"I pay good money to-"

"There isn't enough money in anyone's bank account to change his mind. She's under constant surveillance. He's greedy, not stupid."

The secretary brought in the coffee and hurried out. She knew her boss's temper when drunk and had no desire to hang around. Stern poured him a cup and forced him to drink it, then poured him another.

"Get your head clear. Think. She knows she'll get bail. She's got no record. The Feds can scream all they want about flight risk, but all they got on her is aiding and abetting. Not nearly enough to convince a judge to deny bail. Not with a good lawyer crying foul. She's proved she's not stupid." Unlike you "She'll sit tight because she wants you."

"She wants me." Harding smiled, his eyes glazing. "And I want her." He looked up at Stern. "You have to get her for me."

"Get sober and call your fianc? She's been leaving messages for you."

It was definitely time to-sever-his relationship with Harding, Stern realized. He'd help Harding finish his game because he wasn't going to let some twit of a girl beat Barrett Stern. But that was all he'd do for the man. He headed for the door without looking back.

"Call me if you hear anything!" Harding called after him, wincing when Stern slammed the door. Stern was getting too cocky. "Asshole," he muttered, setting down the coffee cup now that he was alone.

"I totally agree," a voice said from the darkness in the direction of his desk.

His desk chair swivelled around until he could see someone sitting in it. Whoever it was reached forward and turned on the desk lamp. Harding winced again as the light stabbed into eyes. His brandy-sodden brain tried to remember if they'd said anything incriminating.

"Who the hell are you?" Harding struggled to his feet and started toward the desk and his gun, until he got close enough to see his gun trained on him. "What do you want?"

"World peace, an end to hunger, and clean air to breathe," Dewey said. "But I'll settle for being obscenely wealthy." He got up, gesturing with the gun toward the recently vacated couch. "Better sit down while we talk. I don't like picking drunks up off the floor."

Harding wanted to object, but even drunk, he knew better than to argue with a gun. "How did you get in here?"

"I have my ways." Dewey perched on the edge of the desk. "As, apparently, do you. You're quite the villain, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?" Harding rubbed his face with his hand, feeling the lines that fear was carving into his brow, but too panicked to do anything about them.

"Come, come, Harding. Your RABBIT don't run. It don't even totter. It's beyond the dud zone. I suppose that's why you tried to have it stolen. Only I beat you to it."

"It was you." Harding threw a quick look at the door. Stern had picked a hell of time to leave, he thought bitterly. They'll come to us, he says, then leaves him alone and unprotected. He downed the coffee. Had to get his head clear. The surge of caffeine gave him a brief burst of clarity. "You'll have a hard time proving you're not the one who fucked it up."

"The thought did occur to me." Dewey studied him long enough to make Harding nervous. "What would you say if I told you I have a working prototype?"

"I don't believe you. You couldn't-"

"I had a feeling you'd say that. Do you think I'd be here if I couldn't prove I have a chip that works better than the Energizer Bunny?" Dewey walked over to the bar and helped himself to a dash of Harding's best brandy. "I'm sure even in your impaired condition you can see the benefit to your political aspirations if you recover your RABBIT and it actually works."

Harding licked his lips. "What's the catch?"

"I told you. I want to be obscenely wealthy. And not in jail." He went back to the desk and booted up the computer, then turned the screen so Harding could see it. "I want half of the money you've got stashed in these Swiss bank accounts. I'll give you a number to transfer half my money to. When I verify you have completed the transaction, I'll meet you here with proof your RABBIT runs."

"How do I know you won't take the money and run?"

"Because you'll have Nadine. I get her back unharmed and the other half of the money when I deliver your chip." Dewey walked up to Harding. "What do you want more, Harding? To be governor? Or Nadine?"

"I want them both."

Dewey was smiling, but his gaze was chilling. "Nobody gets everything they want." The look in his eyes had Harding tugging at his tie. "Take me, for instance. I want you dead for killing Kerry Anne Beauleigh. I want you to die slowly, the way she did. Your blood drip, drip, dripping out of your body. Your life fading slowly away and you have to try to explain to your Maker why you were such a miserable bastard. I want you to be as afraid as she was when she died."

Harding was finally stone-cold sober. Looking death in the eyes did that. He stared, afraid to move or speak. Slowly, the deadly look faded to one more neutral.

"Since I don't get what I want, you don't either. We'll just call this one a draw and go our separate ways. You get your life, minus some cash, and we get ours, plus some cash." He ran a finger the length of the gun. "Of course, if you renege in any way or try to alter our deal by a single penny, I will kill you. I'd consider it a privilege to go to jail for ridding the world of the likes of you."

"I need to think about it."

"I wouldn't think too long. I'm sure the Feds will offer Nadine a sweet deal for returning the chip. And she's liable to turn over both versions to lighten her sentence." Dewey headed for the door but stopped before opening it. "I wouldn't mention this to your goon, Stern."

"Why not?" Harding struggled to his feet.

"You didn't ask where I got my working prototype. You didn't think I got it working, did you?"

Before Harding could respond, the man was gone, pulling the door closed behind him.

Stern. He'd had a working prototype all along? Why? Why would he do this to him? Of course! He wanted the power for himself. The bastard. Well, he'd find out what happened to those who screwed Peter Harding over. He'd find out. And then he'd be dead. Very dead.

Stern had a finally honed sense of danger. It had served him well for many years. It led him to those who could help him and away from those who were against him. Harding would be a challenge to neutralize. He was a public figure. The challenge would be taking him out while implicating him in the theft, then getting away clear and clean. Stern was also a semipublic figure, if a shadow could be considered public.

He'd gone to his office after leaving Harding wallowing in his own fears, but Stern's sense of unease grew too strong for confinement. He needed to be out, where he'd have a clear sight line ahead of him and his back protected.

He let himself out the private entrance, where no cameras monitored his comings and goings, and crossed to his car. Inside, he shoved the key into the ignition, but before he could turn it, he felt something cold against his neck. Something long experience told him was the barrel of a gun.

Without moving a muscle, he looked in the rearview mirror.

"Put your hands where I can see them," Dewey said, digging the gun harder into Stern's neck for emphasis. "Slowly and carefully. I'm a little jumpy, and this has a hair trigger."

Stern was no fool. He did as he was told. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm the man who's going to make you very rich," Dewey said.

"I'm already very rich," Stern said, wondering how he could distract him.

"Not this rich."

"Okay. I'll bite," Stern said. "How are you going to do it?"

"By delivering RABBIT to you."

Stern jerked, but couldn't quite repress a smile. "RABBIT?"

"Let me clarify that. The one that works."

That got his attention. "I don't think I understand you..."

"Oh, you understand me all right. At least halfway. You knew that chip in the research lab was worthless. You just didn't know about the one that worked. The one Harding had stowed in his personal safe."

A pause. "What makes you think I didn't know about it?"