Ransom

Addison opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out an envelope of money. He had prepared it before Peter arrived. And he threw it across the desk.

“There's a hundred thousand dollars in there, to give you a start. The other hundred thousand will be delivered to you next week, in cash, for whatever your petty cash needs are. It's against the ten million you'll get in the end. You walked in here a bum and an ex-con two hours ago, and you're walking out of here a rich man. Keep that in mind. And if you ever implicate me in any way in this, or even so much as breathe my name, you'll be dead within a day. Is that clear? And if you get cold feet, and try to back out, just think of your girls.” He had Peter by the ass, the balls, and the throat. And he knew it. There was nowhere for Peter to turn. “Start looking for your men now. Pick the right ones. I want to start watching her by next week. And when you pick your men, make clear to them that if they run with their hundred thousand, and skip out on us, they'll be dead within two days. I can guarantee that.” His eyes said he meant it, and Peter believed him, and knew it applied to him too.

“When do you want to do this?” Peter asked, slipping the envelope into his pocket, and feeling numb. “What's your target date?”

“If you hire all three men within the next week or two, I think if we watch them for the next four to six weeks, we'll know all we need to know about them. You should be able to make your move at the beginning of July.” He was leaving for Cannes on the first of July. He wanted to be out of the country before they did it. Peter could guess that much.

Peter nodded and looked at him. His entire life had changed in the last two hours. He had an envelope full of money in his pocket with a hundred thousand dollars in it. And by the following week, he would have another hundred thousand dollars, and it meant nothing to him. All he had accomplished in the single afternoon he had spent with Phillip Addison was selling his soul in exchange for his daughters' lives. And with any luck at all, he would keep the Barnes kids alive too. The rest meant nothing to him. The ten million dollars was blood money. He had sold his soul to Phillip Addison. He might as well have been dead, as far as he was concerned. In fact, he was. He turned to walk out of the room, without saying another word to Addison, who watched him go, and just as Peter reached the doorway, Addison spoke up.

“Good luck. Stay in touch.” Peter nodded and walked out of the office, and took the elevator downstairs. It was seven-thirty when he stepped outside. Everyone had left hours before. There was no one else around as Peter leaned over the garbage can on the corner and threw up. He stood there retching for what seemed like a long time.

Chapter 9

As Peter lay in bed in the halfway house that night, he thought about contacting his ex-wife. He wanted to warn her to be especially careful with the girls. But he knew she'd think he was insane. He didn't want Addison pulling a stunt on him, and holding them hostage until he accomplished the task he'd been assigned. But Addison was smarter than that. He knew that if he put Peter's kids at risk or worse, Peter would have nothing left to lose, and would expose him. So as long as Peter did what he had been hired to do, the girls were safe. It was the only thing he had done for his daughters in the last six years, or maybe their entire lives. He had bought their safety at the expense of his own. He was still having trouble believing they would be able to pull it off. But if he picked the right people, maybe he could. It was all about who he hired now. If he picked a bunch of sloppy, careless criminals, they might panic and kill the kids. What he had to find now was the real thing. The smoothest, toughest, coldest, most competent men in the business, if there was such a thing. The men he knew from prison had already proven their ineptitude by being caught, or maybe their plans had been flawed. Peter had to admit that Addison's strategy was very smooth. As long as Allan Barnes's widow had the money he wanted at her disposal. It was unlikely she kept a hundred million dollars in cash at home, in a cookie jar.

He was thinking about all of it, as he lay on his bunk, and his roommate walked in. He was going to look for a room in a decent hotel the next day, nothing too showy or expensive. He didn't want to make a sudden show of wealth he couldn't explain, although Phillip Addison had told him he was going to put him on the books of one of his minor subsidiary companies as a consultant. It was allegedly a market research firm, and was in fact a front for one of his drug rings. But it had been operating for years without a problem, and could be traced nowhere to him.

“How'd it go today?” the roommate asked. He had spent a killing day working at Burger King, and reeked of burgers and french fries. It was only a modest improvement over the way he'd smelled the week before, when he'd worked in a place that served fish and chips. The whole room had smelled of fish. The burger smell was only slightly better.

“It went okay. I got a job. I'm going to move out tomorrow,” Peter said in a dead voice. The roommate was sorry to see him go. Peter was quiet and didn't bother him, and minded his own business.

“What kind of job?” He could see Peter was a classy guy, he just had that look about him, even in jeans and T-shirts, and he knew he was educated. But even with an education, he was in the same boat as everyone else when he got out of prison.

“Doing market research. It's no big deal, but it'll pay rent and food.” Peter looked unenthused. He was still feeling sick about it. He felt like his life was over. He almost wished he was back in prison. At least there, life was simple and he still had hope of a decent life one day. Now he no longer did. It was over for him. He had sold his soul to Satan.

“That's nice, man. I'm glad for you. Want to go out and eat something to celebrate?” He was a decent guy, who'd done time in the county jail for dealing marijuana, and Peter liked him, although he was a slob to live with.

“No, that's okay. I have a headache. And I have to go to work in the morning.” In fact, he was going to start thinking, and already was, about the men he was going to hire for Addison's project. It was going to be excruciatingly delicate to find people who wouldn't expose him if they turned him down or he decided to reject them, if he thought they were too risky. He wasn't going to share the plan with them until he met them, trusted them, and had checked their credentials. But it was still going to be a delicate matter hiring them. He had a pain in the pit of his stomach just thinking about it. So far, he had only one man in mind. He hadn't been convicted of kidnapping, but Peter suspected he was the right kind of person for the job. He knew who he was, and roughly where he had gone when he left prison. All Peter had to do now was locate him. He was going to start in the morning, after he moved to a hotel. Just thinking about it, he tossed and turned all night.

He went to look for a hotel the next morning when he got up. He took a bus downtown, and found a place on the fringes of the Tenderloin, at the southern base of Nob Hill. It was small and impersonal, and just busy enough so no one would pay attention to him. He paid a month's rent in advance, in cash, and then went back to the Mission, to the halfway house, to pack his things. He signed out at the desk, left a note for his roommate, wishing him luck, and then took a bus downtown again. He went to Macy's and bought some clothes. It was nice being able to do that again. He bought some slacks and shirts, a couple of ties, a sport coat, a leather baseball jacket, and some sweaters. He bought new underwear, and a few pairs of decent shoes. And then he went back to the hotel where he had taken the room. He felt like a human being again when he cleaned up, and walked down the street, looking for someplace to eat. There were hookers wandering by, and drunks in doorways. There was a drug deal going down in a car parked outside, and other than that, there were businesspeople and tourists. It was the kind of neighborhood where no one paid much attention to you, and you could get lost easily, which was exactly what he wanted.

He had no desire to draw attention to himself.

After dinner, he spent half an hour on the phone. He knew who he was looking for, and he was surprised how easy it was to find him. He decided to take a bus to Modesto in the morning. And before he did, he bought a cell phone. One of the conditions of his parole was not having a cell phone. It was a standard condition for parolees who had gone to prison for dealing drugs. Addison had told him to buy one. And now, without question, Addison was the boss. Peter knew there was no way his parole agent would know he'd bought the phone. He had notified him of his job and change of address that morning and his P.A. sounded pleased.

Peter called Addison in the office, and left him the cell phone number on his voice mail, and also the phone number at his hotel.

Fernanda was cooking dinner for the children that night. They were getting more and more excited about getting out of school for the summer. Will was particularly excited about playing lacrosse at camp for three weeks. And the others were excited about their plans too. And when they left for school the next day, she drove downtown, to meet with Jack Waterman. They had a lot to talk about. They always did. She liked him, she always had, although these days he was the voice of doom. He was the attorney who was handling Allan's estate, and before that they had been friends for years. He had been stunned by the mess Allan's affairs were in, the catastrophic decisions he had made, and how they impacted Fernanda and the kids.

His secretary poured her a cup of coffee when she walked in, and Jack sat across the desk from her with a grim expression. He hated Allan for what he'd done sometimes. She was such a nice woman, she didn't deserve this. No one did.

“Have you told the kids yet?” he asked, as she set the coffee down and shook her head.

“About the house? No, I haven't. They don't need to know yet. We're not putting it on the market till August. It'll be soon enough then. They don't need to worry about it for three months. Besides, it may take a while to sell.”

It was a huge house, and an expensive one to keep up. And the real estate market hadn't been doing well. Jack had already told her that she absolutely had to sell it and have the money in her hands by the end of the year. He had also told her to strip the place and sell as much as she could separately. The furniture certainly. They had spent nearly five million dollars furnishing the house, some of which couldn't be recouped, like the marble they'd put in all the bathrooms, and the state-of-the-art kitchen. But the Viennese chandelier they had paid four hundred thousand dollars for could be sold at auction in New York, and might even bring a profit. And there were other things she could remove and sell throughout the house. She also knew that once they started stripping the place, it would be upsetting for the children, and she was dreading it. She tried not to think of it as she smiled at him, and he smiled back. She had been a hell of a good sport for the past four months, and he admired her for it. Fernanda said she wondered if Allan had ever considered what this would do to her. Knowing him, Jack suspected it had been the farthest thing from his mind. All he thought about was business, and money. There were times when Allan only thought of himself, both during his meteoric rise to dotcom celebrity, and as he plummeted at record speed on his way down. He was a handsome, charming, brilliant guy, but there had also been something very narcissistic about him. Even his suicide had been all about his own despair, without even thinking about her, or the kids. Jack wished he could do more for her, but for the moment he was doing all he could.

“Are you going anywhere this summer?” he asked, as he leaned back in his chair. He was a nice-looking man. He'd gone to business school with Allan, and then law school after that. The three of them had known each other for a long time. He had had his own griefs over the years. He had been married to an attorney, and she died of a brain tumor at thirty-five. He had never married again, and they hadn't had time to have kids. His own loss made him sympathetic to Fernanda's grief, and he envied her the kids. He was particularly worried about what she was going to live on after they paid Allan's debts. He knew she was thinking about getting a job in a museum, or teaching school. She had figured out that if she taught at Ashley and Sam's school, or even Will's, they might give her a break on their tuitions. But they needed a lot more than that to live on. They had gone from rags to riches to rags again. A lot of people had, in the wake of the dot-com blaze, but their story was more extreme than most, thanks to Allan.

“Will is going to camp, and Ash is going to Tahoe,” she explained. “Sam and I are staying here. We can always go to the beach.”

Listening to her made him feel guilty that he was going to Italy in August, and he almost wanted to invite her and the kids to join him, but he was traveling with friends. There was no current woman in his life, and he had had a soft spot for Fernanda over the years, but he also knew from his own experience that it was far too soon to approach anything of the kind with her. Allan had been gone for four months. And when his own wife died, he hadn't dated anyone for a year. But the thought of it had crossed his mind several times in the past few months. She needed someone to take care of her, and so did her children, and he was very fond of all of them. Fernanda knew nothing of his feelings for them.

“Maybe we can go to Napa for the day or something when the kids get out of school,” he suggested cautiously, and she smiled at him. They had known each other for so long that she thought of him as a brother. It never even occurred to her that he wanted to ask her out and was biding his time. She had been off the dating market for seventeen years, and hadn't even thought of reentering it. She had more important things to think of first. Like their survival, and how she was going to feed her kids.

“They'd like that,” Fernanda said in answer to his invitation to Napa.

“I have a friend who has a boat too. It's a beautiful sailboat.” He was trying to think of ways to cheer her up, and entertain her children, without being pushy or offensive. And she looked at him sheepishly as she finished her coffee.

“The kids would love it. Allan took them out on boats a number of times. I get seasick.” She had hated Allan's yacht, although he loved it. She got sick just standing on the dock. And now the mere mention of boats reminded her of how Allan had died. She never wanted to see a boat again.

“We'll think of something else,” he said kindly. They spent the next two hours going over business matters, and finished the last of their paperwork shortly before noon. She had a good understanding of all of it, and she was being responsible about the decisions she made. There was nothing frivolous about her. He just wished that there was more he could do.

He invited her out to lunch, but she said she had some errands to do, and a dentist appointment that afternoon. In truth, the time she spent with him was so stressful, talking about how dire her situation was, that after seeing him, she felt as though she needed a breather and some time to herself. Inevitably, if they went to lunch, they would talk about her problems and Allan's debts. She knew Jack felt sorry for her, which was kind of him. But it made her feel waiflike and pathetic. She was relieved when she said good-bye to him, and drove back to Pacific Heights on her own. She heaved an enormous sigh, and tried to get rid of the sensation of panic in her stomach. She had a knot in it the size of a fist whenever she left his office, which was why she had declined his invitation to lunch. Instead, he had volunteered to come to dinner the following week, and promised to call her. At least seeing him with the children would buffer the horror of facing the grim realities with him. He was a very pragmatic person, and he spelled things out much too clearly. She would have been shocked to realize he had romantic intentions toward her. It had never even occurred to her in the course of their many meetings. She had always thought Jack was wonderful, and as solid as a rock, and she had been sorry for him that he had never remarried. He always claimed to her and Allan that he hadn't met the right person. She knew how much he had loved his wife, and Allan had warned her several times not to bug him about fixing him up with friends, so she hadn't. It never even dawned on her that she might wind up with him one day. She had been deeply in love with Allan, and still was. And for all his failings, and the mess he'd made of things in the end, she thought he was a great husband. She had no desire to replace him, in fact the reverse. She could imagine herself feeling married to him for the rest of her life, and never dating anyone else. And she had said as much to her children, which in some ways comforted them, particularly Sam, but it also made them sad for her.

Ashley had talked to Will about it several times when they were alone, if her mother was out with Sam, or busy doing something else.

“I don't want her to be alone forever,” Ashley had said to her older brother, who was always startled when she brought it up. He tried not to think of his mother involved with someone other than his dad. Ashley was a born matchmaker, like her mother, and far more romantic.

“Dad just died,” Will always said, looking upset when she talked about it. “Give her time. Did Mom say something?” Will had asked, looking worried.

“Yeah, she says she doesn't want to go out with anyone. She wants to be married to him forever. That's so sad.” She still wore her wedding band. And she never went out at night anymore, except with them, for a movie or a pizza. And a couple of times they had gone to Mel's Diner after Will's ballgames. “I hope she meets someone and falls in love one day,” Ashley concluded as Will rolled his eyes.

“It's none of our business,” Will said sternly.

“Yes, it is. What about Jack Waterman?” Ashley had suggested, being far more perceptive than her mother. “I think he likes her.”

“Don't be stupid, Ash. They're just friends.”

“Well, you never know. His wife died too. And he never remarried.” And then she suddenly looked worried. “Do you think he's gay?”

“Of course not. He's had a bunch of girlfriends. And you're disgusting,” Will said, and stormed out of the room, as he always did when she brought up the subject of their mother's nonexistent love life. He didn't like thinking of his mother in that context. She was his mother, and he didn't see anything wrong with her staying alone, if she was happy that way, and she said she was. That was good enough for him. His sister was far more astute, even at her tender age.

They spent the weekend engaged in their usual pursuits, and while Fernanda sat in the bleachers, watching Will play lacrosse in Marin on Saturday, Peter Morgan was on his way to Modesto on a bus. He was wearing some of the new clothes he'd bought with the money Addison had given him. And he looked respectable and discreet. The person who had answered the phone at the halfway house told him Carlton Waters was registered there. It was the second one he had called. He had no idea what he was going to say when he got there. He needed to feel Waters out and see how things were going for him. And even if Waters didn't want to do the job himself, after twenty-four years in prison, with a conviction for murder, he would certainly know who would. How Peter was going to get the information from him was another story, particularly if he didn't want to do the job himself, or took umbrage at being asked. The “research,” as Addison had referred to it, wasn't as easy as it looked. Peter was thinking about how to approach it, as he rode to Modesto on the bus.

As it turned out, the halfway house was only a few blocks from the bus station, and he walked there in the late spring heat. Peter took his leather baseball jacket off, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. And by the time he got to the address they'd given him on the phone, his new shoes were covered with dust. But he still looked like a businessman when he walked up the front steps and inside to the desk.

When he asked for Waters, he was told he had gone out, and Peter went back outside to wait. They had no idea where he'd gone or when he was due back. The man at the desk said he had family in the area and might have gone there, or he might have gone almost anywhere with friends. All he would confirm was that curfew was at nine o'clock, and he'd be back by then.

Peter sat on the porch waiting for a long time, and at five o'clock, he was thinking about getting something to eat, when he saw a familiar figure sauntering slowly down the street, with two other men. Waters was an imposing figure. He looked like a basketball player, or a linebacker. He was powerfully built, both tall and broad, and he had spent years in prison bodybuilding with impressive results. In the wrong place, at the wrong time, Peter knew he would be a frightening man, although he also knew that in twenty-four years, he had had no history of violence in prison. He found that information only slightly reassuring. There was a good chance that the offer Peter wanted to make to him would infuriate him, and he might beat the hell out of Peter for even asking. Peter wasn't looking forward to broaching it with him.

Waters was looking straight at Peter as he walked slowly across the street. They recognized each other instantly, although they had never been friends. He was exactly who and what Addison wanted him to find, a pro as opposed to an amateur criminal like Peter Morgan. Although now, thanks to Addison, he was in the big leagues too, and Peter was anything but proud of it. In fact, he hated what he was doing, but had no choice.

The two men nodded at each other, as Peter stood watching him from the porch, and Waters looked him in the eye with a hostile expression as he came up the steps. Peter wasn't reassured.

“You looking for someone?” Waters asked him, and Peter nodded, but didn't volunteer who it was.

“How've you been?” They were circling each other like pit bulls, and Peter was afraid that Waters would attack. The other two men, Malcolm Stark and Jim Free, hung slightly back, watching to see what would happen.

“I've been fine. You?” Peter nodded in answer, and their eyes never left each other, like magnets that were glued to metal, and could not release. Peter wasn't sure what to say to him, but he had the feeling Waters knew he had come to talk to him, and without saying anything to Peter, he turned to Malcolm Stark and Jim Free. “I'll be inside in a minute.” They looked at Peter as they walked by, and let the screen door slam, as Waters looked back at Peter again, with a question in his eyes this time. “You want to talk to me?” Peter nodded again, and sighed. This was harder than he thought, and a lot scarier. But there was also a lot of money on the table. It was hard to predict how Waters would react, or what he'd say. And this wasn't the place to talk about it. Waters sensed easily that it was important. It had to be. The two men hadn't exchanged ten words in prison in the four years they'd both been there at the same time, and now he had ridden all the way from San Francisco to talk to him. Waters was curious to hear what it was about, to bring Peter up three hours on a bus from the city, and have him wait all day. Peter looked like a man with something important on his mind.

“Can we talk somewhere?” he said simply, and Waters nodded.

“There's a park down the street.” He sensed correctly that Peter didn't want to go to a bar or a restaurant, or the living room in the halfway house, where they might be overheard.

“That'll do,” Peter said tersely, and followed him down the steps off the porch.

He was hungry and nervous, and he had a rock in his stomach as they walked down the street without saying a word to each other. It was a full ten minutes before they reached the park, and Peter sat down on a bench, as Waters hesitated for a long moment and then lowered himself onto the bench next to him. He sat there, and took some chewing tobacco out of his pocket. It was a habit he had acquired in prison, and he didn't offer any to Peter. He just sat there, and finally looked at him, half annoyed and half curious.

Peter was exactly the kind of convict he had no respect for. He was some fool with money who had gotten himself busted out of sheer stupidity, and then kissed the warden's ass to get a job in the office. Waters had done hard time, and spent a lot of time in solitary. He hung around with murderers and rapists and kidnappers, and guys who had done a lot of time. Peter's little four-year stint meant nothing to him compared to his twenty-four. And Waters had claimed he was innocent to the end, and still did. Whatever his history, his innocence or guilt, he had spent most of his life in prison, and he had no interest in Peter Morgan. But if the man had come all the way from San Francisco to see him, he was going to listen to him, but that was all he was going to do. It was written all over him as he spat a wad of tobacco several feet and turned to look at Peter. Waters's eyes nearly made Peter shiver, as they had when he saw him in the warden's office. He was waiting, and there was no avoiding it. Peter knew he had to talk, he just didn't know what to say, as Waters spat again.

“What's on your mind?” Waters asked him, looking him right in the eye. The force of his stare took Peter's breath away. He was in it now.

“Someone offered me a business deal,” Peter started as Waters watched him. Waters could see that his hands were shaking, and he had noticed the new clothes. The jacket looked expensive, and so did the shoes. He was obviously doing okay. Waters was loading boxes at the tomato farm, for minimum wage. He wanted a job in the office, but they had told him it was too soon. “I don't know if you'd be interested, but I wanted to talk to you. I need your advice.” As soon as he said that, Waters knew he was up to no good. He leaned back against the bench and frowned.

“What makes you think I'd be interested, or want to help you?” he said cautiously.

“I don't. I have no idea.” He decided to be honest with him, it was the only way to go with someone as dangerous as he was. He figured it was the only shot he had. “I've got my ass on the line. I owed someone money when I went to prison, a couple of hundred thousand dollars, and I walked right into his arms. He says he can have me killed anytime he wants, which is probably about right, although he hasn't till now. He offered me a deal. I have no choice. If I don't do this for him now, he says he'll kill my kids, and I think he would.”

“Nice people you're hanging out with,” Waters commented, stretched out his legs, and looked at his dusty cowboy boots. “Has he got the guts to do it?” Waters was curious, and felt sorry for him.

“Yeah. I think he would. So I'm in this up to my ass. He wants me to do a job for him.”

“What kind of job?” His voice was noncommittal, as he continued to observe his boots.

“A big job. A very big job. There's a lot of money on the table. Five million bucks to you, if you're in. A hundred thousand in cash up front, the rest on the back end.” Peter decided as he said it to him that maybe it wasn't as insulting as he had at first feared. Even if Waters didn't want it, it was a hell of an offer. For either of them. Waters nodded, he had figured that out too, but he didn't look impressed. He was very cool.

“How much to you?”

Honesty again. It was the only way to go here. Honor among thieves. “Ten on completion. Two hundred thousand cash up front. He wants me to put it together and hire the guys for him.”

“How many?”

“Three, including you. If you do it.”

“Drugs?” He couldn't even imagine how much heroin that represented, or cocaine. He couldn't think of anything else that would generate that much income. But that was high even for a drug deal, unless it was incredibly high risk, which it had to be, if anyone was offering to pay that much. But as Waters looked at him, Peter shook his head.

“Worse. Or better. Depending on how you look at it. In theory, it's pretty clean. They want us to kidnap someone, sit on them for a couple of weeks, collect the ransom, send them home, and split. With luck, no one gets hurt.”

“Who the fuck is it?” Waters bellowed at him. “The president?”

Peter almost smiled but didn't. This was serious business, for both of them. “Three kids. Or as many as we can get. One'll do.”

“Is he crazy? He's paying us twenty-five million bucks between the four of us to nab three kids, and send them home. What's in it for him? How much is the ransom?”

Peter was nervous giving him all the details, but he had to tell him enough to rope him in. “A hundred million. He keeps seventy-five. It's his idea.” Waters whistled and stared at Peter for a long moment, and then with no warning, he reached across the bench and grabbed Peter so hard by the throat with one hand, he nearly choked the life out of him. Peter could feel his veins and arteries exploding in his viselike grip as Waters moved his face to within an inch of Peter's.

“If you're fucking with me, I'll kill you, you know that, don't you?” With his free hand, he ripped Peter's shirt open and tore all the buttons off to see if he'd been wired by the cops, but he hadn't been.

“This is for real,” Peter managed to choke out with the last of his breath. Waters held him there until Peter saw stars and nearly lost consciousness, and then let go, and lay back against the bench again, looking unconcerned.

“Who's the guy?”

“I can't tell you,” Peter said, rubbing his neck. He could still feel Waters's hand on his throat. “That's part of the deal.” Waters nodded. It sounded right to him.

“Who're the kids?”

“I can't tell you that either, until I know you're in. But you'll know soon, if you are. He wants us watching them for a month or six weeks, so we know what we're doing, their routine, and when to grab them. And I have to set up a place for us to go.”

“I can't do surveillance. I've got a job,” Carl Waters said practically, as though he were organizing a work schedule or a car pool. “I can do it on weekends. Where is it, Frisco?” Peter nodded.

“I could do it during the week. It's probably less noticeable if we mix it up a little.” That made sense to both of them.

“They've really got that kind of money? Or is this guy dreaming?”

“They had half a billion dollars a year ago. It's hard to spend that kind of money in a year. The guy died. We're hitting his wife up for the ransom. She'll pay to keep her kids.” Waters nodded. That made sense to him too.

“You realize we could get the death penalty if they catch us,” Waters said matter-of-factly. “Who's to say this guy won't sell our asses out if we do it. I don't trust people I don't know.” He didn't say it, but he trusted Peter, although he also thought he was naïve. He'd always heard he was okay in prison. He was no hardass, but he had done his time and stayed clean. That meant a lot to him.

“I think we'd all need to figure out where to go afterward. I guess we do it, and we're on our own. If anyone talks, we're all screwed,” Peter said quietly.

“Yeah, and so is he, if you do. He must trust you.”

“Maybe. Greedy fucker. I had no choice. I can't risk my kids.” Waters nodded again, that much he understood, although he had none of his own.

“Who else have you talked to?”

“No one. I started with you. I figured if you didn't want to do it, you'd give me some ideas. Unless you beat the shit out of me and told me to get fucked.” They exchanged a smile on that one, and Waters laughed.

“You've got a lot of balls asking me something like this. I could have beaten the crap out of you.”

“Or choked me,” Peter teased, and Waters laughed again. It was a deep rumble that went with his looks. “What do you think?”

“I think this guy's a lunatic, or he has some mighty rich friends. You know the hit?”

“I know who they are.”

“And they're for real?”

“Very much so,” Peter reassured him, and Waters looked impressed. He'd never heard of that kind of money except on drug deals, and Peter was right, this sounded clean. “I still have to find a place for us to go, with the kids.”

“That's not hard. All you need is a mountain cabin, or an RV parked in the desert somewhere. Hell, how complicated is it to baby-sit three kids? How old are they?”

“Six, twelve, and sixteen.”

“Shit, what a pain in the ass. But I guess for five million bucks I could baby-sit Dracula and his kids.”

“But the deal is we don't hurt them. They go back untouched. That's the deal,” Peter reminded him.

“I get it,” Waters said, looking irritated. “No one's going to pay a hundred million bucks for three dead kids. Or even one.” He got the point.

“Presumably, she'll pay the ransom quickly. She lost her husband, she won't want to lose her kids. It may take her a week or two to free up the money, but it shouldn't take too long. Not for her kids.”

“I like the fact that it's a woman,” Waters commented, thinking about it. “She's not going to make us sweat it for six months. She'll want those kids.” Waters stood up then, and looked down at Peter, still sitting on the bench. He'd heard enough, and he wanted to get back to the house. He had enough to think about for now. “I'll think about it, and let you know. How do I find you?” Peter handed him a slip of paper with his cell phone on it. He'd written it down while he was waiting on the porch.

“If you do it, can you find the other guys?” Peter asked, as he stood up.

“Yeah. It's gotta be guys I can trust. Anyone can nab someone, but can they keep their mouth shut afterward? Our asses are going to be on the line after that. I want to make sure mine won't rot in prison.” He had a point, and Peter agreed with him.

“He wants us to make a move in July. He'll be out of the country then, and he wants it over by the time he comes back.” They had just over a month to set it up, find the men, and watch her. And take the kids.

“That shouldn't be a problem,” Waters said, and after that they walked along in silence, while Peter wondered what he was thinking and when he'd hear from him. Waters didn't even look at him when they reached the halfway house. He just started up the steps and then turned around to look at him. And in a voice no one could hear but Peter, he mouthed the words “I'm in.” And with that, he walked onto the porch and into the house. Peter stood staring after him, and the screen door slammed. Twenty minutes later, Peter was back on the bus and heading home.

Chapter 10

Peter heard from Carlton Waters on his cell phone later that week. He had the two other guys they needed. Malcolm Stark and Jim Free. He said he was sure they could do the job, and keep their mouths shut. The three of them had decided they would go to South America via Canada or Mexico after they did it. They wanted their five million dollars each in accounts in South America, where they could access it. Between themselves, they had talked about getting into the drug business, but they didn't have to figure that out yet. Waters knew people who could get them passports, and run them into Mexico. And from there, they could go anywhere. All they wanted was to do the job, get their money, and get the hell out. None of them had serious attachments, or were married. The girl in the coffee shop hadn't panned out for Jim Free. It turned out she had a boyfriend, and wasn't interested in Jim after all. She was just flirting with him.

There was a whole new life waiting for them in South America. All they needed now was a place to stay while they waited for the ransom, once they'd kidnapped the Barnes children. Peter said he'd take care of it. And Waters agreed to start watching them that weekend. Next, they had to get a car. Peter said he'd buy one for him and Waters to use for surveillance, something ordinary and innocuous that wouldn't attract attention. And they needed a van to do the job. Waters agreed to meet Peter at his hotel on Saturday. Carl could cover it from nine A.M. till six o'clock on weekends. Peter would follow them during the week, and on weekend nights. They were covered. Peter had a feeling she didn't go out much anyway, if she was alone with three kids. And it was only for a month. For ten million bucks, he could sit in a car all day, and cover nights. He reported in to Addison and told him they had the guys. Addison sounded pleased and said he was willing to pay for both the van and the car. They could dump both a month later, after the job was done.

Peter bought a Ford station wagon that afternoon. It was five years old and had a lot of mileage on it, and conveniently, it was black. He bought an old van at a different lot the next day and rented a space for it in a public garage. At six o'clock that night, he was parked outside Fernanda's house. He recognized her and the children from the photograph in Phillip's file, and remembered their names. They were emblazoned on his mind.

He saw Fernanda come in with Ashley, and then go out again, and he followed her. She drove erratically, and ran through two red lights. He wondered if she drank. He parked within three cars of her near the playing field in the Presidio and watched her get out. She sat in the bleachers watching Will play lacrosse, and as he walked back to the car with her afterward, Peter saw them hug before they got back in the car. Something about the way they did it made his heart ache, and he wasn't sure why. She was beautiful and blond and very small, and when they got to the house again, the boy was laughing when he got out of the car. He was in good spirits. They had won. Peter watched them walk up the steps to the house arm in arm. Seeing them made him want to be next to them, and he felt left out in an odd way when they went inside and shut the door. And as she went in, he watched her through the window to see if she was setting the alarm, which was important information for him. She didn't. She walked straight into the kitchen.

Peter saw the lights go on in the kitchen, and he imagined her cooking dinner for them. He had seen both Ashley and Will by then, but hadn't seen Sam yet. He remembered him from the photograph as being a smiling, redheaded little boy. Late that night, he saw her standing by the window in her bedroom. He watched her with binoculars, and saw that she was crying. She just stood there with tears rolling down her cheeks in her nightgown, and then she turned and walked away. It was a strange feeling, watching her like that. He kept getting glimpses into their life. The girl in the ballet leotard, the boy she hugged after he won his lacrosse game, and the tears running down her cheeks as she stood in her bedroom window, crying for her husband probably. It was two in the morning when Peter drove away. The house was dark, and had been for three hours. He realized now he didn't need to stay that late, but these were all things he needed to learn about them.

He was back the next morning at seven o'clock. Nothing happened until nearly eight. He couldn't see any activity in the kitchen, because he couldn't tell if she'd turned the lights on. That side of the house was lit by morning sun, and at ten to eight she came flying out. She turned to talk to someone in the hallway behind her, and the ballerina came out dragging a heavy bag. The lacrosse player helped her with it, and then walked to the garage for his own car. The door to the house was still standing open, and Fernanda was looking impatiently toward it, and finally the youngest one came out. And as Peter sat watching him, he couldn't suppress a smile. Sam was wearing a bright red T-shirt with a fire engine on his back, with navy corduroy pants and red high-top sneakers, and he was singing at the top of his lungs, while his mother laughed and waved him to the car. He got into the back seat, because his sister was in the front seat, with the bag on her lap. And when they got to school, with Peter in the traffic behind them, Fernanda helped her out. He couldn't imagine what was in the bag as she dragged it up the steps. Sam bounced into school behind her like a puppy, and turned with a grin to wave at his mom, as she stood there for a minute, blew him a kiss, waved, and got back in the car. She waited until he'd gone inside before she drove away.

She drove to Laurel Village to the grocery store then, and pushed a cart around for a while, reading labels, and checking produce before she put it in the cart. She bought a lot of kid food, cereals and cookies and snacks, half a dozen steaks, and at the counter where they sold flowers, she stopped and looked at them, as though tempted to buy them, and then rolled past, looking sad. Peter could have stayed in the car, but he had decided to follow her, to get a better sense of who she was. And as he watched her, he found himself fascinated by her. She was the epitome of the perfect mom, in his eyes. All she did and all she thought about and all she bought seemed to be about and for her kids. He stood behind her in the check-out line as she picked up a magazine, glanced at it, and put it back. He was impressed by how simply dressed she was. No one would have thought for a minute that her husband had left her half a billion dollars. She was wearing a pink T-shirt, jeans, and clogs, and she looked like a kid herself. She turned to look at him, as they both waited, and unexpectedly she smiled at him. He looked immaculate in a new blue button-down shirt, loafers, and khaki pants. He looked like all the men she'd grown up with, or friends of Allan's. He was tall and good-looking and blond, and he knew from things he'd read about her now that he was only six months younger than she. They were virtually the same age. They had both gone to good colleges. She had gone to Stanford, and he had gone to Duke. He had gone to graduate school, while she married and had babies. And their kids were almost the same age. Sam was six, and Isabelle and Heather were eight and nine. She looked a little like Janet, but prettier, and more than he realized, he looked like Allan with blond hair. She had noticed it when she put back the magazine, and then stared at him. And when she dropped a roll of paper towels, while putting them on the check-out stand, he picked them up and handed them to her.

“Thanks,” she said pleasantly, and he noticed her wedding band. She was still wearing it, and he found it a loving gesture. He liked everything about her, and listened to her chatting with the man adding up her groceries, who seemed to know her well. She said the kids were doing okay, and Will was going to camp to play lacrosse. Peter had to remind himself of what his mission was, and wondered when the boy was going to camp. It might mean, if it was in July, that Waters and his buddies would only be able to get two of the kids. And as he thought of it, he felt sick. This woman was so obviously decent, so loyal to her husband, and so devoted to her kids, that what they were about to do to her seemed more than ever like a heinous thing to him. They were going to make her pay a hundred million dollars just to keep all that she had and cherished now.

The thought of it weighed on him, as he watched her go through two more red lights and a stop sign on California Street on the way home. Her driving stank. He wondered what she was thinking about when she cruised through the red lights. And he was puzzled by what he saw when he got back to the house. He expected a housekeeper, or even a fleet of them to come out and unload the car. Instead she opened the front door, left it standing open, and carried the groceries in herself, bag by bag. He wondered if it was the maid's day off. After that, he didn't see her again till noon. She came back out for something she had forgotten in the car, and dropped the roll of paper towels again, but this time he didn't pick them up as he had in the store. He didn't move. He couldn't let her see him. He just watched.

She looked slightly disheveled when she came out in a rush at three o'clock. She jumped in her station wagon and drove off toward school, driving too fast, and nearly hit a bus. Just watching her for a day, he already knew that the woman was a menace on the road. She drove too fast, she went through lights, she changed lanes without signaling, and nearly hit pedestrians in crosswalks twice. She was obviously distracted, and she came to a rapid stop outside the two younger kids' school. Ashley was on the street waiting for her, talking to friends and laughing, and Sam bounced out carrying an enormous papier-mâché airplane five minutes later with a huge grin and a hug for his mom. Just watching them made Peter want to cry. Not for what he and Waters were going to do to them, but for all that he himself had missed as a child. Suddenly, he realized what life could have been like, if he hadn't screwed up, and were still with Janet and their kids. They'd be hugging him. And he'd have a loving wife like this pretty blond. It made him feel lonely thinking of all he didn't have, and never had.

They stopped at the hardware store on the way home, where she bought lightbulbs and a new broom, and a lunch pail for Sam to use at day camp. She dropped him off at the house, said something to Will when he came to the door for his brother, and then drove Ashley to ballet. And that afternoon, after she picked Ashley up, she went to another one of Will's games. Her entire life seemed to revolve around them. By the end of the week, Peter had seen her do nothing except drive them to and from school, take Ashley to ballet, and go to Will's games. She did nothing else. And when he checked in with Addison, he mentioned that they had no domestic staff, which seemed odd to him for someone with their means.

“What difference does it make?” Addison said, sounding annoyed. “Maybe she's cheap.”

“Maybe she's broke,” Peter said, ever more curious about her. She looked like a serious person, and when she was alone, she looked sad. But when she was with the kids, she smiled and laughed and hugged them a lot. And he saw her crying in her bedroom window every night. It made him want to hold her in his arms, the way she did her kids. She needed that, and had no one to do it for her.

“No one can spend half a billion dollars in a year,” Phillip answered, sounding unconcerned.

“No, but you can sure as hell blow that and more on bad investments, especially with the bottom falling out of the market the way it has.” Phillip knew that only too well. But what he had lost, he assumed would have been a drop in the bucket to Allan Barnes.

“I haven't read anywhere about any of Barnes's deals going sour. Believe me, Morgan, they've got it. Or he did and she does now. She probably just doesn't like to spend it. Are you keeping track of her?” Addison asked, pleased with the way things were going. Peter had put the team in place quickly, and he said he was going to Tahoe over the weekend to find a house. He wanted to find a cabin somewhere in an isolated area where they could keep the kids for as long as it took for her to come up with the ransom. As far as Addison was concerned, this was just business. For him, there was nothing personal or sentimental about it. Peter was feeling more intense, after watching her drop off, pick up, and constantly hug and kiss her children. Not to mention the nightly tears in her bedroom window.

“Yes, I'm keeping track of her,” Peter said tersely. “She doesn't do anything except drive her kids around and go through red lights.”

“Great. Let's hope she doesn't kill them before we get them. Does she drink?”

“I don't know. She doesn't look it. I think she's distracted or upset.” The day before, he had watched her nearly hit a woman in yet another crosswalk. Everyone had honked at her, and she had jumped out of the car and apologized profusely, and when she did, he saw that she was crying. Fernanda was driving him crazy. She was all he could think of now, not only because of what they had in store for her, but because of what he wished he could say to her, and the time he wished he could spend with her, if things were different. In other circumstances, he would have liked to get to know her. In his mind, she had become the perfect woman. Seeing her with her children, he had come to admire her so much. He loved watching her, and wondered what she'd been like when Barnes married her. Thinking of her as a young girl nearly drove him insane.

Why hadn't he met her then? Why was life so cruel? While he had been busy screwing up his life, and his ex-wife's, Fernanda had been married to a lucky guy, and building a family. She was spectacularly beautiful. And Sam had won his heart the first day he saw him. Ashley was a beauty. Will looked like the kind of son every man wanted. Whatever else Allan Barnes had done, and the name he had made for himself in the business world, it was obvious to Peter Morgan that he had left the perfect family behind. Peter felt like a Peeping Tom watching her, and when he went back to his hotel to sleep at night, invariably he found himself dreaming of her, and couldn't wait to go back in the morning to see her again. She had begun to haunt him like an old friend, or a lost love. In fact, for him, she was like a reminder of a lost world. A world he had always wanted to be part of, and had been for a time, but seeing her reminded him of the life and opportunities he had blown. She was everything he had always wanted and would never have again.

He hated to turn her over to Carlton Waters on Saturday, when he gave him the car, and used the van to go to Tahoe. He had a listing of houses to rent he'd gotten on the Internet. He didn't want to work with a realtor. But as long as no one saw Carl and his boys, there was no problem. If anything happened, Peter could always say that the men had broken in and used the house while he was in San Francisco. They were all making painstaking efforts to keep all of the various elements separate, and so far, there had been no problems. No one in Modesto, other than Stark and Free, knew that Carl was in the city. He was going to be back by curfew.

No one was going to follow Fernanda after six o'clock that night, until Peter got back from Tahoe sometime around ten. And if she followed her usual pattern, she'd be home with her children long before that. The only time she went out at night was to drop off Will or Ashley at friends' houses, or pick them up after a party. She didn't like Will driving at night, although as he told her frequently, and Peter could have verified, her driving was far worse than his was. From everything Peter had seen, she was a total menace.

“What's she liable to do today?” Carl asked Peter when he picked up the car keys. He was wearing a baseball cap that shielded his face, and changed his looks, and dark glasses. When Peter followed her, he looked as he always did, and if there were too many people on the street, he drove around the block a few times, and came back again. But so far he didn't have the feeling anyone had spotted him, least of all Fernanda.

“She'll probably take the older boy to a game, maybe in Marin. Or the girl to ballet. She usually has the little one with her on Saturdays. They don't seem to do much, probably even on weekends.” The weather had been great, but she didn't seem to go out much. In fact, almost never. “You'll get a good look at the kids. She's with them pretty much all the time, and the little guy never leaves her.” Peter had a sense of betraying them, and Waters nodded. Carl wasn't interested in making friends with them. This was a reconnaissance mission for him, and nothing more than that. To him, this was business. To Peter, it was becoming an obsession. But Carlton Waters didn't know that. He took the keys, got in the car, and drove to the address Morgan had given him. It was ten o'clock on a brilliantly sunny Saturday in May as Peter left for Tahoe.

He thought about her all the way, wondering what would happen if he backed out now. It was simple, Addison would have his daughters killed, and Peter himself shortly thereafter. And if he confessed to the police and did time for it, or was violated, Addison would have him killed in prison. It was all so simple. There was no turning back. They were on a roll now. And as he reached Truckee finally, Waters was following her to Marin, to one of Will's lacrosse games. He had seen all three kids by then, and she looked about the way he had expected her to. To him, she looked like a suburban housewife, which was of no interest to him. To him, she was a victim, and a lucrative one, and nothing more. To Peter, she looked like an angel. But in some ways, Waters didn't know what he was seeing. The kind of women that appealed to him were a lot jazzier-looking than Fernanda. He thought she looked pretty but plain, and noticed that she didn't wear makeup. At least not when she went out with her children. In fact, she hadn't worn any since Allan died. It no longer mattered to her. Nor did fancy clothes, high heels, or any of the jewelry he'd given her. She had already sold most of it, and the rest had been in the safe since January. She didn't need jewelry or fancy clothes for what she was doing, or what her life was now.

Peter drove to the first address on his list, and saw that it was bordered on three sides, and within two feet in each case, by other houses, which made it impossible for their purpose. He had the same problem with the next four. The sixth one was insanely expensive. The next four were equally unsuitable. And much to his relief, the last one was the right one. It was perfect. It had a long winding driveway that was full of potholes and weeds, the house itself looked ramshackle, and was so overgrown, you couldn't even see in the windows, which were shuttered, which was yet another bonus. The house had four bedrooms, a kitchen that had seen better days but was functional, and a large living room with a fireplace Peter could have stood up in. And behind it, there was a cliff of sheer rock face. The man who owned it showed it to him, and said he no longer used it. It had been used by his sons, and they had moved away years before, but he kept it as an investment. He was renting it since his daughter didn't want it either. Both his sons lived in Arizona, and he was spending the summer in Colorado with his daughter. Peter took it as a six-month rental, and asked the man if he minded if he cleaned it up a bit, and weeded the yard, since he was going to be using it to entertain clients, and the owner looked delighted. He couldn't believe his good fortune to have Peter as a tenant. Peter hadn't even quibbled about the price. He signed the lease, paid three months' rent and a security deposit in cash, and by four o'clock he was back on the road when he got a call on his cell phone from Carlton Waters.

“Something wrong?” Peter sounded worried and wondered if something had happened, or if Waters had been spotted. Or even scared her, or one of the children.

“No, she's fine. They're at the kid's ballgame. She doesn't do much, does she? And she's always got one of the kids with her.” It was going to complicate things for them eventually, not that it really mattered. She was too small to give them any trouble. “I just thought of something. Who's getting the weapons?”

Peter looked blank for a moment as he thought about it. “I guess you are. I can ask, but he probably doesn't want to supply us anything that can be traced back to him. Can you handle it?” Peter knew Addison had the connections to supply them. But he also knew Addison wanted no link whatsoever to this project.

“Maybe I can. I want automatic weapons.” Waters was clear about it.

“You mean like machine guns?” Peter sounded startled. “Why?” The kids weren't going to be armed. Nor was she. But the cops would be if there was ever a showdown. To Peter, machine guns sounded excessive.

“That keeps things nice and simple,” Waters said bluntly, and Peter nodded. These were the professionals Addison had wanted.

“You take care of it,” Peter said, sounding worried. He told him about the house then, and Waters agreed with him. It sounded perfect. They were all set now. All they needed to do was pick a date in July. And go for it. It all seemed so simple, but as soon as Peter hung up, he had the now familiar pain in his stomach. He was beginning to think it was his conscience. Following her around from ballet to baseball games was one thing. Taking her children away from her, using machine guns, and demanding a hundred million dollars ransom for them was another. And Peter knew the difference.

Chapter 11

In the first week of June, on the last day of school, Fernanda had her hands full. Ashley and Sam both had performances at school. She had to help them get all their art projects and books home afterward. Will had a playoff game for his baseball team, and later that night he had a lacrosse game, which she had to miss, in order to attend Ashley's ballet recital. She felt like a rat in a laboratory, running all day, to get from one child to the other. And as usual, there was no one to help her. Not that Allan would have, if he were still alive. But until January, she had had a nanny to help her cover the bases. Now there was no one. She had no family, had lost touch with even her closest friends for a variety of reasons, and realized now how totally dependent she had been on Allan. With him gone, all she had left now were her children. And their circumstances were too awkward for her to want to contact their old friends again. She might as well have been living on a desert island with her children. She felt completely isolated.

Peter had spoken to her twice by then, once in the supermarket on the first day, and another time in a bookshop, when she glanced up at him and smiled, and thought he looked vaguely familiar. She had dropped some of the books she was carrying, and with an easy smile, he handed them to her. After that, he had stood watching her from the distance. He sat in the bleachers at one of Will's games in the Presidio once, but he was behind her, and she never saw him. He never took his eyes off her.

He noticed that she had stopped crying at the bedroom window. He saw her standing there sometimes, looking out at the street vacantly, as though she were waiting for someone. It was like looking straight into her soul, when he saw her there at night. It was almost as though he knew what she was thinking. She was almost certainly dreaming of Allan. Peter thought he'd been a lucky guy to have a wife like her, and wondered if he knew it. Sometimes people didn't. But Peter appreciated every gesture she made, every time she picked up her kids, and every time she hugged them. She was exactly the kind of mother he would have wanted, instead of the one he'd had, who had been an alcoholic nightmare, and had eventually left him unloved, unwanted, and abandoned. Even the stepfather she'd left him with had ultimately left him stranded. But there was nothing abandoned or unloved about Fernanda's children.

Peter was almost jealous of them. And all he could think of when he saw her at night was how much he would have loved to put his arms around her, and console her, and he knew he could never do it. He was confined to watching her, and condemned to cause her more grief and pain, by a man who had threatened to kill Peter's children. The irony of it was exquisite. In order to save his own children, he had to risk hers, and torture a woman he had come to admire, and who aroused a flood of powerful emotions in him, some of which confused him, and all of which were bittersweet. He had a sense of longing every time he saw her.

He followed her to Ashley's recital that night, and stopped behind her at the florist where she had ordered a bouquet of long-stemmed pink roses. She had bought one for the ballet teacher as well, and emerged carrying both of them. Ashley was already at the ballet school. And Sam was at Will's game, with the mother of one of Will's friends, who also had a son Sam's age and had volunteered to take him. He had announced that afternoon that ballet was for sissies. And Peter realized, as he watched them leave, that if Waters and the others had been planning to hit that night, they could have gotten both boys, if not Ashley.

By then, Waters had bought the machine guns, through a friend of Jim Free's. The man they bought them from had shipped them from L.A. by Greyhound, in golf bags. They arrived undisturbed, and it was obvious that no one had checked them. Peter had been shaking from head to foot when he went to get them. And after he picked the guns up, he left them in the trunk of his car. He didn't want to risk keeping them in his hotel room. Technically, he was obliged to submit to a search of his premises, without warrant or notice, if his parole agent ever decided to show up, which so far he hadn't. He wasn't worried about Peter, especially now that he was employed. But there was no point taking chances. Up till then, everything had gone smoothly.

Peter waited for Fernanda and Ashley outside the ballet school that night, and saw Ashley come out beaming, carrying the bouquet of pink roses. Fernanda looked incredibly proud of her, and after the performance, they met up with Will and Sam for a celebratory meal at Mel's Diner on Lombard. And once they were sitting down, Peter slipped quietly into a corner booth, and ordered a cup of coffee. He was so close, he could almost touch them. And when she walked by him, he could smell Fernanda's perfume. She had worn a khaki skirt that night, a white cashmere V-neck sweater, and high heels for the first time since he'd seen her. Her hair was down, she had lipstick on, and she looked happy and pretty. Ashley had makeup on, and was still wearing her leotard from the performance. And Will was in his lacrosse uniform, while Sam told them all about the game. Will's team had won, and earlier that day, his baseball team had won the playoff. They had multiple victories to celebrate that night, and Peter felt sad and lonely as he watched them. He knew what was coming. And his heart ached for Fernanda. He felt almost like a ghost watching them. One who knew the future, and the heartbreaks that would come, and could do nothing to stop them. In order to save his own children, his voice and his conscience had been silenced.

They hung out at the house for the rest of June. Friends came and went. Fernanda did errands with Sam, and went shopping with Ashley for a few things for Tahoe. She even went shopping herself one day, just for the fun of it, but all she came home with was a single pair of sandals. She had promised Jack Waterman in January that she would buy nothing, or close to it. He had invited her and the children to spend a day in Napa with him on the Memorial Day weekend, but they couldn't go, since Will had a lacrosse game, and his mother wanted to drive him. She didn't like him driving to Marin on holiday weekends. Jack had given them a rain check for the Fourth of July weekend, when Will would be away at camp, and Ashley would be in Tahoe. Fernanda had promised that she and Sam would come, and Jack was taking them to a friend's Fourth of July picnic. She and Sam were looking forward to it. As Jack was, more than she imagined. Their friendship always seemed innocent to her, and always had been. But things were different now, in his mind, if not hers. As far as Jack was concerned, she was single. Ashley had teased her about it when her mother told her about the picnic. She said Jack had a crush on Fernanda.

“Don't be silly, Ash. He's an old friend. You're disgusting.” Ashley had said in no uncertain terms that Jack Waterman had the hots for her.

“Does he, Mom?” Sam had looked up from a stack of pancakes with interest.

“No, he doesn't. He was a friend of Daddy's.” As though that made all the difference. But Daddy was gone now.

“So? What difference does that make?” Ashley commented, as she took a bite of Sam's pancakes, and he swatted her with his napkin.

“Are you going to marry him, Mom?” Sam looked at her sadly. He liked having her to himself. He was still sleeping in her bed most of the time. He missed his dad, but he had grown even closer to his mother, and he wasn't anxious to share her.

“Of course not,” Fernanda said, looking flustered. “I'm not going to marry anyone. I still love Daddy.”

“Good,” Sam said, looking satisfied, as he stuffed a forkful of pancakes into his mouth, and dripped syrup down his T-shirt.

On the last week in June Fernanda hardly left the house. She was too busy packing. She had Will's lacrosse gear to organize and pack, and everything Ashley was taking to Tahoe. It was endless. It seemed like every time she packed something, one of them took it out of the bag again, and wore it. By the end of the week, everything was dirty, and she had to start over. Ashley had tried on everything she owned, and borrowed half of her mother's clothes. And Sam suddenly announced that he didn't want to go to day camp.

“Come on, Sam, you'll love it,” she encouraged him as she did a load of laundry, just as Ashley breezed through the laundry room wearing her mother's high heels, and one of her sweaters.

“Take those off,” she scolded her, as Sam wandered off, and Will walked in, to ask her if she'd packed his cleats, because he needed them for practice.

“If either of you touch the bags I've packed again, I'm warning you both, I'm going to kill you.” Ashley looked at her as though she was weird, and Will rushed back upstairs to find his own shoes.

Their mother had been testy all morning. In fact, she was sad to see them both going. She counted on them now, more than she ever had, for company and distraction, and it was going to be lonely with only Sam home. She suspected that he was feeling it too, which was why he had balked at camp. She reminded him then of the Fourth of July picnic they were going to in Napa. She thought it would be fun for him, and he even looked unenthusiastic about that. He was going to miss his sister and brother. Will was leaving for three weeks, and Ashley for two. It seemed like an eternity to both Sam and Fernanda.

“They'll be back before you know it,” Fernanda reassured him. But she said it as much to comfort herself, as him. And outside, Peter was doing some mourning of his own. In six days they were going to make their move, and his part in her life would be over. Maybe they would meet somewhere one day, and with luck, she would never know the part he had played in the horror that was about to strike her. He had fantasies about running into her, or following her again, just so he could see her. He had been following her for over a month now. And she had never for a single second sensed it. Nor had the children. He had been careful and wise, as had Carl Waters on the weekends. Waters was far less enchanted with her than he was. He thought her life incredibly mundane and boring, and wondered how she stood it. She hardly went anywhere, and wherever she did go, she took her children. It was precisely that that Peter loved about her.

“She ought to thank us for taking those kids off her hands for a week or two,” Waters had commented to Peter one Saturday. “Christ, the woman never goes anywhere without them.”

“You have to admire her for that,” Peter said quietly. He did certainly, but Carl Waters didn't.

“No wonder her husband died. The poor bastard must have died of boredom,” Carl muttered. He thought tailing her had been the dullest part of the assignment, unlike Peter, who loved it.

“Maybe she went out more before she was widowed,” Peter commented, and Waters shrugged, as he turned the car over to Peter, and headed for the bus station to go back to Modesto. He was glad the surveillance was almost over and they could get on with it. He was anxious to get his hands on the money. Addison had proved to be true to his word. He, Stark, and Free had each received their one hundred thousand dollars. It was locked in suitcases, in lockers at the bus terminal in Modesto, where they'd put it for safekeeping. They were going to take it with them when they left for Tahoe. Everything was ready. And the clock was ticking.

All had gone on schedule so far, and Peter had assured Addison it would continue to do so. He anticipated no glitches, on their end at least. The first problem they encountered unexpectedly emanated not from them, but from Addison. He was sitting at his desk, dictating to his secretary, when two men walked in, holding their badges up to him, and informed him that he was under arrest. The secretary ran out of the room, crying, and no one stopped her, as Phillip looked at them and didn't so much as blink.

“That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard,” he said calmly, with a wry look on his face. He thought the visit had something to do with his crystal meth laboratories; if so, it was the first time his underworld life had crossed over into his serious business. The men still holding out their badges were wearing plaid shirts and blue jeans. One was Hispanic, and the other was African American, and he had no idea what they wanted. As far as he knew, his drug business was running smoothly. Nothing was traceable to him, and the people running it were totally efficient.

“You're under arrest, Addison,” the Hispanic man repeated, and Phillip Addison started laughing.

“You must be joking. What in God's name for?” He looked anything but worried.

“Apparently, there's been a little funny business with transfers of monies. You've been running cash across state lines in large amounts. It looks like you've been laundering money,” the agent explained, feeling slightly ridiculous himself. The two agents had been doing some undercover work on another case that morning, and hadn't had time to change before they were sent to Addison's office. Given his casual reception of them, they felt a little foolish, and as though they should have looked more official, in order to intimidate him, or at least impress him. Addison just sat there and smiled at them, as though they were badly behaved children.

“I'm sure my attorneys can handle this, without your having to arrest me. Would either of you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you,” the black agent said politely. They were both young agents. And the special agent in charge of the investigation had told them not to underestimate Addison. There was more to him than met the eye, which both of the younger agents had assumed meant he might be armed and dangerous, which obviously he wasn't.

The young Hispanic agent read him his rights, as Phillip realized they weren't cops, they were FBI, which he found slightly more disturbing, although he didn't show it. In fact, the arrest was a stretch, but their superiors were hoping more would come out in the investigation. They'd been keeping an eye on him for a long time. They knew something was wrong, but they weren't entirely sure what, and they were using what they had.

“I'm sure there must be some mistake here, Officer… er…I mean, Special Agent.” Even the title sounded foolish to him, and very cops-and-robbers.

“Maybe there is, but we still have to take you to the office. You're under arrest, Mr. Addison. Shall we cuff you, or will you come with us under your own steam?” Phillip had no intention of being dragged out of his office in handcuffs, and he stood up, looking angry, and no longer amused. However youthful they looked, the two agents apparently meant business.

“Do you have any idea what you're doing? Do you realize the lawsuit I could slap you with, for false arrest and defamation of character?” Phillip was suddenly in a white fury. As far as he knew, they had absolutely no reason to arrest him. Or surely none that they knew of.

“We're just doing our job, sir,” the black agent, Special Agent Price, said politely. “Will you come with us now, sir?”

“As soon as I call my attorney.” He dialed his lawyer's phone number, while the two agents stood on the other side of his desk and waited. Phillip told him what had happened. He promised to meet Phillip in the FBI office in half an hour, and advised him to go with the two agents. It was going to take Phillip at least a half hour to get from San Mateo to the city. The warrant for Phillip's arrest had been filed by the U.S. Attorney, and there was mention of tax evasion in the complaint, for some ridiculous amount. This was the last thing Phillip wanted. “I'm leaving for Europe in three days,” he said, looking outraged as they escorted him out of his office. His secretary had vanished, but he could tell from the looks on people's faces as they watched him leave that she had told everyone what had happened. He was livid.

When he got to the FBI office and was greeted by Special Agent Rick Holmquist, the agent in charge, he was more so. He was under investigation for tax evasion, tax fraud, and transporting funds illegally across state lines. This was no small matter, nor were they prepared to make light of it. And when his attorney arrived, he advised Phillip to cooperate fully. He was being formally charged by the U.S. Attorney, and the FBI had been assigned to handle the investigation. He was asked to step into a locked room with his attorney and Special Agent Holmquist, who did not look in the least amused, nor cowed by Phillip's grandeur. And his claims of innocence and outrage didn't impress him either. In fact, there was absolutely nothing about Phillip Addison that Special Agent Holmquist liked, not the least of which was the condescending way he had treated his agents.

Special Agent Holmquist allowed attorney and client to confer, and after that he spent three hours interrogating Phillip, and wasn't satisfied by any means with Phillip's answers. Holmquist had signed an order for the search of his offices, which was already under way while they were speaking. A federal judge had signed the search warrant requested by the U.S. Attorney. They had some serious questions in their minds about the legitimacy of Addison's business, and suspected that he might be laundering money, maybe even by the millions. As usual, a paid informant had tipped them off, but this one at an interestingly high level. And Phillip nearly burst an artery when he heard that at that exact moment, half a dozen FBI agents were searching his office.

“Can't you do something about this? This is an outrage!” he shouted at his lawyer, who shook his head, and explained to him that if the search warrant was in order, which it was apparently, there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

“I'm leaving for Europe on Friday,” he told them, as though he expected them to put their investigation on hold while he left on vacation.

“That remains to be seen, Mr. Addison,” Holmquist said politely. He had dealt with men like him before, and always thought them extremely unpleasant. In fact, he enjoyed playing with them whenever possible. And he had every intention of tormenting Phillip, after they booked him of course. He knew that whatever bail they set for him, given the size of his net worth, he would be out in minutes. But until bail was set, he had all the opportunity he wanted to question Phillip.

Holmquist spent the rest of the afternoon interrogating him. After which, he was formally booked, and informed that it was too late in the day for a federal judge to set bail. He would have to cool his heels in jail for the night, and could only be released after a hearing to set bail at nine o'clock the next morning. Phillip Addison was beyond outraged, and there was nothing his lawyer could do to help him. Addison was still unclear about what had set the investigation off in the first place. It appeared to be a matter of irregular debits and deposits and money disappearing over state lines, notably to a bank where he had an account under another name in Nevada, and the government wanted to know why, what he was doing with it, and where the money came from. He knew by now it had nothing to do with his crystal meth labs. All the money he used to run those came from an account he kept in Mexico City under another name, and the proceeds went into several numbered Swiss accounts. This current situation truly appeared to be a matter of tax evasion. Agent Holmquist said that over eleven million dollars had come in and out of the Nevada account in the past several months, and mostly out, and from what they'd been told, he had never paid taxes on any of it, nor on the interest. Phillip continued to look unconcerned as they took him away to a cell for the night, although he gave a look of fury to both Holmquist and his attorney.

Holmquist met with the agents who had searched his offices after that, and nothing much had turned up. They had gone through computers and files, which would be used as evidence against him. They had brought boxloads of them back to the office. They had also unlocked his desk, and found a loaded handgun in it, a number of personal files, and four hundred thousand dollars in cash, which Holmquist found interesting. That was a lot of cash for the average businessman to keep in his desk drawer, and they said he had no permit for the gun. They had two boxes with everything they'd found in Phillip's desk, and one of the agents handed them to Holmquist.

“What do you want me to do with this?” Rick looked at them, and the agent who had handed it to him said he thought he'd want to go through it. Rick was going to tell them to put the boxes with the rest of the evidence, and at the last minute thought better of it, and carried them into his office.

The gun had been put in a plastic evidence bag, and there were several plastic envelopes with small scraps of paper in them, and for no reason in particular, he started to read through them. There were notes with names and phone numbers on them, and he noticed that two of them had the name Peter Morgan on them, but the phone numbers were different. He was halfway through the second box when he found the file on Allan Barnes, which spanned three years of his career, and was as thick as the San Francisco phone book. It seemed like an odd file for him to keep, Holmquist thought to himself, and set it aside. He wanted to ask Addison about it. There were several photographs of Barnes from old magazine and newspaper articles, and there was even one of Barnes with his wife and children. It was almost as though Addison were obsessed with him, or even jealous. The rest of what Rick found in the boxes was meaningless to him. But might mean something to the U.S. Attorney's office. They had used master keys to open all his desk drawers, and the special agents who'd gone through them assured Rick that when they left Addison's office, his desk was empty. They had brought everything back with them, and seized it all as evidence, even his cell phone, which he had forgotten to take with him.

“If he has a phone book in it, remember to mark those numbers down too.”

“We already did.” One of the agents smiled at him.

“Anything interesting?”

“It's all the same stuff that was in his desk. Some guy called Morgan called while we were working on it, and when I said I was FBI, he hung up.” The agent laughed, and so did Holmquist.

“I'll bet he did.” But the name struck him again. His name and number were on the two pieces of paper from Phillip's desk, and he was obviously someone he spoke to regularly, if he had called looking for Phillip. It was probably nothing, but it was one of those odd instincts he had sometimes, like a tic, that gnawed at him and clicked later. He had a sixth sense about the name. It stuck in his mind, and for some reason he couldn't forget it.

It was after seven when Rick Holmquist left his office that night. Phillip Addison was in custody for the night. His lawyer had stopped harassing them to make an exception and let him out, and he had finally gone home. Most of the agents were gone by that hour. Rick's girlfriend was out of town, and on his way home, Rick decided to call Ted Lee. They had been best friends since they had gone through the police academy together, and been partners for fifteen years. Rick had always wanted to join the FBI, and the cut-off was thirty-five. He had just made it by joining at thirty-three. And he had been a special agent now for fourteen years. He had another six to go before he retired at fifty-three, after twenty years with the FBI at that point. Ted liked reminding him that he only had a year before he could retire with thirty, but neither of them intended to retire anytime soon. They both still loved what they did, Ted even more than Rick. A lot of what Rick did for the FBI was tedious, the paperwork nearly killed him sometimes. And there were times, like tonight, when he wished he was still working with Ted at SFPD. He hated people like Addison. They wasted his time, their lies were less convincing than they thought, and their attitudes disgusting.

Ted answered his cell phone on the first ring, and smiled as soon as he heard Rick. They had dinner or lunch religiously once a week, and had for the last fourteen years. It was the best way for them to stay in touch.

“What are you? Bored?” Holmquist teased. “You sure picked up quick. It must be a dead night downtown.”

“It's quiet tonight,” Ted admitted. Sometimes it was nice that way. And Jeff Stone, his partner, was out sick. “What about you?” Ted had his feet on his desk. He was doing paperwork on a robbery that had happened the day before. But other than that, Rick was right. He was bored.

“I had one of those days that make me wonder why I left the force. I'm just leaving the office. I handled more paper today than a printing press. We busted a real sonofabitch for tax evasion and laundering money. He was one incredible pompous prick.”

“Anyone I know? We get a few of those too.”

“Not like this. Give me an assault and robbery or a shooter any day. You've probably heard of him. Phillip Addison, he's head of a bunch of corporations, and he's a big-deal socialite. He has about two hundred businesses, that are probably all fronts for the taxes he doesn't pay.”

“He is a big fish,” Ted commented. It always struck him as odd when people like that got arrested, but they did sometimes. It happened to them too. “What did you do with him? Let him out on bail, I assume,” Ted teased Rick. Suspects like that usually had a battalion of lawyers or one very good one. Very few of the people Rick arrested were flight risks, except for the guys carrying weapons or drugs over state lines. But the paper pushers and the tax evaders always bailed.

“He's cooling his heels in jail tonight. By the time he stopped talking, none of the judges were around to set bail.” Rick Holmquist laughed, and Ted grinned. The irony of a man like Addison spending a night in jail amused them both.

“Peg's in New York with her sister. You want to grab something to eat? I'm too tired to cook,” Rick suggested as Ted glanced at his watch. It was still early, and other than his robbery reports, he had nothing else to do. He had his beeper, his radio, and his cell phone on. If they needed him, they could find him, and he'd come in. There was no reason why he shouldn't have dinner with Rick.

“I'll meet you at Harry's in ten minutes.” Ted suggested a familiar haunt. It was a hamburger joint they had gone to for years. They would give them a quiet table in the back, as they always did, so they could talk quietly. There would be only a few stragglers left at that hour. Most of the business they did at night was at the bar.

Rick was already there when Ted arrived, and he was relaxing at the bar with a beer. He was going off duty so he could drink. Ted never did. He needed his wits about him when he was working.

“You look like shit,” Ted said with a grin, when he saw his friend. Actually he looked fine, just tired. It had been a long day for him, and Ted's was just beginning.

“Thanks, you too,” Rick returned the compliment, and they settled down at a corner table and ordered two steaks. It was nearly eight o'clock by then. Ted was on duty until midnight. They ate their steaks and talked about work until nine-thirty. And then Rick remembered something.

“Listen, do me a favor. It's probably nothing. I had one of those weird hunches I get sometimes. They're usually bullshit, but once in a while they pay off. There were a couple of pieces of paper in this guy's desk today, with a name on it. I don't know why, but it grabbed me, like I was meant to see that or something.” The fact that the name appeared twice told Rick it might be something.

“Don't go Twilight Zone on me,” Ted said, and rolled his eyes. Rick had a profound respect for his own intuition, and sometimes he was right. But not often enough for Ted to trust it completely. But he had nothing else to do. “So what's the name? I'll run it for you when I go back. You can come with me, if you want.” They could see if the person in question had a rap sheet of arrests, or a prison record with the state.

“Yeah, maybe I will hang around while you check. I hate going home when Peg's away. This is bad, Ted. I think I've gotten used to her.” As he said it, he looked worried. He'd managed to stay single in the years since his divorce, and liked it that way. But as he'd said to Ted a lot recently, this girl was different. They had even vaguely discussed marriage.

“I told you you're going to wind up marrying her. You might as well. She's a good woman. You could do a lot worse.” And had frequently. He had a weakness for loose women, but this one wasn't.

“That's what she says.” He grinned. Rick paid the check since it was his turn, and the two men walked back to Ted's office. Rick had jotted down the name with both phone numbers and handed it to Ted. He had checked for federal charges on him, but there were none. But sometimes what the feds didn't have, the state did.

When they got back to his office, Ted fed the name into the computer, and poured them each a cup of coffee while they waited, and Rick talked about Peg in glowing terms. He was obviously crazy about her. Ted was pleased to hear how serious Rick was about her these days. As long as he was married, he thought everyone else should be. And Rick had been avoiding that for ages.

They were still drinking coffee when the computer spat the answer out at them. Ted glanced at it, and raised an eyebrow as he handed it to Rick.

“Your tax evasion guy has some interesting friends. Morgan got out of Pelican Bay six weeks ago. He's on parole in San Francisco.”

“What did he do time for?” Rick took the printout from him and read it carefully. All of Peter Morgan's charges were there, along with the name of his parole agent, and the address of a halfway house in the Mission. “What do you suppose Mr.-Fancy-Pants-Social-Leader-of-the-Community is doing with a guy like this?” Rick said aloud, as much to himself as to Ted. It was a new piece of the puzzle.

“Hard to say. You never know why people hook up. Maybe he knew him before he went to prison, and the guy called him when he got out. Maybe they're friends,” Ted said, as he poured them both another round of coffee.

“Maybe so.” There were bells going off in Rick's head, and he had no idea why, as he looked at Ted. “He had a lot of strange stuff in his desk. A loaded gun notably, four hundred thousand bucks in cash, for pocket money apparently. And a file on a guy called Allan Barnes that was about three inches thick. He even had a picture of Barnes's wife and kids.” This time Ted looked at him strangely. The name had struck a chord with him.

“That's weird. I met them about a month ago. Cute kids.”

“Don't give me that. I saw the photograph. She looks pretty cute too. What got you to her?” Rick was well aware of who they were. Allan Barnes had made the front page often enough for his deals and meteoric success. He wasn't like Addison, flaunting himself in the social columns for going to the opening of the symphony. Allan Barnes was an entirely different breed, and there had never been any rumors of monkey business around him. He had appeared to be a straight shooter till the end. Rick had never read otherwise, nor had Ted. There had never been any question of tax evasion, and he was surprised to hear Ted had met his widow. That was a pretty fancy group of people for Ted to meet in the line of duty.

“There was a car bombing up the street,” Ted explained.

“Where do they live? Hunter's Point?” Rick teased.

“Don't be such a smart-ass. They live in Pacific Heights. Someone hit Judge McIntyre's car, about four days after Carlton Waters got out of prison.” And then Ted looked at Rick strangely. Something had just clicked for him too. “Let me see that printout again.” Rick handed it back to him, and Ted reread it. Peter Morgan had been in Pelican Bay too, and had gotten out at the same time as Carlton Waters. “You're making me feel Twilight Zone too. Waters was in Pelican Bay. I wonder if these two guys know each other. Was there anything in your guy's desk with Waters's name on it?” That would have been too much to ask, and Rick shook his head. Ted noticed the date of Peter Morgan's release then, and fed something else into the computer. When he got it, he looked at his friend. “Waters and Morgan got out on the same day.” It probably didn't mean anything, but it was an interesting coincidence certainly. Although Ted knew it probably meant nothing.

“I hate to say it, but it probably doesn't mean shit,” Rick said sensibly. And Ted knew that more than likely, he was right. As a cop, you couldn't get carried away by coincidences. Once in a while, they panned out, but the rest of the time they went nowhere. “So what happened with the car bombing?”

“Nothing. We don't have anything on it yet. I went up to see Waters in Modesto, just for the hell of it, and to let him know we were paying attention. I don't think he had anything to do with it. He's not that stupid.”

“You never know. Stranger things have happened. Did you run it all through the computer to see if any of the judge's other fans had just gotten out?” But knowing Ted, Rick was sure he had. He had never worked with anyone as thorough and persistent as Ted Lee. He often wished he had been able to convince him to come to the FBI with him. Some of the people Rick worked with there drove him nuts. And he still missed working with Ted. They traded a lot of information, and talked about their cases with each other frequently. More than once, in fact many times, they had cracked a case together, just by talking it out. Even now they used each other as sounding boards, as they had tonight, and it always helped them. “You still didn't tell me what the Barnes woman had to do with the car bombing. I assume she wasn't a suspect.” Rick smiled at him, and Ted shook his head, amused. They loved teasing each other.

“She lives down the block from Judge McIntyre. One of her kids was looking out the window, and I showed him Waters's mug shot the next day. Nothing. He didn't recognize him. We came up cold. So far, no leads.”

“I gather she wasn't a lead,” Rick teased again, with a meaningful look. He loved doing that to him. And Ted always gave it right back. Particularly about Peg. She was the first serious romance Rick had had in years. Maybe ever. Ted knew nothing about that kind of thing. He had been faithful to Shirley since they were kids, which Rick always told him was sick. But he admired him for it, although he had known for years from things Ted said, and didn't, that their marriage wasn't all that it used to be. At least they were still together, and they loved each other in their own way. You could hardly expect it to be exciting after twenty-eight years, and it wasn't.

“I didn't say anything about her,” Ted pointed out to him. “I said the kids were cute.”

“So no car bombing suspect, I gather,” Rick commented, and Ted shook his head.

“Not a one. It was interesting to see Waters though. He's a tough customer. He seems to be keeping his nose clean, for now at least. He wasn't too happy with my visit.”

“Tough shit,” Rick said bluntly. He had no use for convicts like Carlton Waters. He knew who he was and didn't like anything he'd read about him.

“Those were pretty much my sentiments on the subject.” And as Ted said it, Rick looked at him again. There was something rolling around in his head. He couldn't figure out the connection between Peter Morgan and Phillip Addison, and it was bothering him. And the fact that Carlton Waters had gotten out on the same day as Morgan probably meant nothing. But it had just occurred to him that it might not hurt to have a look. And as a parolee, Peter Morgan was in Ted's jurisdiction.

“Will you do me a favor? I can't justify sending one of my boys over. Can you send someone out to Morgan's halfway house tomorrow? He's on parole, you don't need a search warrant to go through his stuff. You don't even need to clear it with his parole agent. You can go anytime you want. I just want to know if there's something there that ties him to Addison, or anyone else of interest. I don't know why, but I'm drawn to this guy, like a bee to honey.”

“Oh Christ, don't tell me the FBI has turned you gay.” Ted laughed at him, but he agreed to go. He had a certain amount of respect for Rick's instincts. They had panned out for both of them before, and it couldn't hurt this time. “I'll go tomorrow, when I get up. I'll call you if anything turns up.” He had nothing else to do in the morning, and with luck, Morgan would be out, which would make it easier to search. He'd have a look around his room, and see what he found there.

“Thanks a lot,” Rick said comfortably, picked up Morgan's printout, folded it, and put it in his pocket. It might come in handy at some point, particularly if Ted found something at the halfway house the next day.

But all Ted found when he got there was his forwarding address. The man at the desk told him that Morgan had moved out. Peter's parole agent had obviously not gotten around to updating the address in the computer, which was sloppy, but they were busy. Ted glanced at it and saw that it was a hotel in the Tenderloin, and determined to do what he'd promised Rick he would the night before, he went there. The clerk at the desk said Morgan was out. Ted showed him his star and asked for the key. The desk clerk wanted to know if he was in trouble, and Ted said it was a standard check of a parolee, which didn't seem to bother him. There had been others who had stayed there before. The desk clerk shrugged and handed Ted the key, and he walked upstairs.

The room he walked into was spare and neat. The clothes in the closet looked new. The papers on the desk were neatly stacked. There was nothing exceptional about the room. Morgan had no drugs, no weapons, no contraband. He didn't even smoke. And he had a fat address book sitting on the desk, held together by a rubber band. Ted flipped through it and found Addison's name and number under the A's. And when he rifled through the desk, two pieces of paper caught Ted's eye, and stopped him dead in his tracks. One had Carlton Waters's number in Modesto on it, and the other piece of paper made his blood run cold. On it was written Fernanda's address. There was no telephone number and no name. Only the address, but he recognized it immediately, even without a name. He closed the book and put the rubber band on it, closed the desk drawer, and after a last look around, he walked out of the room. And as soon as he got back to his car, he called Rick.

“Something smells. And I'm not sure what. In fact, I'm beginning to think it stinks.” Ted was worried, and he looked it. Why did a guy like Morgan have Fernanda's address? What was his connection to Waters, or had they just met in prison? But if so, why did he have his number in Modesto? And what was Addison doing with Morgan's telephone number? Why did Morgan have his? Why did Addison have a file three inches thick on Allan Barnes, and a photograph of Fernanda and the kids? Suddenly there were too many questions, and not enough answers. And two convicts, one of them convicted of murder, who had gotten out of prison on the same day. There were too many coincidences floating in the air. Rick could hear something in his voice that he hadn't heard in years. Ted was panicked, and he wasn't sure why.

“I just left Morgan's room,” he explained. “He's not living at the halfway house anymore. He's living in a hotel in the Tenderloin, and he's got a closet full of new clothes. I'm going to call his parole agent and find out if he got a job.”

“How do you suppose he knows Addison?” Rick asked with interest. He had just come from the hearing to set bail. Addison had gotten off nearly scot free, as far as bail went anyway. He had been asked to put up a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar bond, which was peanuts to him. And the judge was letting him leave for Europe with his family in two days. The federal investigation was still on, but his attorney said it could continue during his absence, it was the FBI's problem, not his, and the judge agreed. They had no doubt that Addison would return to San Francisco in four weeks. He had an empire to run. Rick had watched Addison drive off with his attorney, and he was intrigued by what Ted had found in Morgan's room.

“Maybe they're old friends. The ink on the entry with Addison's name and phone number looks old,” Ted explained. But why Carl Waters's phone number in Modesto? And Fernanda Barnes's address on a piece of paper? No phone number or name. Just the address.

“Why?” Rick echoed the single word in Ted's head.

“That's my point. I don't like this, and I'm not even sure why. Something's coming down, I can smell it, but I'm not even sure what it is.” And then he had a thought. “Can I come look at the file Addison has on Barnes?” Maybe something would turn up there. “And do me another favor,” Ted said, as he turned the key in the ignition. He was going straight to Rick's office to see the file, and whatever else Rick had. He was interested in it now. He had no idea what Fernanda had to do with this, but something told him that she was at the hub of the wheel. She was an obvious target for a lot of reasons. But Ted had no idea for what, or who was involved, let alone why. Maybe the answer was in that file.

“What's the favor?” Rick reminded him. Ted sounded distracted, and he was. He was trying to figure it out, and so far nothing had clicked. There were a lot of pieces flying around in midair. Morgan. Waters. Addison. Fernanda. The car bombing. And there were no obvious connections between any of them. Not yet.

“Check into Addison's finances for me. Go as deep as you can, and see what comes up,” Ted asked as he started the car. He knew Rick would be doing it anyway, but now Ted wanted it fast or as much as he could get in a short trip.

“We already did check, superficially anyway. That's why we arrested him yesterday. There's some smoky business in Nevada, some taxes he hasn't paid. A lot of money going back and forth across state lines.” There was no state tax in Nevada, so it was a haven for guys like Addison, with illegal money on his hands. “It's a lot of nickel-and-dime stuff right now. The worst he'll probably get is a stiff fine. I don't think he'll do time for this. He's got good lawyers,” Rick said, sounding disappointed. “We're still checking.” But they both knew it took time.

“I mean really look into it. Pull up the rug. Take the floor out of the car.”

“Literally?” Rick was stunned. He couldn't imagine what Ted was looking for. And neither could Ted at this point. But he had a powerful sixth sense something was there.

“No, not literally. I mean check him out thoroughly. I want to know what kind of money this guy has, and if he's in trouble anywhere. Shine a bright light on him. Not over the next two months. Find out everything you can now. I want whatever you can get, as fast as you can get it.” He knew how long their investigations could take, especially if they were about money, and lives weren't at stake. But maybe they were in this case. Maybe something else was going on. “Pull out all the stops. I'll be there in ten minutes,” Ted said as he sped downtown.

“It'll take me longer than that,” Rick said apologetically.

“How long?” Ted sounded anxious, and he himself didn't know why.

“Couple of hours. A day or two. I'll try to get you everything I can today.” He was going to have his agents contact the computer analysis and response team in Washington, D.C., and their informants in the underground financial network. But it all took time.

“Christ, you guys are slow. Do whatever you can. I'm halfway there. I'll be there in five.”

“Let me get started. You can read the file he has on Allan Barnes while we dig up whatever else we can. See you in a minute,” he said, and hung up.

By the time Ted walked into his office, Rick had the Barnes file on his desk, and he had three agents working full time on the computers and calling other agencies and a few select informants, to see what they could find out. It was what they had been planning to do on Addison anyway. He had just speeded it up. By a lot. And three hours later, as Ted and Rick sat talking over sandwiches, it paid off. All three agents walked into his office together and handed him a stack of papers.

“What's the bottom line?” Rick asked, looking at them. Ted had finished the Barnes file by then. There was nothing in it but articles and clippings about Allan Barnes's victories and accomplishments, and the single photograph of Fernanda and the kids.

“Addison is thirty million in debt. The Titanic is going down,” one of the agents said. One of their best informants had turned out to be a gold mine.

“Shit,” Rick said, and looked at Ted. “That's quite a debt.”

“His holding company is in trouble,” one of the agents explained, “and he's managed to keep it quiet till now. But it won't stay quiet for long. He's got a juggling act going worthy of Ringling Brothers Circus. We think he's been investing funds for some South American connections. And his investments went bad. He's been borrowing from other companies he's got to cover them, he's got a shitload of bad debts. I think there's probably some credit card fraud at the shallow end. At the deep end, he's in so much trouble, my informant says he'll never bail out. He needs a huge influx of money to clean it up, and no one will give him any. My other informant says he's been laundering money for years. That's what the setup in Nevada is all about, and we have no idea why. But if you wanted to know if he's in trouble, he is. A lot of it. Deep, deep shit. If you want to know why and how, and who he's been investing for, it'll take time. And a lot of guys. This is the rough and dirty. We've still got a lot of checking to do. But it looks pretty bad.”

“I think that'll do it for now,” Rick said quietly, and thanked all three of them for the fast work, particularly with their informants. As soon as they left, he turned to Ted. “So what do you think?” He could see Ted's mind racing at full speed.

“I think we have a guy who we know is at least thirty million dollars in debt, maybe more. A woman whose husband left her roughly half a billion dollars, according to the press anyway, if you can believe what you read, and I don't. But even if she's worth half of that, she's a sitting duck, with three kids. You have two convicted felons who got out of the slammer six weeks ago, and seem to be floating around loose. They're both tied to Addison in some way and each other. And you have a car bombing down the street from our sitting duck. She's a victim waiting to be born, if you ask me, and so are those kids. You know what I think? I think Addison is after her, I think that's what that file is about. You could never pin it on him in court and make it stick, but something's happening, and if I really let my imagination run wild, I think Addison used Morgan as a conduit to Waters. Maybe now they're in it together, maybe not. I think Waters was watching her when he set the bomb on Judge McIntyre, if he did. And now I think he did. It's too big a coincidence that they just happen to live on the same street. He was probably there anyway, and figured he'd get a twofer for his time. Why not? It's shit luck the Barnes boy didn't recognize him, but you can't have everything all at once. I think what we're looking at here is a conspiracy against Fernanda Barnes. I know I sound like a lunatic, and I can't substantiate any of it, but that's what I think, and my gut says I'm right.”

Over the years, they had both learned to trust their guts, and they were seldom wrong. More than that, they had learned to trust each other's, and Rick did now. Everything Ted had just said made sense to him. In the criminal world, it was how people thought, and how things worked. But between knowing it and proving it there was often a dizzying leap over the abyss, and a lot of time. And sometimes the time it took to prove a theory could cost lives. If Ted was right, this one could. They had nothing to go on but instinct at this point, and there was nothing they could do for her, until someone made a move on her or her kids. It was all theory and intuition right now.

“What kind of a conspiracy?” Rick asked him seriously. He believed everything Ted had just said. They had been cops for too long to be entirely wrong. “To extort money from her?”

Ted shook his head. “Not with a guy like Waters hanging around. We're not talking white-collar crime. I think she's a kidnapping victim waiting to happen, and so are her kids. Addison needs thirty million dollars, and he needs it fast. She's worth five hundred million, or thereabouts. I don't like the way those two facts match up. Or Waters hanging around, if he is. And even if he isn't, that doesn't change the fact that Addison has a file on her the size of the Manhattan phone book. And a picture of her and the kids.”

Rick didn't like it either, but he just remembered something else. “He's leaving for Europe in two days. What the hell is he doing that for, if he's broke?”

“His wife probably doesn't know. And his leaving the country doesn't change anything. He's not going to do this himself. In my opinion, someone else is. And if he's out of the country when it happens, he has an airtight alibi. At least that's what he thinks, I'll bet. The question is who is doing this, and when, if I'm right.” And they didn't even know for sure what “this” was yet. But whatever it was, they both agreed, it was nothing good.

“Are you going to haul Morgan's ass in and talk to him?” Rick asked with interest. “Or Waters?” Ted shook his head.

“I don't want to tip them off. I want to wait and see what they do. But I want to warn her. I owe her that.”

“Do you think they'll let you put guys on her?”

“They might. I want to see the captain tonight. But I want to talk to her first. Maybe she's seen something, or knows something we don't, something she doesn't even know she knows.” They had both seen that before. You turned the dial just a little bit, and the whole picture came clear. Although Ted suspected the captain would think he was nuts. He'd been a good sport about going with Ted's hunches before, and they had paid off often enough. It was like money in the bank, and Ted was going to use it now. He was absolutely sure he was right. And so was Rick. He would have offered his FBI agents to help him out, but there wasn't enough to justify it for him. This was SFPD's baby for now. Although Addison had the file. Rick didn't think the U.S. Attorney would authorize him to assign agents to protect the Barnes family, but he was going to call him anyway, to keep him informed. There wasn't enough evidence against Addison to warrant a conspiracy-to-commit-kidnap charge against him. Yet. But Rick thought they were heading that way, and Ted looked scared as he stood up. He hated cases like this. Someone was going to get hurt. Unless they could do something about it, but he was not yet sure what. He wanted to discuss that with the captain, after he talked to her. He looked at Rick as he got ready to leave.

“Do you want to come with me, just for the hell of it? See what you think after we talk to her. I could use your head on this.” Rick nodded and followed him out. It had been a crazy two days in his office, and it had all started with Addison, a piece of paper in his desk with a name on it, and a file on Allan Barnes that made no sense. None of it did. But it was starting to. Rick and Ted had been at it for a long time. Together and apart. They knew the criminal mind. It was all about thinking the way they did, and being nearly as sick as they were. It was about being one step ahead of them all the time. Ted just hoped they were.

Ted called Fernanda from his cell phone, after he and Rick got in the car. Rick told his office he'd be gone for a couple of hours, which seemed reasonable. He really missed working with Ted. This was almost fun. But he didn't dare say that to Ted. Ted was too worried to be amused at the moment. Fernanda was home, and sounded breathless when she answered. She said she'd been packing for her son, who was leaving for camp.

“Is it about the car bombing again?” she asked, sounding distracted. He could hear loud music in the background, so he knew some of the kids were home. Ted hoped all of them were. He didn't want to frighten them, but she had to know. He wanted to tell her what he thought. Even if it scared her, she needed to be warned.

“It's not directly about the car bombing,” Ted said evasively. “It's indirectly related, but it's actually something else.” She said she'd be home when he arrived, and then they hung up.

Ted parked in her driveway, and glanced around as he walked up to the front door, wondering if they were watching her, if Waters or Morgan was somewhere in the street outside her house. In spite of that possibility, he had made a conscious decision to enter the house through the front visibly. There was no reason for Peter Morgan to recognize him, and even if he or Waters did, Ted had always preferred the theory of a visible police presence in circumstances like that as a deterrent. The FBI often preferred keeping out of sight, which Ted had always personally felt put victims in the position of being used as live bait.

Peter Morgan saw them go in. For a minute, he thought they looked like cops, and then decided he was crazy. There was no reason for cops to show up at her house. He was getting paranoid, because he knew the day was coming close. He also knew Addison had been arrested the day before, on Mickey Mouse charges connected to his taxes. Addison said he wasn't worried. He was still leaving for Europe on schedule, and their plans hadn't changed. Everything was in order, and whoever the guys were who had gone into her house, she seemed to know them. She smiled broadly at the Asian man who had rung the doorbell. Peter wondered if they were stockbrokers or attorneys, or people who managed her money. Sometimes money men looked like cops too. He didn't even bother to call Addison and tell him. There was no reason to, and he had told Peter not to call for a while, unless he had a problem, even though he said his cell phone couldn't be traced. But Peter's could. He hadn't had time to buy one of the ones Phillip had recommended, although he was planning to in the next week. And as Peter sat outside the house, thinking about it, Ted was sitting down with her in the living room. She had no idea why he had come to see her. And even less idea that in the next five minutes, what Ted Lee was going to say to her would change her life forever.

Chapter 12

When Fernanda opened the door to Ted and Rick, she smiled up at them for a moment and then stood aside to let them in. She noticed that Ted's partner was different this time, and there was an unmistakable ease and warmth between the two men, which seemed to extend itself to her. And she saw immediately that Ted looked concerned.

“Are the kids home?” Ted asked as she walked them into the living room, and she laughed. The music was blaring so loud from upstairs that it nearly shook the chandelier.

“I don't usually listen to that stuff myself.” She smiled and offered them something to drink, which they declined.

She noticed that there was an air of authority about the second man, and wondered if he was Ted's superior, or just someone to replace the partner he had brought with him before. Ted saw her looking at Rick, and explained that he was a special agent with the FBI and an old friend. She couldn't imagine what had brought the FBI into it, and was momentarily intrigued as Ted asked again if all the kids were at home, and she nodded.

“Will's leaving for camp tomorrow, if I can ever get him organized, and keep all his stuff in his bag long enough to get him out of here.” It was like packing an Olympic team, she'd never seen so much lacrosse equipment for one kid. “Ashley's leaving for Tahoe the day after tomorrow. Sam and I are going to hang out together for a couple of weeks.” And before they even left, she already missed Ashley and Will. It was going to be the first time that any of them had been apart since Allan's death, and being separated from them now was harder for her than it had ever been. She sat looking at the two men expectantly, wondering why they had come to see her. She had no clue.

“Mrs. Barnes, I'm here on a hunch,” Ted started cautiously. “That's all it is. An old cop's intuition. I think it's important. That's why we came. I could be wrong, but I don't think I am.”

“This sounds serious,” she said, frowning slowly, looking from one to the other. She couldn't imagine what it was. And until two hours ago, neither could they.

“I think it is. Police work is like putting a puzzle together, one of those ones with a thousand pieces, where about eight hundred of them are sky, and the rest are water. It all looks like nothing for a long time, and then little by little, you get a chunk of sky put together, or a little bit of ocean, and pretty soon enough starts to fit together, and you figure out what you're seeing. Right now, all we have is a piece of sky, a very small piece of it, but I don't like what I'm seeing.” For a crazy minute, she wondered what he was saying, and if she or the kids had done something wrong, although she knew they hadn't. But there was a vague, uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach as she looked at him. He seemed so earnest, and so concerned, and sincere. And she could see that Rick was watching her.

“Did we do something?” she asked openly, her eyes searching Ted's, and he shook his head.

“No. But I'm afraid someone might do something to you, that's why we're here. I have a feeling, that's all I have, but I'm sufficiently worried to come to you. This could be nothing, or it could be serious.” He took a breath, as she listened carefully, suddenly her whole being was on red alert, and he wanted it to be.

“Why would anyone want to do something to us?” She looked puzzled, as Ted realized how naïve she was. She had lived in a protective bubble all her life, particularly in recent years. In her world, people didn't do bad things, not the kind of things Ted and Rick knew about. She didn't know those kinds of people, and never had. But they knew her.

“Your husband was a very successful man. There are dangerous people out there. People with no scruples or morals, who prey on people like you. They're more dangerous than you can imagine, or want to believe. I think some of them may be watching you, or thinking about you. They may be doing more than thinking. I don't know anything for sure, but the pieces started falling into place for me a few hours ago. And I want to talk to you about it. I'll tell you what I know, and what I think, and we'll take it from there.” Rick was watching his old partner at work, as he listened to Ted talk to her, and as he always had, he admired his gentleness and style. He was forthright without being unduly frightening. He also knew Ted was going to tell her the truth, as he saw it. He always did. He believed in informing victims, and then giving his all to protect them. And Rick loved him for it. Ted was a man of dedication, integrity, and honor.

“You're scaring me,” Fernanda said softly, searching Ted's eyes to see how bad it was, and she didn't like what she saw.

“I know I am, and I'm sorry,” he said gently. He wanted to reach out and touch her to reassure her, but he didn't.

“Special Agent Holmquist arrested a man yesterday.” He glanced at Rick as he said it, and Rick nodded as Ted went on. “He runs a mammoth business. He is apparently successful, he's done some fancy footwork with his taxes, and he's probably been laundering money, which got him into trouble. I don't think anyone really knows the whole story on him yet. He's very social, he seems respectable. He has a wife and kids, and to the world at large, he appears to be a huge success.” She nodded, listening carefully, taking it all in. “We did some checking this morning, and things aren't always what they appear. He's thirty million dollars in debt. Possibly thirty million dollars of other people's money, and more than likely the people he's investing for are not honest, law-abiding people. They don't like losing money and will go after him. Things are closing in on him. According to our sources, he's desperate.”

“Is he in jail?” She recalled the beginning of the story, when Ted said he'd been arrested the day before.

“He's out on bail. It'll probably take a long time to get him to court. He has good lawyers, powerful connections, he's good at what he does. But underneath the surface, there's a giant mess. Probably worse than we think. He needs money to stay afloat, maybe even to stay alive, and fast. That kind of desperation makes people do crazy things.”

“What does he have to do with me?” It made no sense to her.

“I don't know yet. His name is Phillip Addison. Does that name mean anything to you?” He searched her face, but there was no sign of recognition as she shook her head.

“I think I've seen his name in the papers. But I've never met him. Maybe Allan knew him, or who he was. He knew a lot of people. But I've never met this man. I don't know him.”

Ted nodded thoughtfully, and went on. “He had a file in his desk. A big file, very big, about three or four inches thick, full of clippings about your husband. From the look of it, he was obsessed with him, and his success. Maybe he admired him, or thought he was a hero. But I suspect he followed everything your husband did.”

“I think a lot of people did,” Fernanda said with a sad smile. “He was every man's dream. Most people thought he just got lucky. He did. But it was some luck and a lot of skill. Most people don't realize that. He had a sixth sense for business, and high-risk deals. He took a lot of chances,” she said sadly, “but all most people see are the successes.” She didn't want to betray him by exposing his failures, which had been equally huge, in fact greater in the end. But to the naked eye, and those who read about him, Allan Barnes had been the personification of the American dream.

“I'm not sure why Addison kept that file on him. It goes back a lot of years. It may be innocent, but it may not be. It's very thorough. Maybe too thorough. He even has magazine and newspaper pictures of your husband, and one of you and the kids.”

“Is that why you're worried?”

“Partly. It's a little piece of that puzzle right now, a piece of sky. Maybe two pieces. We found a name in his desk. Special Agent Holmquist did. And old cops have good instincts, sometimes they don't even know why. They're used to seeing something that looks like nothing, and bells go off. Bells went off for him. We checked the guy out, the name on the piece of paper is Peter Morgan. He's an ex-con. He got out of prison a few weeks ago. He's a small-time operator, but kind of an interesting guy. He graduated from Duke, got an MBA from Harvard, went to the right prep schools before that. His mother married money, or something like that.” He had read Peter's probation report, and all of that was in it, which was how Ted knew of it. He had read everything before he came to her. “He got himself in some trouble working in a brokerage house when he got out of Harvard, switched to investment banking, and married well. He married the daughter of the head of the firm, had a couple of kids, and started getting in trouble again. He got into drugs, started dealing, or using heavily, which probably led him into dealing. He embezzled some money, did a lot of stupid stuff, his wife left him, he lost custody and visitation of his kids, and came out here. And made a bigger mess. Eventually, he got arrested for dealing drugs. He was a small-time operator fronting for bigger fish, and he took the fall for them. But he deserved it. He sounds like a bright guy gone wrong. It happens. Sometimes people with the best opportunities do everything in their power to screw them up. He did. He spent just over four years in prison. He had a job working for the warden, who seems to think he's a great guy. I have no idea what his connection is to Addison, but he had Morgan's name written down twice. I don't know why. And Addison's name is in Morgan's address book. It looks like an old entry, not a new one.

“A few weeks ago Morgan was living in a halfway house, without a penny to his name. Now he's living in a second-rate hotel in the Tenderloin, with new clothes in his closet. I wouldn't call it a windfall, but he seems to be doing okay. We checked, he has a car, he's paying his rent, he hasn't gotten into trouble since he got out, and he has a job. We don't know about his connection with Addison. They may have known each other before he went to prison, or Morgan may have met him more recently. But something about that connection doesn't feel right to me, and it didn't to Special Agent Holmquist either.

“The other thing I don't like is that Morgan got out of prison on the same day as a man named Carlton Waters. I don't know if that rings any bells for you. He's been in prison for murder since he was seventeen years old. He's written a number of articles about his innocence, he tried to get a pardon a few years ago, and didn't. He lost on appeal several times. He finally got out after serving twenty-four years. He and Morgan were both in Pelican Bay prison, at the same time, and got out on the same day. We haven't connected Addison to Waters, but Morgan had Waters's number in his room. There's a link between these people, maybe a very thin link, but it's there. We can't ignore it.”

“Isn't that the man you showed us the mug shot of, after the car bombing?” The name sounded familiar to her, and Ted nodded.

“That's the one. I went to see him in Modesto, where he's living in a halfway house. And it may not mean anything, but I don't like the fact that you're living on the same street where I think he put a bomb under Judge McIntyre's car. I have absolutely no evidence, but I have my gut. My gut tells me he did it. Why was he here? For the judge, or for you? Maybe he decided to kill two birds with one stone. Have you noticed anyone watching you, or following you, a face that has turned up more than once? A strange coincidence of someone you keep running into?” She shook her head, and he made a mental note to himself to show her Morgan's mug shots. “I'm not certain, but my instincts tell me you're part of this somehow. Morgan had your address on a scrap of paper in his hotel room. Addison was fascinated by your husband, and maybe with you. I'm worried about that file. Addison is linked to Morgan. And Morgan is linked to Waters. And Morgan had your address. These are bad people. Waters is as bad as it gets. He and his buddy killed two people, no matter what he says, for two hundred dollars and some small change. He's dangerous, Addison is desperate for money, and Morgan is a small-time crook, and possibly the link between the other two. We have a car bombing, no suspect we can nail it on, and I think Waters did it, although I can't prove it.” Listening to himself, his suspicions sounded far-fetched, even to him, and he was afraid he probably appeared totally insane to her. But he knew with his entire being that something was wrong, very wrong, and something bad was about to happen, and he wanted to convey the seriousness of that to her. “I think what clinches it for me here is that Addison needs money. A lot of it. Thirty million dollars in a very short time before his ship goes down. And I'm worried about what he and the others may do to get that money for him. I don't like the file on your husband, or the photograph of you and your children.”

“Why would he go after me, because he needs money?” she asked with a look of innocence that made Rick Holmquist smile. She was a pretty woman and he liked her, she seemed like a genuine and kind person, and she obviously felt comfortable with Ted, but she had been so protected all her life that she had no idea what kind of danger she could be in. It was impossible for her to imagine. She had never in her life been exposed to people like Waters, Addison, and Morgan.

“You're sitting here like a prize,” Ted explained. “For people as unscrupulous as this, you're a gold mine. Your husband left you a lot of money, you have no one to protect you. All they see you as, I think, is a cash box they can run off with to solve their problems. If they can get their hands on you, or your kids, they may figure that to you, thirty million dollars, or even fifty, would mean nothing. People like this get delusional, they believe their own fantasies and stories. They talk to each other in prison, they dream of things they think they can pull off. Who knows what Addison told them, or what they told each other? We can only imagine it. They may figure it's no big deal to you, or there's nothing wrong with it. All they know is violence, and if that's what they have to use to get what they want, they figure it's worth it. They don't think like you and me. Maybe Addison doesn't even know what they have in mind. Sometimes people like him get a ball rolling that gets out of control, and the next thing you know, people are hurt, or worse. I can't show you anything concrete to prove what I think, but I can tell you that something is wrong with this picture. Suddenly there is a lot of sky on the table, and I think there's a storm coming, maybe even a very bad one. I don't like what I'm seeing.” Even more than that, he didn't like what he was feeling.

“You're telling me that you think the children and I are in danger?” She wanted to get this straight and hear it clearly from him. It was so inconceivable to her that she needed a minute to absorb it, and sat there looking pensive as the two men watched her.

“Yes, I am,” Ted said simply. “I think one or all of these guys, and maybe even others, are after you. They may be watching you, and I think something ugly could happen. There's a lot of money at stake here, and they probably don't see why you should have all that, and they'd be more than happy to take it from you.” She had understood him.

She looked straight into Ted's eyes then, and spoke clearly. “There is none.”

“None what? No danger?” His heart sank as he realized that she didn't believe him. She obviously thought he was crazy.

“No money,” she said simply.

“I don't understand. What do you mean, no money?” She clearly had a lot of it. The others didn't. They all understood that much.

“I have no money. None. Zero. We've managed to keep everything out of the press, for my husband's sake, but we can't cover for him forever. He had lost everything he'd ever made, in fact, he was hundreds of millions of dollars in debt. He committed suicide, or let something happen to him in Mexico, we'll never know, because he couldn't face it. His whole world was about to implode, and it has. There's nothing left. I've been selling everything since he died, the plane, the boat, houses, co-ops, my jewelry, art. And I'm putting this house on the market in August. We have nothing. I don't even have enough in the bank to live on till the end of the year. I may have to take the kids out of their schools.” She looked at Ted dispassionately as she said it. She had lived with the shock of it all for so long, that after five months of constant panic over it, she was numb. This was just where her life was now. She was adjusting to it. It was the situation Allan had left her with, whether she liked it or not. And she would still rather have had him than all the money he had lost. She didn't care about the money, what she missed most was him. But in addition, he had certainly left her in dire circumstances, and Ted looked stunned.

“Are you telling me that there is no money? No investments, no nest egg somewhere, a few million in a Swiss bank account?” It seemed as impossible to him as it once had to her.

“I'm telling you we can't buy shoes. I'm telling you I won't have money for groceries by November. After I settle this mess, I have to get a job. Right now, just orchestrating what we sell and how we do it, and how we juggle the debts and the taxes and the rest of it, is full-time work. What I'm telling you, Detective Lee, is that we have nothing. All we have left is this house, and if we're lucky, whatever we sell it for may cover the last of my husband's personal debts, if I'm fortunate enough to get a big price for it and whatever is in it. His attorneys are going to declare bankruptcy on the corporate side, which will get us off the hook. But even at that, it may take me years, and a lot of clever attorneys I can no longer afford, to dig us out. If Mr. Addison thinks he's going to get thirty million dollars out of me, or even thirty thousand, he's going to be very disappointed. Maybe someone should tell him,” she said, looking small and dignified as she sat on the couch.

There was nothing pathetic, or even embarrassed about her. She was very real. And Rick Holmquist was impressed, as was Ted. Talk about a rags-to-riches story, and riches-to-rags just as quickly. She was a hell of a good sport about it, as far as they were concerned. Her husband had left her holding one hell of a bag, with nothing in it. And she didn't even say anything critical of him. As far as Ted was concerned, she was a saint. Particularly if what she was saying was true, and she hardly had enough to feed her kids. He and Shirley were in much better shape than she was, and they both had jobs and each other. But what upset him about what she had just told him was that her situation was even more dangerous than he had thought. The world perceived her as having hundreds of millions of dollars, which made her an automatic target, like a bull's-eye painted on a barn, when in fact she had nothing, which was going to make someone crazed and even more violent, if she got grabbed, or the kids did.

“If someone kidnaps me or the children, they're not going to get ten cents,” she said simply. “There's nothing to pay. And no one who would. Allan and I had no family to speak of, except each other, and there's just no money anywhere. Believe me, I've looked. They could have my house, but that's about it. No cash.” She had no pretensions about it, and made no apology for it. And what Ted found himself loving about her as he listened to her, as much as her dignity, was her quiet grace. “I guess we haven't done ourselves a favor by keeping it out of the press. But I thought I owed Allan that, for as long as I could. The letter he left was so distraught and full of shame. I wanted to preserve the legend for him as long as I could. But eventually, it'll get out. Very soon, I think. There's just no way to keep it quiet. He lost everything. He risked it all on bad deals, made some terrible assumptions and calculations. I don't know what happened. Maybe he lost his mind, or his insight, or it all went to his head, or he thought he was invincible. But he wasn't. No one is. He made some terrible mistakes.” It was a polite understatement, considering the fact that he had left his wife and children penniless, and hundreds of millions in debt. He'd had quite a fall. And she and the kids were the ones paying for it. It took a few minutes for Ted to absorb it, and the implications for her, particularly now.

“What about the children?” Ted asked, trying not to look as panicked as he felt. “Is there some kind of kidnap insurance policy on them, or you?” He knew they existed, and assumed they came out of Lloyd's of London. But he knew that people like Allan had them, in case they or some family member got kidnapped. There were even policies for extortion.

“There's nothing. All our policies have lapsed. We don't even have health insurance right now, although my lawyer is trying to get some for us. And our insurance company told us that they're not going to pay up on Allan's life insurance. The letter he left is too damning, and makes it look like a suicide, which we assume it was. The police found the letter. And I don't think we ever had kidnapping insurance. I don't think my husband thought we were at risk.” God knows he should have, Ted thought, and Rick silently echoed his thoughts. With the kind of money he had made, and so publicly, they were at risk for everything. Even Fernanda and the kids. Maybe especially them. His family was his Achilles' heel, as they were for anyone in his position. Apparently, he didn't notice, which made Ted feel suddenly angry, although he didn't show it. But he didn't like any of what he'd been hearing, for a number of reasons, and neither did Rick Holmquist.

“Mrs. Barnes,” Ted said quietly, “I think this puts you at even greater risk. As far as these men or anyone else knows, you look like you have a lot of money. Anyone would assume that. And in fact, you don't. I think the faster we can get that word out there, the better off you'll be. Although people may not believe it. Most people won't, I think. But right now, you've got the worst of all possible worlds. You look like a major target, and you've got nothing to back it up. And I think the danger here is very real. These men are up to something. I don't know what. I don't even know how many of them might be in it, but I think they're cooking up something. These are three very bad guys, and who knows who else they've been talking to. I don't want to panic you, but I think you and your children are in grave danger.” Fernanda sat very quietly for a long moment, looking at him, and trying to be brave, and for the first time, her facade of calm strength began to crack, and her eyes filled with tears.

“What am I going to do?” she whispered, as the music continued to blare from upstairs, and both men looked at her uncomfortably, not sure what to do for her. She was in a major mess. Thanks to her husband. “What can I do to protect my kids?”

Ted took a long breath. He knew he was speaking out of turn, he hadn't talked to his captain yet, but he felt desperately sorry for her, and he trusted his instincts. “That's our job. I haven't talked to my captain yet. Rick and I came straight here from the FBI office. But I'd like to put a couple of my men here for a week or two, till we check this out further, and see what they do. Maybe this is all fantasy on my part. But I think it's worth keeping an eye on you. I'll see how the captain feels about it, but I think we can commit a couple of men to this detail. I have a feeling someone may be watching you.” Rick nodded. He agreed. “What about you?” Ted turned to him, and Rick looked uncomfortable. “Addison is your guy.” The FBI was investigating him, which gave Rick the authority he needed, and he and Ted both knew that. “Can you give us an agent for a week or two, to watch the house and the kids?” Rick hesitated and then nodded. In his case, the decision was his. He could spare one man. Maybe two.

“I can't justify it for more than a week or two. Let's see what happens.” She was a major entity after all. And her husband had been an important man. More important, Addison was a big fish for them, if they could catch him up to no good, and tie him to some kind of conspiracy. Stranger things had happened in both their lives as detectives. And Ted was convinced he was right. So was Rick.

“I want to make sure no one is following you or the kids.” She nodded. Suddenly her life was turning into a worse nightmare than the one she'd been living since Allan's death. Allan was gone. Terrible people were after her. The children were in danger of being kidnapped. She had never felt so totally lost and vulnerable in her life, even when Allan died. She had a sense of impending doom suddenly, as though there was nothing she could humanly do to protect her family, and she was terrified that one or all of her children would get hurt, or worse. She tried valiantly to control herself, but in spite of her best efforts, tears rolled down her cheeks, and Ted looked sympathetic.

“What about Will going to camp?” she asked through her tears. “Is that all right?”

“Does anyone know where he's going?” Ted asked quietly.

“Just his friends, and one of his teachers.”

“Has there been anything about it in the papers?” She shook her head. There was no reason to write about them anymore. She had hardly left her house in five months. And Allan's fascinating career was over. They weren't even old news now, they were no news, and she was relieved. She had never enjoyed that, and would have even less now. Jack Waterman had already warned her that there would be a lot of bad press, and curiosity about them, when the news of Allan's financial disaster finally came out, and she was bracing herself for it. He thought it would hit them in the fall. And now this. “I think he can go,” Ted said in answer to her question about Will going to camp. “You'll have to warn him and the camp to be careful. If anyone asks for him, or strangers show up, people claiming to be relatives or friends, they have to say he's not there, and call us right away. You need to talk to Will before he leaves.” She nodded, pulled a tissue out of her pocket, and blew her nose. She always had tissues on her now, because she was always finding something in a drawer or a cupboard that reminded her of Allan. Like his golf shoes. Or a notebook. Or a hat. Or a letter he had written years before. The house seemed to be full of reasons to cry. “What about your daughter going to Tahoe? Who's she going with?”

“A friend from school and her family. I know the parents. They're nice people.”

“Good. Then let her go. We'll have local law enforcement in the area assign surveillance to them. They can keep it to one man in a car outside their house. It's probably better to get her out of here. It gives us one less victim to worry about.” She literally flinched when he said the word, and Ted looked apologetic. In his mind, this was a case now, or a potential one, not just a family or a person. And Rick was thinking along the same lines. For him, it was an opportunity to put Phillip Addison away and cement his case. To Fernanda, it was only about her children. She wasn't even thinking about herself. And she was scared, more than she ever had been in her entire life. Looking at her, Ted knew it. “When are they leaving?” Ted inquired, his mind was already racing. He wanted two men to check the street as soon as he could get them out there. He wanted to know if there were men sitting in parked cars, and if so, who.

“What about you and Sam? Are you going anywhere? Any plans?”

“Just day camp for him.” She couldn't afford to do much else. Camp for Will had been a stretch, but she didn't want to deny him that. None of the children knew the full extent of their financial ruin yet, although they were aware that things were less lavish than they had been. She still had to explain the full implications of it to them, but she was waiting to do that when she put the house on the market. After that, she knew the ceiling would fall in. In fact, it already had. The kids just didn't know it.

“I'm not crazy about that idea,” Ted said carefully. “Let's see how it goes. When do the others leave?”

“Will leaves tomorrow. Ashley the day after.”

“Good,” Ted said bluntly. He was anxious for them to leave, and reduce the number of targets. Half of them were going. He looked at Rick then. “I'm putting plainclothes boys on this, or should we use guys in uniform?” He knew as soon as he said it that he was asking the wrong man. They constantly disagreed about the concept of protecting potential victims. The police force preferred to make the protection visible, in order to scare perpetrators off, while the FBI liked luring them in to entrap them. But in this case, he wanted to see what, if anything, their suspects would do, and he was inclined to agree with Rick's theories on the subject, to a point. He had already been considering it when they walked into the house.

“Does it matter?” Fernanda asked, confused by all that was happening. Her head was spinning.

“Yes, it does,” Ted said quietly. “It can make a big difference. We may see some action faster if we use plainclothesmen.” She got the point.

“So no one knows they're cops?” He nodded. It all sounded terrifying to her.

“I don't want any of you going anywhere till I get a couple of men assigned to this. Probably later tonight. Did you have plans to go out?”

“I was just going to take the kids out for pizza. We can stay home.”

“That's where I want you,” Ted said firmly. “I'll call you as soon as I talk to the captain. With luck, I can have two men here by midnight.” He was suddenly all business.

“Are they going to sleep here?” She looked startled. She hadn't thought of that, as Ted laughed and Rick smiled.

“Hopefully not. We need them to stay awake and be aware of what's happening. We don't want anyone climbing in your windows, while everyone's asleep. Do you have an alarm?” he asked, but it was obvious that they would, and she nodded. “Use it till they get here.” And then he turned to Rick. “What about you?”

“I'll send two agents over in the morning.” She wouldn't need them before that if she had Ted's guys. And he had to pull two men off other details, and replace them, which took a little time. He turned to Fernanda then, and his eyes were sympathetic. She seemed like a nice woman, and he felt sorry for her, as did Ted. He knew how tough situations like this were. He'd seen a lot of them, both in police work and with the FBI. Potential victims. And witness protection. It could get ugly, and often did. He hoped it wouldn't for her. But there was always that risk. “That means you'll have four men with you, two SFPD and two FBI agents. That should keep you safe. And I think Detective Lee is right about the other two children. It's a good idea to get them out of here.”

She nodded and asked the question that had been tormenting her for the last half hour. “What happens if they try to kidnap us? How would they do it?”

Ted sighed. He hated to answer her question. One thing was for sure. If they wanted money from her, they were not going to kill her, so she could pay the ransom. “They'd probably try to take you by force, ambush you while you're driving, and take a child if you had one with you. Or get in the house. It's not likely to happen if we have four men with you all the time.” And if it did, he knew from experience that someone would get killed, either cops or kidnappers, or both. Hopefully, not her or a child. The men assigned to the detail would be fully cognizant of the risk they were taking. That was part of the job for them, and what they did for a living.

Rick looked at Ted then. “We need fingerprints and hair from the kids before they leave.” He said it as gently as he could, but there was nothing gentle about what he'd just said, and Fernanda looked panicked.

“Why?” But she knew. It was obvious even to her.

“We need it to identify the kids if they get snatched. And we should get prints and hair on you too,” he said apologetically, and Ted intervened.

“I'll send someone over later today,” he said quietly, as Fernanda's mind raced. This was actually happening to her, and her children. It was beyond belief, and she hadn't fully understood it yet, and wondered if she ever would. Maybe they were just imagining it. Maybe they were both crazy and had been doing this for too long. Or worst of all, maybe it was really happening and they were right. There was no way to know. “I'm going to get someone out on the street right away and check plates,” he said more to Rick than to her. “I want to know who's out there.” Rick nodded. And Fernanda wondered if there were really people watching her, or the house. She had had no sense of it whatsoever.

Shortly after that, both men stood up. Ted looked down at her and could see easily how stressed she was. She looked like she was in shock. “I'll call you in a little while, and let you know what's happening and who to expect. In the meantime, lock the doors, turn on the alarm, and don't let the kids go out. For any reason.” As he said it, he handed her his card. He'd given it to her before, but knew she might have lost it, which she had. It was in a drawer somewhere, and she couldn't have found it. She didn't think she'd need it. “If anything unusual happens, call me immediately. My cell phone's on there. And my pager. I'll be in touch in a few hours.” She nodded, unable to answer him, and walked them to the front door. Both men shook hands with her, and as he walked out, Ted turned to look at her with a reassuring expression. He didn't have the heart to leave without saying something to her. “It'll be all right,” he said softly, and then followed Rick down the stairs, as she closed the door behind them and set the alarm.

As they walked out, Peter Morgan saw them leave, and didn't think much of it. This was his first experience with surveillance, which was fortunate for them. Waters would have smelled them five seconds after spotting them. Peter didn't.

Rick got in Ted's car again and looked at his old partner with a dazed expression. “Christ, can you believe anyone could lose that kind of money? The papers said he was worth half a billion dollars, and it can't be that long ago, a year or two maybe. The guy must have been crazy.”

“Yeah,” Ted said, looking unhappy. “Or an irresponsible sonofabitch. If she's telling the truth”—and he had no reason to think she would lie to him, she didn't seem like that kind of person—”she's in a hell of a situation. Particularly with Addison and his boys after her, if they are. They're not going to believe she's out of money.”

“And then what?” Rick said pensively.

“It gets ugly.” Then, they both knew, it was all about SWAT teams, and hostage negotiations, and commando tactics. He just hoped they never got there. If there really was something coming down, Ted Lee was going to do everything in his power to stop it. “My cap-tain's going to think we've been smoking crack,” he said with a grin at Holmquist. “Seems like every time we get together, we get into something.”

“I sure miss that,” Rick said, smiling, and then Ted thanked him for giving him two agents for the detail. He knew he couldn't commit them for long, if nothing happened. Ted didn't know, but he had a feeling something would happen soon. Maybe Addison's arrest the day before would make them anxious, or even panic. He also had a feeling that Addison's leaving the country had something to do with it. If that was the case, something was going to happen in two days, or anytime thereafter. Maybe soon.

Ted drove Rick back to his office, and half an hour later, he walked into his.

“Is the captain in?” he asked the senior officer's secretary, a pretty girl in a blue uniform, and she nodded.

“He's in a rotten mood,” she whispered.

“Good. Me too,” Ted said to her with a grin, and strode into his office.

Will bounded down the stairs from his room, and reached for the front door. Fernanda was at her desk, and instantly stopped him.

“Stop! The alarm is on,” she shouted at him, louder than she needed to, and he stopped in his tracks and looked startled.

“That's weird. I'm just going out for a minute. I need to get my shin guards out of the car.” She had left the station wagon in the driveway when she came in, and knew she couldn't go out to it until the police arrived sometime that night.

“You can't,” she said sternly, and Will looked at her strangely.

“Is something wrong, Mom?” He could see that it was, as she nodded and tears filled her eyes.

“Yeah…no… actually there is. I have to talk to you, Ash, and Sam.”

She had been sitting at her desk trying to figure out what to say to them, and when. She was still trying to absorb what had happened, or might, and all she'd heard from Ted and Rick. It was a lot to swallow, and would be even more so for her kids. They didn't need this any more than she did. They'd been through enough in the past six months, and so had she. But now all she could do was look at Will. There was no point putting it off. She had to tell them. And it looked like now was the time, since Will had just discovered that something was up. “Will you go upstairs and get them, sweetheart? We need to have a family meeting,” she said somberly, and almost choked on the words. The last family meeting they'd had was when their father died and she had told them the news. And the full impact of what she had just said hadn't been lost on Will. He looked at her, with terror in his eyes, and without another word, turned and ran up the stairs to find the others, as Fernanda sat shaking where she sat. All she cared about now was keeping them safe. And she just prayed that the police and the FBI would be able to do that.

Chapter 13

Fernanda's meeting with her children went as well as it could have gone, under the circumstances. They came down the stairs to the living room five minutes after she had sent Will up for them, after conferring briefly in Sam's bedroom about what might be wrong. Finally, Will told them to just get downstairs, and they did, trailing down the stairs, by order of age, with Will first. All three of them looked worried, as did their mother, as she waited.

She waited until Ash and Sam had settled on the couch, and Will sprawled out in the chair that had been his father's favorite. Instinctively, he had taken it over as soon as Allan disappeared. He was the man of the family now, and did his best whenever possible to fill his father's shoes.

“What's wrong, Mom?” Will asked quietly, as Fernanda looked at them, not sure where to start. There was so much to say, and none of it good.

“We're not sure,” she said honestly. She wanted to tell them as much of the truth as she could. They needed to know, or at least Ted said they did. And she suspected he was right. If she didn't warn them of the potential danger, they might take risks they wouldn't otherwise. “It may be nothing,” she tried to reassure them, and as she said the words, Ashley suddenly panicked, fearing her mother might be sick. She was all they had now. But as their mother went on, they knew it wasn't that. Fernanda thought it was worse. “Maybe nothing will ever come of this,” she started again, as the moments ticked by agonizingly for all of them, “but the police were just here. Apparently they arrested someone yesterday whom they think is a bad man, and something of a crook. He had a big file on your dad with pictures of all of us in it. And apparently he was very interested in your father's success”—she hesi-tated—”and our money.” She didn't want to tell them yet that they no longer had any. They had enough other problems apparently at the moment, and there was still time for that. “They also found in his desk the name and phone number of a man who recently got out of prison. Neither your father nor I know any of these people,” she reassured them, and even to her, this sounded crazy as she told it. The children were staring at her in fascination, without comment or expression. The story was too foreign to them, and too unfamiliar, to even fathom the implications. “They went to search the hotel room of the man who came out of prison, and found the name and number of another man, who is thought to be extremely dangerous, and also just got out of prison. They don't know what the connection is between these three men. But apparently the man the FBI arrested yesterday is in a lot of trouble, and needs a lot of money. And they found our address in the hotel room of one of the men. What the police are afraid of”—she swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady with considerable effort—”what they're afraid of is that the man who was arrested might try to kidnap one of us to get the money he needs.” That was it, in a nutshell. The children stared at her for an interminable moment.

“Is that why the alarm is on?” Will looked at her strangely. The whole saga sounded incredible when you heard it, or tried to tell it.

“Yes. The police are going to send two policemen to protect us, and so is the FBI, just for a few weeks, until they see if anything happens. Maybe their theory is all wrong, and maybe no one wants to hurt us. But just in case, they want us to be careful, and they're going to be with us for a while.”

“In the house?” Ashley looked horrified, as her mother nodded. “Can I still go to Tahoe?” Fernanda smiled at the question. At least no one was crying. She suspected correctly that they hadn't fully understood it. Even to her, it sounded like a bad movie, as she nodded at Ashley.

“Yes, you can. The police think it's a good idea for you to get out of town, in fact. You just have to be careful, and keep an eye out for strangers.” But she knew the family Ashley was going with was extremely cautious and attentive, which was why she had agreed to let her go. And she was going to call them and warn them of what was happening before Ashley left.

“I'm not going to camp,” Will suddenly said sternly, with an anguished look at his mother. He got it. More than the others. But he was older. And he was playing the role of protector now, in his father's absence. Fernanda didn't want him to have that burden. At sixteen, he still needed to enjoy the last of his boyhood and childhood.

“Yes, you are,” she said firmly. “I think you should. If anything happens, or it gets worse here, I'll call you. You're safer there, and you'd go crazy stuck in the house with me and Sam. I don't think we're going to be doing much for the next few weeks till this gets sorted out, or they figure out what's really happening. You're much better off in camp, playing lacrosse.” Will didn't answer as he sat in the chair, mulling it over. And Sam was watching her reactions.

“Are you scared, Mom?” he asked openly, and she nodded.

“Yes, I am. A little,” which was an understatement. “It sounds scary. But the police will protect us, Sam. They'll protect all of us. Nothing is going to happen.” She wasn't as certain as she sounded, but she wanted to reassure them.

“Will the policemen wear guns when they're here?” he asked with interest.

“I think so.” She didn't explain the theory about the risks of being protected by cops in uniform or plainclothesmen, and their being used as live bait to catch the criminals quicker. “They'll be here by midnight. Until then, we can't go out, at all. And the alarm is on. We have to be careful.”

“Do I have to go to day camp?” Sam asked, hoping he wouldn't, since he'd had cold feet about it anyway, and had changed his mind about it. He liked the idea of men wearing guns around the house. That part sounded like fun to him.

“I don't think you have to go to camp, Sam. You and I will find lots of things to do here.” They could go to museums and the zoo, and do art projects, or go to the Exploratorium at the Museum of Fine Arts, but she wanted him with her. He looked pleased.

“Yayy!!!” he said, dancing around the room, as Will glared at him and told him to sit down.

“Don't you realize what this means? All you're worried about is Tahoe and day camp. Someone wants to kidnap us, or Mom. Don't you get how scary that is?” Will was seriously upset, and after the others went back upstairs, slightly mollified after his outburst, he argued with his mother again. “I'm not going to camp, Mom. I'm not going to leave you here, just so I can play lacrosse for three weeks.” He was old enough, at sixteen, nearly seventeen now, for her to be honest with him.

“You're safer there, Will,” she said, with tears in her eyes. “They want you there. And Ash in Tahoe. Sam and I will be fine with four men to protect us. I'd rather you go away so I don't have to worry about you too.” It was as honest as she could be with him and it was true. He could get lost in the anonymous shuffle of other boys at camp, and be safe there. And Ashley would be protected in Tahoe. Now all she'd have to worry about was Sam. One child instead of three.

“What about you?” He looked genuinely worried about her, and put an arm around her shoulders, which brought tears to her eyes again, as they walked back up the stairs to his room.

“I'll be fine. No one is going to do anything to me.” She sounded so certain of it that he looked surprised.

“Why not?”

“They'd want me to pay the ransom, and if they take me, no one could.” It was a horrifying thought, but they both knew it was true.

“Will Sam be okay?”

“With four policemen to protect him, I can't imagine he wouldn't be.” She tried to smile bravely, for Will's sake.

“How did this happen, Mom?”

“I don't know. Bad luck, I guess. Your dad's success. It gives some people a lot of crazy ideas.”

“That's so sick.” He still looked horrified, and she hated to expose any of them to so much risk and fear, but as long as it was happening to them, or could be, they had to know. She had had no choice but to tell them. And she was proud of the way they took it. Especially Will.

“Yes, it is sick,” she agreed. “There are a lot of crazy people in the world, I guess. And bad ones. I just hope these people lose interest in us quickly, or figure we're not worth the trouble. Maybe the police are wrong. They're not entirely sure about any of it. Right now, it's all theories and suspicions, but we have to pay attention to that too. You haven't seen anyone watching us, have you, Will?” she said more out of form than any real belief that he had, and was shocked to see him pause for a minute, and nod his head.

“I think I have … I'm not sure…I saw a guy in a car across the street a couple of times. He didn't look weird or anything. Actually, he looked nice. He just seemed normal. He smiled at me. The reason I think I noticed him”—Will looked embarrassed at what he said next— ”I think I noticed him because he looked kind of like Dad.” What he said rang some kind of bell for her too, but she couldn't figure out what it was.

“Do you remember what he looked like?” Fernanda asked, looking worried. Maybe the police were right, and there were men watching them. She kept hoping that they were wrong.

“Sort of,” Will said. “He looked kind of like Dad, but with light hair, and he dressed like Dad too. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt one time, and a blazer another time. I just thought he was waiting for someone. He seemed okay.” Fernanda wondered if he had dressed that way intentionally so he would fit into the neighborhood. They talked about it for a few minutes and then Will went to his room to call his friends to say good-bye before he left for camp. She had already warned him not to tell anyone about a possible kidnapping threat. Ted had told her that it was important that they kept it quiet, or if word got out, it might hit the press, and they'd have copycats all over the place. Will and the others had promised. The only people she was going to tell were the family in Tahoe who would be taking care of Ash.

Fernanda called Ted as soon as possible. She wanted to report to him about what Will had said. The secretary told her that he was in a meeting with the captain, and would call her back. She stood, looking out the window then, thinking about all of it, and wondering if there were people out there, watching her, whom she couldn't see. And as she did, Ted and the captain were shouting at each other. He said it was an FBI problem, not theirs. The primary suspect had been arrested by the FBI, mostly on financial issues, this had nothing to do with the SFPD, and he wasn't going to tie up his men babysitting some Pacific Heights housewife with three kids.

“Give me a break, for chrissake,” Ted shouted back at him. They knew each other well and were old friends. The captain had been two years ahead of him in the Academy, and they had worked on countless cases together. He had profound respect for Ted's work, but this time he thought he was nuts. “What if one of them gets kidnapped? Whose problem is that going to be?” They both knew it was going to be everyone's problem then. The FBI and the SFPD. “I'm onto something here. I know it. Trust me. Just give me a few days, a week, maybe two, let me see what I come up with. If I come up dry, I'll shine your shoes for a year.”

“I don't want my shoes shined, nor the taxpayers' money thrown out the window for baby-sitting service. What in hell makes you think Carl Waters is involved in this? There's no evidence to prove that, and you know it.”

Ted looked him right in the eye fearlessly. “All the evidence I need is here.” He pointed at his gut. He had already sent an undercover policewoman out, dressed as a meter maid, to check the cars lining Fernanda's street. There were no meters, but cars had to have permit stickers in order to park for longer than two hours, so the meter maid's presence would seem entirely reasonable to anyone who saw her. Ted was anxious to know what she'd come up with, who was sitting in parked cars, what they looked like, and he had told her to run a check on every license plate on the block. She called while Ted and the captain were still going at it, when Ted's bureau secretary came in to tell him that Detective Jamison had something for him, and said it was urgent. The captain looked annoyed when Ted took the call, and Ted stood there for a long moment, holding the phone and listening. He made a few unintelligible comments and thanked her, and then looking at the captain, he hung up.

“Now, I suppose you're going to tell me that Carlton Waters and the guy the FBI busted are standing on her doorstep with shotguns.” He rolled his eyes, he'd heard it all before. But Ted looked serious as he looked him in the eye.

“No. I'm going to tell you that Peter Morgan, the parolee who had Waters's number in his hotel room, is sitting in a parked car across the street from the Barnes house. Or it sounds like him. The car is registered to him. And one of the neighbors said he's been sitting there, or up the block, for weeks. They said he looked like a nice man and they never thought anything of it. They didn't seem worried.”

“Shit.” The captain ran a hand through his hair and looked at Ted. “This is all I need. If they kidnap that woman, it will be all over the papers that we didn't do a damn thing about it. All right, all right. Who've you got on it?”

“No one yet.” Ted smiled at him. He didn't want to be right about this, but he knew he was. And it had been a lucky break that Jamison had found Morgan sitting there. He was going to instruct his men not to touch him. He didn't want to scare him off. What Ted wanted was to catch all of them, whoever they were, and however many, whether Carlton Waters was involved or not. Whatever this conspiracy was against her, all Ted wanted was to blow it sky high, arrest the men involved, and keep her and her kids safe. It would be no small feat.

“How many of them are there, the Barnes woman and her kids, I mean?” the captain asked, sounding surly, but Ted knew him better than that.

“She's got three kids. One leaves for camp tomorrow. Another one leaves for Tahoe the day after, and we can cover that through the sheriff at Lake Tahoe. After that, it will just be her and a six-year-old kid.”

The captain nodded in answer. “Give her two guys around the clock. That ought to do it. Is your buddy Holmquist giving us anyone?”

“I think so,” Ted said cautiously. It was a little awkward that he had told Rick about it, before he'd gone to the captain, but it happened that way sometimes. When they traded information, cases got solved more quickly.

“Tell him what you just found out about Morgan, and tell him to kick in two guys for sure, or I'll kick his ass the next time I see him.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Ted smiled at him and left his office. He had some phone calls to make to set up the protection for Fernanda and Sam. He called Rick and told him about Morgan. And he had a junior officer print out a mug shot of Morgan so he could show it to Fernanda and the kids. And then he took a folder out of his desk, and wrote a case number on it, to make it official. Conspiracy to commit kidnap, he wrote in bold letters. He wrote in Fernanda's name, and those of her children. And where it said to list suspects, he wrote Morgan's name. For the moment, the others were too remote, although he jotted down Phillip Addison's name, and wrote a brief description of the file he had on Allan Barnes. This was just the beginning. Ted knew the rest would come. The little pieces of sky were falling into place. It had just gotten a little bigger. All he had in that piece of sky now was Peter Morgan. But he felt in his gut that the others would be in the puzzle with him before too long.

Ted drove back to Fernanda's house at six o'clock that evening. And as he had earlier, he made a decision to enter the house visibly, like a guest, and look casual about it. He had taken off his tie, and was wearing a baseball jacket. The policeman he had brought with him was wearing a baseball cap, sweatshirt, and jeans. He could have been one of Will's friends, and Ted his father. She and the children were eating pizza in the kitchen when they walked in. They had let Ted in as soon as they saw him through the peephole. And the young man he had brought with him had brought some things with him in an athletic bag slung over his shoulder, which coordinated well with his youthful, athletic demeanor. Ted quietly asked him to set up in the kitchen, and then after asking Fernanda's permission, he sat down at the kitchen table with her and the kids. He had brought an envelope with him.

“Did you bring us more pictures?” Sam asked with interest, as Ted smiled at him.

“Yes, I did.”

“Who is it this time?” Sam was acting like the official deputy Ted had made him the last time. He tried to sound blasé about it, as his mother smiled. There wasn't much to smile at right now. Ted had called and told her about Morgan. Apparently, he'd been outside for weeks, and she'd never seen him once. It didn't say much for her powers of observation, and she was worried. Ted had told her that there would be four men at her house shortly after midnight. Two SFPD and two FBI. Sam was very excited about it, and wanted to know from Ted if they'd be wearing guns. Sam had asked his mother earlier, but wanted confirmation from him.

“Yes, they will,” Ted responded, as he took the mug shot out of the manila envelope he had brought with him, and handed it to Will. “Is this the man you saw in the car across the street?”

Will looked at it for less than a minute, nodded, and handed it back to Ted. “Yes, it is.” He looked slightly sheepish. It had never occurred to him to tell his mother that he had seen a man in a car who had smiled at him. He just thought it was a random coincidence that he had seen him twice. He looked like a nice guy. And something like his dad.

Ted circulated the mug shot around the table. Neither Ashley nor Sam recognized him, but when the photograph reached Fernanda, she sat and stared at it for a long time. She knew she had seen him somewhere, but couldn't remember where. And then suddenly, she remembered him. It had either been at the supermarket, or the bookshop. She remembered dropping something and his picking it up, and just as Will had said, it had struck her at the time that he looked like Allan. She explained the circumstances to Ted.

“Do you remember when that was?” he asked calmly, and she said that it had been sometime in the past few weeks, but she wasn't sure when, which confirmed that he had been watching them for a while. “He's out there now,” he explained quietly to the kids, and Ashley gasped. “And we're not going to do anything about it. We want to see who comes to talk to him, if anyone, who spells him off, and what they're up to. When you go outside, I don't want you to look for him, or notice him, or acknowledge him. We don't want to scare him off. Just act like you don't know anything about it,” Ted said calmly.

“Was he out there just now?” Ashley asked, and Ted nodded. He knew the car now, from Detective Jamison's description, and where it was. But he hadn't even appeared to notice it. Ted was driving his own car, and chatted and smiled with the young cop he'd brought with him, trying to propagate the myth that he was a friend bringing his son over to visit. They actually looked convincing. The young policeman looked the same age as her older children and in fact, wasn't too much older.

“Do you think he knows you're a cop?” Will asked him.

“I hope not. But you never know. He might. I'm hoping he just thinks I'm a friend of your mom's for now.” But there was no question, when they put four men on the detail, it was going to attract attention and would inevitably warn Morgan and his cohorts of something. It would be a double-edged sword once that happened. The police lost the advantage of anonymity, but it also warned the kidnappers to proceed with caution, or it could scare them off completely, although Ted considered that unlikely. They had no other choice. Fernanda and her family needed protection. And if it scared the man off for good, that was all right too. But above all, she needed a police presence there to protect her and her children. Some of the cops on the detail were probably going to be women, which might create a distraction at first, and make it less obvious that cops were on the scene. But sooner or later, four adults arriving twice a day, going everywhere with Fernanda and the children, and staying there twenty-four hours a day was going to attract considerable attention, and more than likely alarm them. Ted knew there was nothing else they could do for the moment. The captain had also discussed putting what he called a 10B out front, which was an unmarked police car with a plainclothes policeman in it. But Ted didn't think they needed one, and having Peter Morgan and a cop staring at each other in parked cars seemed foolish, even to him. The local station was going to be making passing calls to keep an eye on them, and that would be helpful too, and enough for the moment.

By the time they finished talking about it, the young officer Ted had brought with him was ready. He had put paper towels down, and set up his kits on them. His briefcase lay open, and two full fingerprinting kits were lying next to the sink. One had black ink, and the other red. Ted asked them all to step up to the sink. He asked Will to go first.

“Why do you have to fingerprint us?” Sam asked with interest. He was just tall enough to see what Will and the detective were doing. It was a fine art, as he rolled Will's fingers expertly side to side across the pad, and then rolled them again on a chart, which showed each finger of his hands. He rolled them to make sure they were clear, and Will was surprised to discover that the ink didn't leave his fingers dirty. They did red ones first, and then black. Will understood why they were being fingerprinted, as did Ashley and Fernanda, but no one wanted to explain it to Sam. It was in case one of them got kidnapped, or killed, with the fingerprints, their bodies could be identified. It was not a cheering prospect.

“The police just want to know who you are, Sam,” Ted said simply. “There are a lot of ways to do that. But this one works. Your fingerprints will stay the same for the rest of your life.” It was a piece of information he didn't need, but it helped. Ashley went next. Then her mother, and finally Sam was last. His fingerprints looked tiny on the cards.

“Why are we doing red and black?” Sam inquired as the detective took his prints for a second time.

“The black ones are for SFPD,” Ted explained, “the red ones are for the FBI. They like to be fancier than we are.” He smiled at him, as the others stood by and watched. They were huddled together as though they took strength in standing close to one another, and Fernanda was hovering over them like a mother hen.

“Why does the FBI like red?” Fernanda asked.

“Just to be different, I guess,” the detective doing them said. Other than that, there was no real reason. But fingerprints done in red always belonged to the FBI.

As soon as he finished doing the fingerprints, he took out a small pair of scissors, and he turned to Sam with a cautious smile. “Can I snip a little piece of your hair, son?” he asked politely, as Sam looked at him wide-eyed.

“Why?”

“We can tell a lot of things from people's hair. It's called a DNA match.” This was a lesson none of them needed, but like the rest of it, they had no choice.

“You mean like if I get kidnapped?” Sam looked frightened, and the man hesitated, as Fernanda stepped in.

“They just want us to do it, Sam. I'm going to do it too.” She took the scissors from the man, snipped a tiny wisp of Sam's hair, then her own, and then her other children's. She made as little fuss about it as she could, and thought it seemed less ominous if she did it for them, rather than a stranger. Shortly after that, talking quietly amongst themselves, the children went upstairs. Sam wanted to stay with her, but Will took him by the hand and said he wanted to talk to him. He thought his mother wanted to talk to Ted about what was happening, and he assumed correctly that Sam would get scared. There was a lot happening to them. A lot had already occurred in a very short time. And Fernanda knew that after midnight, with four armed policemen in the house night and day, their lives would dramatically change.

“We're going to need photographs of them,” Ted said quietly to Fernanda, after the others left the room. “And descriptions. Height, weight, distinguishing marks, everything you can give us. But the hair and fingerprints will help.”

“Will all this really make a difference if they get kidnapped?” She hated even asking him that, but she needed to know. All she could think of now was what it would be like if they took one of her children. It was so frightening, she couldn't even hold the thought in her mind for long.

“It could make a big difference, especially with someone as young as Sam.” He didn't want to tell her that sometimes children that age got snatched, and only turned up ten years later, living other lives with other people, having been kept prisoner in another country or state, and fingerprints and hair would help the authorities identify him, whether dead or alive. In the case of Will or Ashley, the circumstances that would lead them to need hair or fingerprints would be far more dire. And in this case, with a ransom involved, these kids weren't going to disappear into other lives. They were going to be taken, held, and hopefully returned when the ransom was paid. All Ted could hope, if it happened, was that no one would get harmed, and the kidnappers would keep the kids alive. He was going to do everything he could to see that it didn't happen. But they had to be prepared for all contingencies, and the hair and fingerprints they'd taken were important for them to have. He told Fernanda to get him the rest of the information as soon as possible. And a little while later, they left.

She sat alone in the kitchen with the empty pizza box after that, staring into space, wondering how all this had happened, and how soon it would be over. All she could hope now was that the men plotting against her, if they really were, would be caught. She still clung to her doubts, hoping that it was all someone's imagination, and not something that would really happen. The prospect of that was so terrifying that if she had let herself think about it, she would have gotten hysterical, and never let her children out of the house. She was doing everything she could to stay calm, and not frighten them excessively, given the circumstances. And she thought she was doing a good job of staying calm, until she put the empty pizza box in the fridge, poured orange juice in a cup of tea, and put the clean towels in the garbage.

“Okay, calm down,” she said to herself out loud, “everything's going to be fine.” But as she put the towels away in the right place, she saw that her hands were shaking. It was all too terrifying to imagine, and she couldn't help but think of Allan and wish he were there. She wondered what he would have done about it all. She had the feeling that he would have handled it far more competently and coolly than she had.

“You okay, Mom?” Will asked as he walked into the kitchen for some ice cream, just as she was leaving to come upstairs.

“I guess,” she said honestly, looking tired. The day had left her feeling exhausted. “I don't love this.” She sat down in a chair at the table next to him, while he ate his ice cream.

“You still want me to go to camp?” he asked, looking worried, and she nodded.

“Yes, I do, sweetheart.” She wished Sam were going with him. She didn't want any of them to be waiting in the house with her, for bad things to happen. But Sam was too young, and she was going to keep him close to her. Ted had suggested that they go out as little as possible. He wasn't crazy about her being in a car, waiting to be ambushed. They had already discussed whether the officers would ride with her, or follow her. Ted preferred them in the car. Rick and the captain wanted her followed. It was the issue of being live bait again. And as a result, Ted suggested that if at all possible, she go nowhere.

Fernanda called the family hosting Ashley at Tahoe that night, and explained the situation to them, in strictest confidence. They told her how sorry they were, and assured her that they'd keep a close eye on Ashley, and she thanked them. They said they understood about the rotation of sheriff's deputies that would be watching, and felt more comfortable knowing someone would be there to protect Ashley. Neither Ted nor Rick felt she would be pursued in Tahoe, but they both felt it was a good idea to be cautious. And Fernanda was relieved to know that she'd be safe there.

Fernanda was lying on her bed that night, when the doorbell rang, and all four officers arrived together. Peter Morgan had gone home by then, and never saw them. He knew from her normal routines that she was in for the night by then. He usually left at nine-thirty or ten, and rarely later, except when she and the kids went to the movies. But that night, he had gone home early. She'd been at home all night, as had the kids, and he'd gone back to his hotel. He was almost sorry it was almost over. He liked knowing he was close to her and the children, and loved imagining what they were doing, as he glimpsed them from time to time at the windows.

Fernanda thought of calling Jack Waterman that night, to tell him what was happening, but she was too tired, and it sounded too crazy. What was she going to tell him? That a bunch of bad guys had a file about them, and one of them had been sitting in a parked car for weeks, watching them? And then what? There was still no concrete evidence that anyone wanted to kidnap them, just endless suspicions. It all sounded insane, even to her. And there was nothing he could do anyway. She thought she should wait a few days to see what happened, before she called him. He had been through enough drama with her about the money. And she and Sam were seeing him that weekend anyway. He was taking them to Napa the day after Ashley left for Tahoe. There was plenty of time to tell Jack then, so she never called him.

The officers who arrived at midnight were extremely polite, and after looking around the house, they decided to base themselves in the kitchen. There was coffee and food. She offered to make sandwiches for them, and they told her it wasn't necessary, but they thanked her for her kindness, and settled in.

There were four men, two from the San Francisco Police Department, two from the FBI, as Ted told her there would be, and they sat down and engaged in friendly banter, as she made coffee for them. They knew the alarm was on, and she showed them how to work it. Two of them took their jackets off, and she saw their guns hanging in their shoulder holsters, and another on their belt. She suddenly felt as though she were involved in some sort of resistance movement, or underground, surrounded by guerrillas. Seeing their artillery made her feel at the same time vulnerable and protected. No matter how friendly they were, their very presence in the house seemed ominous. And just as she was about to go upstairs, the doorbell rang. Two of the police officers came out of the kitchen rapidly, and went to answer it. She was surprised to see Ted a moment later in the hallway.

“Is something wrong?” she asked him, as she felt her heart beat faster in panic. Or maybe for once, it would be good news. She realized instantly that if it had been good news, he probably would have called her.

“No, everything's fine. I just thought I'd stop by on the way home and see how things were going.” The men had gone back to the kitchen by then. She knew they were planning to be there till noon. The next shift after that would be there from noon to midnight. Which meant that the next day, her children would be having breakfast with men in holsters at their kitchen table. It reminded her of The Godfather, when they went to the mattresses. The only problem was that this was her life, and not a movie. And if it was a movie, it was a very bad one. “Are the boys behaving?” Ted asked as he looked at her. She looked so tired that just as a friendly gesture, he wished he could put his arms around her, but he didn't.

“They've been very nice to me,” she said in a small voice, and he wondered if she'd been crying. She looked so tired and so frightened, although he had been impressed earlier by how calm she was in front of the children.

“They're supposed to be nice to you.” He smiled at her. “I don't want to intrude. You must be exhausted. I just thought I'd check on them, and show the flag. It never hurts. If you have any problems with them, call me.” He spoke of them like his children, and they were in some ways. A lot of the men and women who worked for him were young, and seemed like kids to him. He had also asked that they assign some women to the detail. He thought it might be easier and less frightening for Fernanda and the children. But the first shift was all male, and they were talking quietly in the kitchen, while Ted and Fernanda chatted in the hallway. “Are you holding up all right?”

“More or less.” It was an incredible amount of pressure, waiting for something to happen.

“Hopefully, it'll be over soon. We'll catch these guys doing something stupid. They always do. Like hold up a liquor store right before they were supposed to pull off something much more important. You've got to remember, all these guys were in prison, which tells you that they weren't a great success at whatever they did before this. We're counting on that factor to help us. Some of them even want to get caught. It's a lot of work being outside, and having to make an honest living. They'd rather go back to prison and have three free meals a day, and a roof over their heads courtesy of your taxes. We're not going to let anything happen to you or the kids, Fernanda.” It was the first time he had called her by her first name, and she smiled at him. Just listening to him, she felt a little better. He was quiet and reassuring.

“It's just so scary. It's horrible to think of people like that who want to hurt us. Thank you for everything you're doing,” she said sincerely.

“It is horrible. And scary. And you don't have to thank me. What I'm doing is what I get paid for.” She could tell that he was good at what he did, and she had been impressed by Rick Holmquist too, the man who had done the fingerprints so carefully, and even the four armed men in her kitchen. There was an air of calm competence about all of them.

“It looks like a movie,” she said with a rueful smile, as she sat down on the stairs under the Viennese chandelier, and he sat down next to her. They sat whispering like two kids in the darkness. “I'm glad Will is leaving tomorrow. I wish I could get them all out of here, not just Will and Ash. This is scary for Sam.” It was for her too, and Ted knew that.

“I was thinking about something tonight. What about a safe house? Is there anywhere you and Sam could go to get away for a few days? We don't need to do that now. We're comfortable with the plan we have in place to protect you. But for instance, if an informant tells us they've added more men, or we get information that things could get out of hand. It would have to be somewhere where no one would think to look for you, where we could spirit you away and hide you.” In some ways, it would be a lot easier than protecting her in the city, although one of the big advantages of keeping her in the city was that it would only take them minutes to get back-up assistance and manpower in an attack or hostage situation. However many men ambushed her, if they did, the police and FBI could have reinforcements there in minutes from all the surrounding police stations. That was an important factor, but Ted always liked to have a backup plan. Fernanda shook her head in answer to his question.

“I sold all our other houses.” It reminded him again of the incredible story she had told them that afternoon, of Allan losing all their money. It was still hard for him to believe that anyone could be so foolish and so foolhardy as to lose half a billion dollars. But apparently Allan Barnes had done it. And left his wife and kids with literally no money.

“Any friends or family you could stay with?” She shook her head again. She could think of no one. She couldn't think of a single friend she was still close enough to, to impose on in that way. And she had no other family at all.

“I'd hate to put anyone else at risk,” she said pensively, but there was no one she could think of anyway, and certainly no one she wanted to admit her circumstances to, neither about their financial situation, nor the potential kidnap. Allan had somehow managed to alienate all their close friends from them, with his vast success and huge show of wealth that in the end had finally made even good friends feel awkward and avoid them. And on the way down from his lofty pinnacle, he didn't want anyone to know it. All that was left now, after his death, were acquaintances she didn't want to confide in. And Jack Waterman, their old friend and attorney. She was planning to tell him what was happening on the weekend, but he had no safe house either. All he did was stay at a hotel in Napa occasionally on random weekends, and he had a tiny apartment in town.

“It would do you good to get out of here,” Ted said thoughtfully.

“Sam and I were supposed to go to Napa for the day this weekend. But it's beginning to seem like it would be pretty complicated to orchestrate, unless the police go with us.” And that wouldn't be much fun for her or Jack or Sam, squashed in a car with them.

“Let's see what happens before that,” Ted said, and she nodded.

He went in the kitchen to check on his men then, bantered with them for a few minutes, and left at one. And Fernanda walked slowly up to her bedroom. It had been an endless day for her. She took a long hot bath, and was just climbing into her bed, next to Sam, when she saw a man walk past her room and jumped a foot, as she stood shaking next to her bed, in her nightgown, and the man appeared in the doorway. It was one of the policemen, and he stood there with his guns on, as she stood staring at him in her nightgown.

“Just doing the rounds,” he said comfortably. “You're okay?”

“I'm fine. Thank you,” she said politely. He nodded and went back downstairs, and she got into bed, still trembling. It was going to be very strange having them there. And as she fell asleep finally, she clung to Sam, and dreamed of men running around her house with guns drawn. She was in a movie. It was The Godfather. Marlon Brando was there. And Al Pacino. And Ted. And all her children. And as she drifted deeper into sleep, she saw Allan coming toward her. It was one of the few times she had ever dreamed of him since he died, and she remembered it vividly in the morning.

Chapter 14

When Will and Sam came down to breakfast the next day, Fernanda was making bacon and eggs for the two agents and two policemen sitting at her kitchen table. She set their plates in front of them, and Will and Sam took their places between them. She saw Sam staring at their guns with interest.

“Are there bullets in them?” he asked one of the men, and the police officer smiled at him and nodded, while Fernanda cooked her children's breakfast. It was more than a little surreal watching four heavily armed men eat breakfast with her children. She felt like a gun moll.

Sam wanted pancakes, and Will wanted eggs and bacon like the men, so she cooked both. Ashley hadn't woken up yet and was upstairs sleeping. It was still early. Will had to catch the bus at ten o'clock, and she had already discussed with two of the officers whether or not she should go with him to see him off. They thought it was a bad idea and would draw too much attention to the fact that he was leaving. If someone was following her, it was better for her to remain home with the other children. One of the officers was going to take Will to the bus. He had suggested that Will get in the car in the garage, and lie on the back seat, so no one would see that he was leaving. It was a little far-fetched, but she could see that it made sense. So at nine-thirty, she kissed Will good-bye in the garage, he lay down on the back seat, and a few moments later the officer drove out of the garage, and appeared to be driving alone. He had Will wait a few blocks before he sat up, and once he did, they chatted on the way to the bus. He put Will on the bus, with his bag and his lacrosse stick, waited until the bus took off, and waved as though it were his own son. He was back at the house an hour later.

Peter was in place down the street by then, and saw a man driving Fernanda's car back into the garage. He had seen him leave earlier that morning, and had never seen him come in the night before, as the night shift had all arrived after he left. And this was the only one he'd seen so far. Peter was a little shocked to see a man there so early, which was something he had never seen before. It didn't even occur to him that the man who had driven into the garage was a policeman. Nothing seemed chaotic or out of place. And Peter himself was a little surprised to realize that he was annoyed at her for having a man there with the kids. It seemed irrational even to him, but he hoped he was just a friend, who had arrived early to help her and nothing more. The man left the house at noon, looking unconcerned, and Sam waved to him as he left, as though he were a friend.

When the new shift arrived that afternoon, there were two male FBI agents, and both police officers were women, so it looked like two couples coming to visit. Peter never saw the other three men go out the back of the house, and cross the neighbor's property, so no one would see them leaving.

He left that evening before her guests went home. They seemed to stay forever, and Peter saw no reason to stay. He already knew everything he needed to know about her. He also was almost certain that she never put the alarm on. And if she did, Waters was going to cut the wires before they went in. At this point, his surveillance was more out of habit of the past weeks than because he needed to learn anything new about her routine. He knew everywhere she went, what she did, who she went with, and how long it took her. If anything, his watching her now was for his own pleasure and because he had told Addison he would. It was no hardship to do so. He loved being near her, and watching her with her children. It seemed pointless to sit there now while she entertained two couples all day. The two couples had looked benign and friendly when they arrived in one car, talking and laughing. Ted had handpicked them and told them what to wear so they looked like friends. And although Peter had never seen her entertain, she seemed so happy when she greeted them, that it never occurred to Peter for an instant that they were FBI and SFPD. There was nothing to suggest to him that the atmosphere had changed. In fact, he felt sufficiently relaxed that he left early that night before the couples did. He was tired, and there was nothing to see. Other than greeting her guests, neither Fernanda nor the kids had moved all day. He had seen Sam playing in the window of his room, and Fernanda in the kitchen, cooking for her friends.