"And if it's offered for sale?" Stern blew a cloud of smoke in Harding's direction, because he knew it annoyed him. "Be a pity if rumors came back to bite you on the ass." That got a reaction from him.

Harding headed for the decanter and slopped more into his glass. When he'd downed half of it, he aimed for the couch, stumbling slightly as the liquor went to his head. He rubbed his face. "How do we get it back? We have no idea who did it, do we?"

"No." Stern strolled behind the bar and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Farley says their faces were completely covered. I do have contacts in certain areas. They'll be watching for it to come onto the market, and they'll notify me if it does." He stubbed out the cigarette. A tiny spiral of smoke rose from the ashtray, circling his arm like a snake. "There is another possibility."

"What?"

"What if it was the same people who've been gas-lighting you?"

"I hadn't thought of that." Harding frowned, obviously having trouble coordinating his drink-saturated brain to grapple with the problem intelligently.

"If they try to expose it, we can dump the whole mess onto their shoulders. Who's to say what happened to it while it was out of our control?" Stern said.

Harding looked startled, then smiled, lifting the glass in a mock toast. "Yeah. Who's to say?" But before he drank, he asked, "If it is them, how do we find them?"

Stern smiled. "If they did this to get at you, we won't have to find them. They'll come to us."

Phoebe stretched out amid the papers, her hands crossed behind her head, and stared at the ceiling, feeling oddly resigned. They'd tried. They'd failed. Shit happens.

"Is it check and mate, Pathphinder?" Dewey asked. He'd stretched out beside her, but on his side, with his head resting on his hand.

She tried to clear her thoughts, to see the board, the game, but for the first time, she couldn't. She shook her head slowly. "I don't know. Pathphinder seems to be in shock."

"We need to fall back. Take some time to regroup. You've been working too hard if you can't see the game. And we need to get the heck out of Dodge. It's getting real hot here. Never seen the Feds try so hard to find two losers."

Phoebe grinned. "If you're trying to prick my pride by calling me a loser, it's not working." She sat up. "But you're right. We've been here too long. We need to move."

Without warning her flight-or-fightinstinct kicked into high. She'd never been psychic, but right then, she'd swear she heard the howling hounds getting closer. She started grabbing all the papers within arm's reach and stuffing them into a briefcase.

Maybe Dewey heard the dogs, too. He started packing up their equipment with his usual swift efficiency. He had done this before.

"We'll have to split up," he said. "I'll write down my new beeper number for you. Your new beeper's on the desk."

"That where you've been?"

"That and arranging transportation for us. Something that will match our new lives."

Phoebe couldn't wait to see what kind of car he thought went with Polly. Or maybe she could. "Did you ever wish you could get out of the game? Live a normal life with a little woman somewhere?"

"Yeah." Dewey stopped, his eyes shifting from the immediate to a distant view.

What did he want? Or was it who? There was so little that she knew about him.

"How did you get over it?" she asked, because it was all she could ask. The rest of his life wasn't her business.

He looked at her then, his gaze direct and sad. "I didn't. We can't. If we get over it, we risk becoming like them-like Harding and the others. We risk forgetting why we do it and just do it because we can." He gave her a crooked grin. "It's not like you don't know about power and corruption."

"More than I want to." It was almost funny. She'd been thinking they were into avenging wrongs, but that wasn't the whole story. It was also about power. About taking it from those who had too much and giving it to those who had lived too long without it.

Dewey was right. She needed to just get on with it.

She picked up the chip. "It's too bad..."

"What's too bad?" Dewey asked.

"That we can't get it to work." She tossed it up in the air and caught it, then tossed it to him. He snagged it and gave her a slow grin.

"Pathphinder?"

Jake felt his mom watching him as he ate the breakfast she'd prepared for him and for Bryn-who had gulped hers and bolted out the door as if his mother's domesticity scared her.

He smiled. His favorite: waffles, eggs, bacon, served with screaming hot coffee and ice cold milk wasn't meant to be bolted but enjoyed. He ate until he couldn't manage one bite more. He pushed the plate away with a sigh of satisfaction. It didn't cure what ailed him but did make him feel he could deal with it.

"Thanks, Mom." He wiped his mouth on the paper towel she handed him. "That was great." He looked at his watch, started to rise, then made the mistake of making eye contact. He sank slowly back into the chair. "What?"

Her eyebrows rose.

"I'm fine! Really." The silence was insistent. "I'll be fine. This is just a tough case." He tried to get up again. Made it upright, but that was it.

She took a drink of her coffee, then asked, "What's her name?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. What was her name? His gut told him it was Nadine, but she'd always be Phoebe to him. He sighed. "I don't know."

"How much trouble is she in?"

"More than I can prove." He rubbed his index finger along the edge of the paper towel, remembering how she'd made her napkin into an origami bird. Was she already flying away from him?

"And what you can prove?"

"Harboring. Aiding and abetting, if-" He stopped. What was her next move? How did she plan to use RABBIT? If she had it. He could see the board but not the pieces. He was playing her game in the dark.

"If?" His mom's voice was soft.

"If I can find her. Her...associates tend to disappear."

Her hand covered his. "Which is worse, Jake? The thought of not seeing her again? Or having to arrest her when you do?"

Jake's smile was a miserable effort. "I wish I knew."

He turned toward her, into arms that circled him with comfort.

"If it's meant to be, it'll work out. If it's not, you'll just have to find a way to get over it."

"And if I can't?" He closed his eyes, felt her fingers stroke his hair.

"Then you learn to live with it." She framed his face with her hands. "There are joys and sorrows in this life. You can't escape either. You do your duty and you just keep going."

She knew all about sorrow. She'd kept going after Dad died and kept them going, too. He managed a grin. "I know." He looked at his watch. "And that's what I need to do-get going."