situations that had nothing to do with her reality. She almost started watching a show about how wood screws were made, but then caught herself and decided that if she was going to be that bored, she might as well go to sleep. She flipped through one more time and caught a news broadcast. When she saw Brent's face she turned up the volume.

Despite what she'd told her brother, Maggie had been following the news pretty closely. She'd watched for any sign of his exploits - despite herself, she'd been proud of her little brother - and any indication of what the police were doing while trying to catch her. She had seen Brent's speech to her several times, and it looked like they were running it again.

Maggie sighed deeply and had to fight to keep tears out of her eyes. As always when she saw the video it made her think of when they really had been brother and sister. When Mom and Dad had both still been alive, and Grandma was an unpleasant social obligation she only had to meet once or twice a year. A time when she'd been normal. When everything had been normal.

She'd planned on going to college, once. She'd planned on having her own family. Now it looked like neither of those plans were ever going to work out.

" - not going to cause trouble for you. I just want us to be a family again. I want us to be okay," Brent said.

"Oh, baby bro," Maggie said, letting herself weep a little now. "If only it was that simple. If only it were - "

On screen the face of Special Agent Weathers appeared. "As of tonight she's still at large. I don't want to minimize the danger, but I don't want to cause panic either. If you see Margaret Gill please, please, stay away from her. Don't under any circumstances try to apprehend her yourself."

The tears dried on Maggie's face. "They'd better not try," she said. She could feel the anger coming back, but it was almost welcome this time. Weathers - if he was in her hotel room right then she would have grabbed him by the throat. He'd tried to kill her!

"I have every reason to believe we'll take her into custody shortly," Weathers went on. "Especially now that we have Brent working with us. He'll do whatever it takes to bring his sister to justice."

The television set exploded, because Maggie shot across the room and kicked in the screen. Broken glass and sparks glittered and flashed on the carpet, all around her bare feet. It didn't matter. Her feet were tougher than anything she could step on, now.

Baby bro, she thought. Oh, Brent. You've sold me out. You want us to be okay, do you?

Next time, I'm going to break more than your nose.

There was more to the newscast, however, and it made her sit up on the bed and pay very close attention.