"What's to keep him from getting spooked? Start shutting everything down?"

"Brother, he ain't got a clue. It's all buried a couple layers down, but he's probably got over a thousand illegal images embedded in his hard drive right now. He's mailed out somewhere in the neighborhood of ten times that many. Add in a few hundred e-mails with all his personal info and a dozen or so suspicious international purchases with his credit card. The kind of stuff cops call 'dominion and control.' He'll be bagged and tagged an hour after the Feds power up that computer and crack it open."

"What kind of time is he looking at?"

"Time? You know better than that, Harlan. Officially it'll be something in the neighborhood of forty years, but it'll work out to a lot less than that."

Harlan understood the reference. As a former cop coming in with papers that say he trades kiddie porn, a man would be lucky to survive six months. Maybe a year.

"They can put him in whatever isolation cell they want, but the fellas will make sport out of who gets to put a shank in his fat ass. Course that won't come till he's been properly cornholed and wore out." Virgil's voice turned quiet. "Believe me, he won't be sorry to see the end come."

Virgil paused for a moment, then went on. "Is that pretty much what you had in mind for the good sheriff of Florence County?"

"Former sheriff and yeah, Virgil. That was the idea."

"So I guess you're really going through with it? I take it that was your work up in Hayward. That was some drastic shit you pulled."

Harlan's voice carried an edge. "You know better than that, Virgil. Let's restrict ourselves to the business at hand."

"Suit yourself, but you've chosen a dangerous course, my friend. You're a convicted killer who busted parole. They're gonna come looking for you. The state tends to keep your type on a short leash."

"The only leash they had on me was on the inside."

"No doubt about that. Harlan Lee is not known to be a man to put up with a lot of meddling by the state."

Virgil opened a desk drawer and pulled out a thick envelope.

"Take this. I'd give you some good plastic, but with all the goddamn cameras these days, everything gets filmed." Virgil winked. "It's like nobody trusts anybody anymore."

"I ain't gonna take your money, Virgil. If a man can't figure out a way to make his own stake, he oughta just stay locked up."

"I wish there was something more I could do," Virgil said. "Hell, Harlan, I'd have never made it out of Red Cliff if it weren't for you. There were a couple of times ... Anyway. I'm grateful. I just want you to know that."

Harlan hesitated and thought back to their years in prison. On more than one occasion, Harlan had protected the man from the primitive reality of life on the inside. Never once had Harlan asked for a favor of any sort in return.

Harlan pulled his own thin wad of cash from the pocket of his shirt. "I could use some new iron. I'll be sure it never comes back on ya. I'd prefer a revolver. Less to go wrong."

"Put your goddamn money away."

Virgil bent down to a floor safe behind the desk. He spun the dial while he spoke. "It's probably too late for you to just go back up to Florence and live the life of the landed gentry, huh? I mean, I know your old man left you the homestead, didn't he?"

Harlan's tone was matter-of-fact. "What the government didn't steal away from him. Few acres. Farmhouse. Ain't nothing up there for me anymore."

Virgil opened the safe. He took out a patch of green felt and laid it across his desk. Harlan watched as Virgil's delicate hands went back and forth inside the safe until he had removed a half-dozen revolvers and set them out in a display. The guns ranged from a single-shot twenty-two derringer to a forty-four-caliber hand cannon. Each gun looked brand-new with a light coating of oil and a custom grip.

"Take your pick, although I must say I'm partial to the Ruger."

Harlan eyed them all but, yeah. He picked up the stainless snub-nosed three-eighty five-shot revolver and balanced it in his hand. It had a good feel. Nice heft to it. Substantial grip for his large hand. He dry-fired toward the wall to test the trigger pull while Virgil went on, sounding every bit like a nagging wife.

"Then get out of Wisconsin. Find someplace you want to settle. Anywhere you want. Just let me know where you land. I'll work you up a clean bill of health. Get you a stake in a place like this."

Harlan ignored Virgil's comments and held up the Ruger to signify his choice. Virgil went back to the safe and pulled out a box of ammo and a black nylon holster, pushing the hardware across the desk. Harlan picked up the box and broke out five rounds, loading each cylinder. He shoved it all in his pack and stood to leave.

"Good seeing you, Virgil. I'm glad things are working out for you." Harlan held out his pack containing the new gun. "I owe ya."

"No you don't." Virgil stood from the desk. "It's gratis. And the offer stands. I'd hook you up to a life that might not be entirely legit, but I'll be damned if you wouldn't be able to see legit from your front porch. Give it some thought, Harlan. The life of a con on the run? Never tried it myself. Can't say as I'm interested."

"I don't plan on runnin' from nobody. If there's a cop out there who figures this shit out, I won't be hard to find." Harlan paused, aware this exchange could be their last. His voice was solemn. "I'm in your debt, Virgil. I'm glad to have known you."

"Likewise, Harlan," Virgil said. "So then. Are we a 'go'?"

Harlan thought back, and in his mind he saw an image of Sheriff Henry Lipinski from seventeen years ago. "Damn right. Burn that son of a bitch to the ground."

Minutes later Harlan was back on the road, the new weight in the pack pulling on his shoulder. It brought some comfort to know he once again had a gun within reach, but he wondered, Should I have taken the cash? And what about Virgil's other offer? A chance to walk away clean. Start a new life. The idea hung in his mind as he walked on in the darkness, but he was quick to dismiss it. Harlan Lee lived by an outlaw code. Part of that code required pride and self-reliance. Adopting a bogus name and making a living as a con man wasn't the Lee way. That same code also allowed for avenging wrongs committed against family.

A vehicle approached from behind, and Harlan turned to face it. He jammed out this thumb and squinted his eyes, doused in bright light as the driver slowed. It came as no surprise when the engine revved and the truck sped by. Undeterred, Harlan turned back and continued his walk. No reason to hurry, he told himself. Someone would be along eventually. In the meantime he took solace in the Midwestern night sounds and the crisp air against his skin. Content, he occupied his mind with the names and faces of all those folks who were once again an important part of his life.

FOUR.

Tia Suarez made her way through the parking lot of the Newberg PD in four-inch stiletto heels, pausing for a moment to pull down the hem of her short, form-fitting skirt. It had a tendency to ride up pretty high, but in her line of work that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The cheap waist-length jacket with the faux fur collar that she'd picked up at Goodwill turned out to be worth the ten bucks she'd spent. It helped keep the chill off her slender body but still let her show off the wares. The weather was a little on the cool side for this get-up, she thought, but that's how you reel them in. Come summertime, I'll be unstoppable.

Four hours on a street corner in Milwaukee had been productive, but her feet were killing her and she couldn't wait to get out of the damn heels. A black-and-white slowed alongside her, and she recognized the officer behind the wheel. He tapped the air horn and called out the window, "Right on, Tia. How much for a taste of that?"

Tia flipped the cop off good-naturedly and called back, "You couldn't afford it on your paycheck, but you can take a picture."

She struck a seductive pose as the car rolled by, then continued across the open parking lot, drawing curious stares from cops and citizens. I could probably do a little more business right here, she thought, but I've had enough for the day.

When she walked into the lobby of the police department, crowded with people attending to the mundane business of bike registrations and parking tickets, every head turned to stare. Tia made eye contact with the clerk behind the desk; they exchanged smiles and Tia heard the nearby door marked POLICE PERSONNEL ONLY click open. She pulled on the chain around her neck, dragging her police badge into view as she passed through the door. The heavy gold shield was out of place with her outfit, but she was glad to be returning to her real world.

"Screw these things," Tia said to herself, stepping out of her ridiculous shoes. The act was over. Going barefoot through the PD might be frowned on by the brass, but they'd just have to understand. Tia pictured the new chief, that fat ass Jorgensen, trying to look sexy on a street corner in a miniskirt and high-heel, open-toed shoes. When her bare feet touched flat against the cool tile, every inch of her body tingled in relief.

"Oh, God ... now that feels good," Tia practically moaned.

"No getting off in the hallway, Suarez." Another smart-ass comment from a passing cop, but Tia laughed.

Tia needed to check in with the boss and let him know the undercover vice detail had wrapped up. The four hours in Milwaukee had resulted in the arrest of eight johns. Three holding dope, and one a prior for sexual assault. That guy was bent, she thought. Tia figured she had probably saved a real hooker an ass beating by making the arrest. The thought of that guy being off the street and in a jail cell energized her. She took the stairs, barefoot, two at a time. Between the stairs and the detective sergeant's office, she fielded no fewer than half a dozen offers involving broom closets and the backseats of patrol cars. Tia took it all in stride, then struck a pose in her supervisor's doorway.

"Hey, baby, got any lunch plans?"

Ben Sawyer looked up from his desk with no sign of recognition. Tia laughed at the look on his face. Then the penny dropped and he smiled.

"Hey, Tia, welcome back. How was vice detail?"

"Are you kidding?" Tia said. "I rocked it. Caught my limit. Milwaukee PD says anytime you want to loan out the little Mexican girl to play hooker, they're down for it."

"I'm sure they loved having you," Ben said. "And it's a nice break from patrol, right?"

"Absolutely. One of these days you might even come to your senses and make me a full-time detective." Tia was only half kidding. She'd led the Patrol Bureau in arrests and convictions for the past six months straight. Tia made it clear to all the department bosses that she believed she had long since earned a detective's shield.

"Patience there, Suarez. Patience."

Tia had met Ben soon after his father-in-law had hired him on as a sergeant. Both Tia and Ben were often treated like outsiders by Newbergers, civilians and cops alike. Ben because he had deserted his hometown and returned dishonored to take an undeserved handout. Tia because there was no such thing as a Mexican-Newberger even if she had lived in the town for more than twenty years and served a four-year hitch in the Marines.

Tia had been born in Brownsville, Texas, in the daughter of migrant workers. She was just five years old when her family arrived in Newberg, where they were the sole nonwhite residents other than a few scattered Native Americans. Most Newbergers grudgingly conceded the Native Americans had a right to call Wisconsin home, but by Newberg standards, any third-world brown types would always be foreigners. It hadn't helped that Tia's dad had performed general labor at the dairy farms while her mom cleaned houses.

Her parents had long since returned to their native Jalisco, but not Tia. After two tours in Afghanistan, she'd been hired on with Newberg PD. To her, Newberg was home. Anybody who disagreed could kiss her brown ass.

"How about we step out and grab some coffee," Tia said. "See how long it takes for our local rag to report that Sergeant Benjamin Sawyer was seen in the company of a scantily dressed, dark-skinned female companion?"

Ben gestured to the case files covering the top of his desk. "Sounds fun, but I need to get through these cases. Come on in. I got half a thermos. We'll split it."

Tia slid easily into the only chair available in the cramped office. She pushed a bare foot against the edge of her boss's desk and eased the chair back, leaving her hard brown legs much more visible than usual. When Ben's eyes widened, Tia remembered what she was wearing and let the chair fall back flat against the floor. Tia picked up on Ben's look of embarrassment and laughed at his predicament.

"I guess I should probably go change out of my work clothes."

Ben winked. "Hey, don't worry about it. You look good. Really."

Tia changed the subject from the implication that she'd make a great hooker. She gestured at the case files. "What gives? You closing in on some of Newberg's notorious criminal element?"

Ben filled two Styrofoam cups, and Tia picked up on his irritation. "I wish I had the time. It seems like I stay busy just trying to keep track of wayward detectives. You wouldn't happen to know McKenzie's favorite hiding spots, would you? He disappears first thing in the morning when he bothers showing up at all. I never see the guy."

Tia sipped the coffee and grimaced at the flavor as much as at the mention of Detective Doyle McKenzie. She swallowed hard before answering.

"Wherever he's at, I don't want to know. Careful of him, Sarge. Backbiting son of a bitch that one is. And he doesn't take little nibbles. More like chunks. Usually leaves a mark."

"Thanks, but you aren't telling me anything I don't already know. McKenzie was a few years ahead of me in school. He was already a cop here when my wife and I moved out west. From what I knew he was an unscrupulous bastard even then. But I tell you what, he keeps this shit up, he'll be assigned to crossing guard detail come this fall."

"Not likely. He's pretty insulated. Seems he's got friends in high places."

Tia thought about what she had just said and spoke up to correct any misunderstanding. "I mean, now he does. Not before. Chief Norgaard ran a tight ship. Aw, hell, you know what I mean. Anyway, ignore McKenzie. Spend your energy on something more worthwhile."

"That's pretty disappointing coming from a hard-nosed cop like you. I thought we agreed to root out evil and fight for justice, apple pie, and all that good stuff?"

Tia laughed. "Damn right, Superman. But you need to watch out for the guys with kryptonite."

Tia looked over her shoulder, then back at Ben. "Seriously. McKenzie is bad news. That asshole doesn't even deserve to be called a cop. But he's Jorgensen's boy now. Just wait it out. Let McKenzie hang himself. Guys like him eventually screw up. Otherwise, it might be you that gets run out of here."

"So what are you saying? I go through the rest of my career with my eyes closed? Let McKenzie run all over me?"

"No, Sarge. Just be careful of the guy. That's all I meant."

Tia wanted Ben to know her concern was real, but she could see his stubborn streak coming out and she heard the resistance in his voice.

"This is one screwed-up coffee break."

"Sorry. You're right." Her voice turned lighthearted. "Course this coffee is from yesterday and even then it probably tasted like tar." She took another sip and changed the subject.

"How's the family? You got the one kid, Jake, right?"

Tia noticed the change in demeanor and remembered Ben always shied away from the personal talk. He recovered quickly and seemed to try and come off as the average dad. "Yeah. That's right. He's doing great. He misses California sometimes, and he's coming up on the teenage years. You know how that goes. But he's playing Little League this year. Kid's got promise."

Tia decided to push a little.

"And your wife? Alexandra?"

"She's great." An uncomfortable silence lasted until Ben changed the subject. "I hear you made top cop this quarter. It's about time."

Tia rolled her eyes, embarrassed. "Yeah. It's cool. I was surprised, though. Usually it takes perfect attendance at the chaplain's Bible study to pull that off. I haven't made a meeting yet."

The intercom interrupted their chat. "Officer Suarez, report to the patrol sergeant's office immediately."

The voice belonged to Sergeant Billy "Plate" Boyd, and he sounded irritated. Tia looked at the clock on the wall, then rolled her head back and closed her eyes.

"Shit. I've got to do a ten-hour patrol shift," she said. "The overtime pay for these details is nice, but it's going to turn into an eighteen-hour day. You think you could tell your compadre to cut me a little slack? I'm pretty sure Plate thinks I had something to do with his getting shitcanned back to patrol. I swear the guy is going to ride my ass out the front door if he can."

Tia had been working for Boyd for the past three months, and it was obvious the old guy was not happy with his new assignment. Before Norgaard went down, Ben had inherited the Detective Squad from Sergeant Boyd. At thirty-four years of service and counting, Boyd was the current longevity champion of Newberg PD. The nature of Plate Boyd's notoriously long absences had earned him his nickname. On any given workday you couldn't find Boyd with a compass, but if you did stumble across him, he was usually tucked in behind a heaping plate of food. The size of the meal was a good indicator of the length of his subsequent nap. Just before going down with his stroke, Chief Norgaard had put Ben in the detective sergeant position. Tia knew it hadn't gone over well with everyone, especially Boyd.

"Don't worry about Plate," Ben said. "He's harmless. Not to mention a little intimidated by cops like you."

"Like me?"

"Yeah. Cops who know how to push the envelope. Here you are, five years into your career, pulling undercover details and making felony arrests almost every night. Believe me, Boyd never did the job the way you do. For most cops from his generation, it was all about crossing guard duty and cats in trees. His bluster is just his way of maintaining some dignity. Go easy on him."

"Like you go easy on McKenzie?"

Ben's voice took on a serious tone. "Different story. There's something devious about that prick. But Plate, he'll be gone in a couple of years. Until then, take care of him. We owe him that much."

"Makes sense." Tia stood to leave, once again trying to get her skirt to cover the important parts. "Fight the good fight. Isn't that what you told us in Patrol?"

"Exactly. Nice to know somebody was listening."

"Hey, don't kid yourself. We were all listening. You can come back to Patrol anytime. See you around." Tia couldn't help but leave with one last seductive leer, dangling her high heels over her shoulder and tossing Ben a wink. She walked down the hallway and headed for the locker room. She'd get suited up and do her ten-hour patrol shift. Tired as she was, Tia found herself looking forward to it. She walked past a group of patrol officers and the catcalls started up again. She joined in with the exchange, making sure the loudest and most vulgar comments were her own.

FIVE.

Newberg Narcotics Detective Doyle McKenzie leaned back against the hood of the vintage Trans Am and enjoyed the low rumble of the five-liter engine idling beneath him. He ran his hand across the smooth black paint and thought how he'd waited his entire career for a car like this. Hell, more like my whole life. The car had come to him a month ago by way of a drug seizure. Some stupid-ass dope slinger out of Beloit who, McKenzie had learned, not only paid cash and owned the car outright, but hadn't even had the good sense to register the vehicle in his baby mama's name. McKenzie had seen to it that the dealer made his way to Newberg while holding major quantity in the trunk. Once the beat cops pulled the crook over and found the dope, McKenzie wasted no time in swooping in and claiming the car as a seized asset.