"Or this is exactly what he planned." Jake rubbed the back of his neck. This op was more like a maze than a chess match; he'd think he had it figured out, then go around a corner and run straight into a brick wall.

"Let's just hope our plan works and we don't have to rely on Phagan to stay in the game."

Jake looked at Luke. "Your men ready?"

Luke had offered his best men to tail Phoebe, since they needed faces not already familiar to Harding or her for this part of the op.

"My guys and the transponder are standing by. They'll tag the car's bumper before it pulls out." Luke was all serious cop, as if he knew the stakes on this op were more than the lives of a couple of charming thieves. "We won't lose her."

Jake knew they'd do their best. He just hoped their best would be good enough. There were too many variables for absolutes. "I wish we could wire her," he muttered.

Bryn arched her eyebrows. "Only if we sedated her. And then I think she'd notice." She got up and walked to the window, then turned to look at Jake, her voice sympathetic. "She knows the risks better than we do, Jake. If that hasn't stopped her, we sure as hell won't."

"I know." He rubbed the back of his neck again, but it didn't help. Pain was a vise gripping his head and making inroads on his stomach. Would Phoebe fight as hard for her life as he was? Who knew what horrors lurked in her past? Further information had surfaced about her past. He knew she'd been in the emergency room because of a "tumble" down some stairs. The doctor had reported the fall to Social Services, but the report had disappeared, never to be investigated. No wonder she had trouble trusting the system. How deep were her wounds? How strong was her will to live once she'd achieved her goal?

Only time would tell. He looked at his watch. Time was passing, but too slowly. He looked out the window. Looked like the storm would arrive about the same time she was released.

Phoebe was allowed to change into her own clothes, the black dress and heels, for the arraignment hearing. Looked as though no one wanted to get in the way of her speedy release. Nice that everyone was being so accommodating, and just when she'd decided jail wasn't so bad. Calvin had vanished, replaced by a smarmy snake that had probably slithered out from under a rock near Harding's. Harding was reacting as expected, which should be comforting but somehow wasn't.

The man he'd once been had been predictable only up to a point. She remembered one occasion when she'd thought she'd had him figured out. He'd broken her arm during that beating. The only time she'd had to go to the emergency room. He'd told the ER nurse that she'd taken a tumble down the stairs. Usually he was too careful to leave such visible evidence. Though she'd denied getting beaten, the doctor had told her someone would come to investigate her injuries, but no one did. Then, like now, Harding had powerful friends.

The hearing proceeded to its expected conclusion. All she had to do was say "not guilty" at the right moment. She was escorted out of the courtroom, sent through the system and then released with her personal items in a large yellow envelope.

The lawyer kept checking his watch, as if he had somewhere else to go, but when Phoebe suggested she didn't need him, he did a bad impression of helpful. Which meant he had orders to escort her to somewhere. No sign of Jake or Phagan's Fibbie. She hadn't really expected a big sendoff, but it would have been nice to see him again, just in case...

She shook off that thought. Only a fool went into battle expecting to lose. Of course, she also reminded herself that Harding's weakness was his belief in his own infallibility. He was convinced he was destined for greatness and that gave him the right to do whatever he wanted along the way. It was time for him to get a huge dose of reality, one involving incarceration.

"It's raining," the lawyer said.

It was indeed, coming down in sheets, cleaning the staleness from the air. They needed the rain, she thought, then had to remind herself she wasn't part of "they" anymore. She didn't need anything but an end to the game.

"Afraid to get wet?" She pushed open the door. Despite the dark clouds, Phoebe felt like a mole emerging into light. The wet slap of drops against her face felt good. She turned her face skyward and laughed.

The lawyer grabbed her arm. "Your ride is over there."

Across the street, a limo waited at the curb. The lawyer pushed her toward it, but a Moonie, or a Moonie's first cousin, stepped into her path.

"Beware the world's end," he said, handing her a pamphlet and a small rose pin. His eyes suspiciously resembled Dewey's.

"I will." She pinned the rose to her lapel. The lawyer grabbed the pamphlet, studied it briefly, and then stuffed it into his pocket. He shoved Dewey out of their way and pushed Phoebe toward the waiting car.

As they crossed the street, she identified at least two cops in street clothes doing a great imitation of hurrying through the rain. One dropped something by the limo just as the lawyer opened the door. The cop bent out of sight, then was up and moving down the street again.

Very smooth.

The lawyer gave her a pointed nudge. "Get in, damn it. I'm getting soaked."

She scrambled inside and the door shut. Water dripped down her face, blurring the features of the man waiting inside.

"Nadine." His voice was smooth and cold, like a tomb waiting to be filled. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

She heard the scrape of a match, then saw a blurry flare as it connected with the end of a cigarette. She rubbed the water out of her eyes and saw Barrett Stern, his eyes a dead zone watching her through a haze of smoke. He had a gun, but that wasn't what made him dangerous. It was the vacuum where his soul should be. Unlike Harding, who killed because it made him feel powerful, this man killed to fill himself. He was a ghost who kept trying to warm himself with a fire he'd never feel. His emptiness was a gray mist that crept out from him and wrapped its icy chill around Phoebe, trying to blanket her hope with despair.

The doors locked, trapping her inside with him. He tapped on the window that separated them from the driver, and the limo moved forward with an un-limo-like jerk.

The game, she realized, as her body turned to ice, was a lot different when it was played in real time.

The difference between living and dying.

It was a relief to be moving, to be doing something. This kind of stress Jake could handle. The rain was a pain in the ass, but they'd manage. It's what they did. All his anxieties, his fears, his worries vanished as training, and a rush of adrenaline, took point.

Luke was coordinating their movements from command central, since his men would be playing tag with the limo. He had four teams of men-code-named dogs Blue, Red, Yellow and Green-whose job it would be to keep the limo in sight.

Riggs and Henry were down on the street with a small squad from SWAT, on hold for a target to move on and probably still arguing the merits of The Grateful Dead. Four other squads were stationed in possible target sectors, to give Luke as much flexibility and speedy response time as they reasonably could.

Jake, Alice and Bryn lifted off in a chopper with radio station markings, hoping they'd look as if they were watching traffic, not bad guys. They'd be Luke's eyes in the sky and play backup for any team that got tangled in traffic.

Sebastian was still playing shoot-the-hell-out-of-fake people on Bryn's laptop, trying to beat her top score. Jake hoped the guy would notice if or when Phagan made contact.

On a small map, Jake traced the limo's movements with his finger, while their pilot did the same in the air. Wherever they were going, it wasn't toward TelTech. Each turn was taking them farther and farther away. They'd dug deep into Harding's holdings and turned up a warehouse owned by a subsidiary of TelTech, but they weren't heading toward that or Harding's house. It wasn't unexpected. If Phagan had set up some kind of a meet with Harding and Phoebe, he'd most likely pick a public place, where Harding's threat would be minimized.

While he listened to Luke and his dogs radio traffic, he studied the surrounding area, trying to determine possible destinations. "Something's wrong. There's nothing in this area that's right for a meet," he shouted to Bryn. Before she could respond, Blue Dog reported, "Dog pound, I've lost visual. I repeat, I've lost visual."

"Have you lost signal, Blue Dog?" Luke asked.

"Negative. Signal is strong. Our stray is not moving."

"I can't see them either," Alice yelled. "They went under that overpass, but haven't come out yet."

"I count four," Phoebe said. When Stern arched a thin blonde eyebrow, she added, "Cops. Following us."

Something that might be amusement flickered in his eyes. "It won't be a problem much longer. We get out here. Keep low-don't draw attention to yourself. It wasn't my idea to keep you alive this long."

She nodded, and he released the lock. She slid out, doing as she was told. She could have ditched him-he wouldn't risk shooting at her in front of so many witnesses and with cop hounds so close on their ass-but that wasn't part of her plan. They dodged a few cars and scrambled into the rear of an unmarked white van parked near the cur, but out of sight of the cops' sight line.

When the light changed, the van driver pulled away from the limo and the hounds. As they emerged from the shadow of the overpass, she recognized the driver. He was one of the TelTech shooters. He didn't turn in the direction of TelTech but in the direction of Harding's warehouse.

No big surprise Harding didn't intend to do as he'd been told.

"This isn't smart."

"No shit."

"But you have a plan."

Stern's smile had a feral quality. "I always have a plan."

"Anybody got a visual?" Anxiety sharpened Luke's voice.