"You still don't trust me."

His smile was tight and humorless. "Let's just say I've noticed people you don't like tend to disappear. As far as I can tell, the Jamisons dropped off the face of the earth. Now you're telling me that Tiger Leone's boss is nowhere to be found. I've got to admit, I'm a little concerned."

Gwen let a beat or two pa.s.s before asking, "Is this your way of asking me if I like you?"

For several moments he simply stared. "Do you find this amusing?"

"No, but I do find it amusing that you're so worried about who's on my s.h.i.t list," she snapped. "If you'd been paying attention, you might have noticed that my friends have more to worry about than my enemies. Tom Yoland died in the raid on Winston's. Frank Cross is dead. Someone tried to ambush Damian tonight. When I start liking you," she concluded grimly, "that's when you should worry."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

A tentative sunrise was experimenting with pastel pinks as Gwen jogged down Sylvia's long gravel drive.

She let herself out through the pedestrian door beside the main gate and started down the road.

The door on a parked car swung open abruptly, swinging right into her path with a timing that was too perfect to be accidental. She leaped out of range and took a step forward. Pulling her gun from her thigh holster, she dropped to one knee, using the open door as a shield.

When no further attack was forthcoming, she slowly rose, holding her gun in front of her with both hands.

To her surprise, the driver was a fat man with a bad comb-over and a who-shot-the-sofa plaid sport coat. Dennis Walsh, captain of the vice squad and her former boss, slowly lifted his hands from the steering wheel and held them up, empty.

Gwen glanced at the pa.s.senger seat for a ready weapon, then into the backseat. Both empty.

She holstered her gun and sent a pointed glance at Sylvia's stately brick home. "I hast got to get a better address. Any lowlife can wander into this neighborhood."

Walsh hauled himself out of the car and leaned his arms on the top edge of the open door. "It seems like you'd want people to find you, seeing that you're in business for yourself now."

"Business," he repeated emphatically, "in a residential area. We have zoning codes in this city, Gellman.

You can't run a shop out of this place."

"Maybe not, but I can have a home office," Gwen countered. "I don't have a princ.i.p.al place of business.

I'm like a consultant; I meet most of my clients off-site and do nearly all my work in the field."

"Yeah, but what address do you advertise?""You won't find me in the Yellow Pages. I work strictly on referrals."

"Smart," he approved. "I can see how you'd want to keep a low profile. This state has some pretty hefty fines for people like you, doing business without a PI license."

Gwen's laugh held more derision than humor. "People like me? Jesus, you're really fishing. I'm completely legal, Walsh. My bond is paid, and my license isn't up for renewal for another three months."

"And that's interesting, you having a PI license," he went on doggedly. "I thought one of the requirements was good moral character. Good moral conduct," he emphasized. "Maybe the IA couldn't prove it, but everyone in the department knows you were pretty friendly with a drug-dealing pimp. They sure as h.e.l.l know the two cops who were looking into your little game ended up dead."

Gwen had taken two quick steps toward him before she realized she was in motion. She caught herself and clenched her fists at her side until her nails bit into her palms.

"You do not want to go down that road," she warned, "because you won't like where it's going to lead."

A mottled flush crept up Walsh's face. "Listen, Gellman, when you're not on the job, you can't see the whole picture. Look what happened when you b.u.t.ted in with the Cody girl."

"I didn't exactly crash the party. Meredith Cody's mother hired me to find her missing daughter, and with good reason. The girl had been gone for four days."

"And the kid would have been back at the end of those four days, if you hadn't started nosing around."

The chief held up a hand to cut her off. "Ryan Cody filled me in on the details. After he brought me in, I insisted on it."

"Did he also mention that he was working for a sleaze peddler, and that his daughter was s.n.a.t.c.hed to keep him in line? But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? By that point you and Wallace Earl Edmonson were well acquainted, and I got the very distinct impression that you weren't very happy about that relationship."

His eyes narrowed. "Where is this going? All I know is Edmonson was Cody's lawyer."

"Edmonson owned Ryan Cody. I guess Cody figured it wouldn't be too good for his career if it got around that he gets off on kiddy p.o.r.n. I'll bet a lot of people would love to hear what Edmonson's holding oversow."

Walsh sent her a reptilian smile. "Don't take up poker, Gellman, because you can't bluff worth s.h.i.t. If you had something, you would have put it on the table by now."

"I'm working my way around to it. Tiger Leone was also reporting to Edmonson."

"Yeah? That wasn't in the reports you filed after the bust."

"I didn't know about it at the time. Since then I've learned all kinds of interesting things."

"Like?"

Gwen suppressed a grim smile. Walsh usually wasn't so transparent. He stopped by to lean on her a bit, hoping a few threats might persuade her to back off. Barring that, he wanted info. Fine. She couldn't wait to see his reaction.

"Tiger Leone got a phone call the night Yoland and Moniz came to the club. An old friend, hesaid-someone who'd been busted by Yoland and Moniz. Someone who conveniently called when the cops were standing right there. That was Eddie Davis, wasn't it?"

Walsh shifted one plaid-covered shoulder. "Might have been. Him and Leone came up together."

"Davis got out just that day. You want to know why I know that? Because I'm looking into every case handled by Edmonson's pet lawyers. Ryan Cody, of Simmons, Fletcher, and Rye, handled Davis, and Edmonson handled him. I figure you a.s.signed me to Tiger before Edmonson sucked you in. You couldn't pull me off the case or keep Yoland and Moniz from following their leads without raising questions, but you could set us up. You expected all three of us to die that night."

"That's bulls.h.i.t."

"Maybe, but the truth frequently is."

He shrugged, proving he was still cop enough to concede her logic in this matter. "Even if that was true, you couldn't prove it and you'd sound crazy just saying it."

"It's amazing what people will believe. Like the IA buying your story about the Tiger Leone paperwork disappearing, along with the forms for the leave of absence I supposedly requested."

Walsh shrugged again. "One of those regrettable errors known to occur in busy offices."

Gwen leaned in close. "You're an idiot, Walsh, and what's worse, you're a f.u.c.king dinosaur. You know those little beige boxes sitting on all the detectives' desks? They're called 'computers.' Tenacious little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Once they've got hold of some information, they hang onto it."

He had the sense to look wary. "What are you saying?"

"I sent you a preliminary report when you first a.s.signed me to shadow Tiger Leone. It might have been deleted, but when my old computer was sc.r.a.pped, the files were stripped off the hard drive."

For a long moment Wash stood very still. Then his eyes cleared, and a smile crept over his face. "Even if that's true, it doesn't mean a d.a.m.n thing. That was just you covering your a.s.s-"

He broke off and raked a scathing gaze over her outfit: good running shoes, a custom-made thigh holster with straps at the top and bottom to keep her gun from bouncing, and a black sports bra that matched her shorts.

"Covering your a.s.s," he repeated, his gaze fixed pointedly on that portion of her anatomy, "and, as usual, not doing a very good job of it. You didn't send me this alleged report by e-mail, did you? If someone got into the guts of my computer, would they find a copy of that report?"

Gwen's stomach suddenly took a nose dive in the general direction of her Reeboks.

"There didn't seem to be a point," she said dully. "You never read e-mail. I printed a copy and put it under your door."

"Then there's no record you actually sent that report." Walsh winked at her. "Sometimes it pays to be a f.u.c.king dinosaur."

He swung his considerable bulk into the car and gunned the engine. As she watched him spin triumphantly off, Gwen thought about Ian's claim that she had some sort of ability to cause rain. Too bad that talent didn't extend to meteor showers. If ever a dinosaur deserved to have his a.s.s bombed intofossil fuel, it was Walsh.

Two hours later, Gwen flicked on her computer and waited impatiently for the files she'd stolen from Ryan Cody's computer to upload. They formed the basis for a growing database into the activities of Simmons, Fletcher, and Rye, the law firm that Edmonson owned- No, that she owned. She was, after all, Edmonson's heir.

This had possibilities. She quickly dialed Cody's private line. He picked up on the second ring.

"It's Gwen Gellman," she told him. "I'm looking for some information on Kate Myers. There might be a connection between her and Edmonson. She's not the drugs and dancing type, so I thought I'd start with his law firm."

The only sound for several moments was a faint static. "You were a police officer. I shouldn't have to remind you about client privilege."

"But you could confirm whether or not she was ever a client?"

"I suppose," he said cautiously.

"How long would that take?"

"About fifteen seconds. The law firm has a searchable database. Spell that last name?"

Gwen gave him the spelling and listened to the faint, rapid clatter of computer keys.

"Kate Myers wouldn't by any chance be related to Sergeant Brendan Myers, Providence city police?"

"Probably. She mentioned her father was a cop, killed in the line of duty."

"About twenty-five years ago, yes. His daughter Katherine received a full scholarship through college and medical school."

"From the law firm?"

"That's right. Over the years, Simmons, Fletcher, and Rye has a.s.sisted several promising students."

"Interesting. Survivor benefits to off-the-books employees? Or maybe an investment in the future?"

Cody sighed heavily. "I wouldn't be at all surprised. But since Myers's name only appears in the scholarship fund, I couldn't tell you what business Edmonson might have had with the sergeant or his daughter."

"You're being unusually candid. Thinking of moving on?"

"If I could, I'd quit tomorrow," he said bluntly. "You know I can't."

Gwen knew. Cody had been recruited by Simmons, Fletcher, and Rye because his personal flaws gave Edmonson a means of control. When that failed, Edmonson had Cody's fourteen-year-old daughter s.n.a.t.c.hed to remind the attorney who held his leash.

"How is Meredith?"

"She's taking some time off from school. We felt she needed a change of scenery. Dianne took the children to visit friends."In other words, his family was gone. "Your choice or hers?"

"Does it matter?"

As a matter of fact, it did. If Dianne Cody wanted to dump her husband because he was a sleaze, Gwen had no arguments. If the family was trying to put things back together, that was another story. Her gut told her Cody genuinely wanted change. He'd outgrown his hobby when he started realizing that the hot young things he'd been watching onstage were kids, not much older than his own daughter. To his credit, that had proved to be a major buzz kill. But when he tried to leave the corrupt law firm, his daughter paid the price for his rebellion. As long as Cody thought Edmonson had a hold over him, he wouldn't do anything that might put his family at risk again. Knowing that Edmonson was dead could make all the difference in the world to the Cody family.

On the other hand, Gwen had no reason to trust Ryan Cody. For now, a bit of cautious optimism was the best she could offer.

"I'm working on something that might have an impact on your career plans. If it pans out, I'll let you know."

Several beats of silence pa.s.sed as he processed the possibilities. "If you require representation, I'd be happy to recommend another attorney," he said softly.

Another criminal attorney, Gwen noted, reading between the lines to the phishing expedition. Cody suspected that she was taking a less-than-legal approach to the problem of Edmonson, and his faintly eager tone suggested that he more than approved.

Gwen made some noncommittal noises and ended the call, glad she'd gone with her instincts about pa.s.sing along information on Edmonson. Maybe Cody had changed his mind about kiddy p.o.r.n, but he was still a sleaze.

Shortly after noon, Gwen walked up the stairs of a state-run nursing home, wearing a ball cap embossed with the name of a made-up florist and carrying a cheap floral arrangement she'd purchased at the nearest grocery store.

She stopped at the front desk, a battered wooden relic heaped with medical charts. A thin, tired-looking woman in an old-fashioned white uniform was working her way through the stack. Gwen got the nurse's attention and asked for Irma Williams.

The woman's ferret-eyed gaze took in the flowers. "Hmmph. About d.a.m.n time, is all I got to say."

Gwen blinked in feigned surprise. "Delivery was guaranteed by end of the day. I'm actually a little earlier than I expected."

"Oh, I wasn't talking about you, honey. It's that son of Irma's. Son of a b.i.t.c.h is more like it, no reflection on poor Irma. Haven't seen him around here in maybe two, three years."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Be nice to your kids, I always say," the nurse went on. "Not that you're old enough to have kids just yet, and don't you be in any hurry. Just remember, someday those kids will decide where you end your days.

Not that there's anything wrong with this place," she added hastily.

Gwen managed a smile. "I'll keep that in mind.""No, you won't," the nurse retorted. "You kids all think you're immortal."

"Not me," Gwen said fervently. "What could be more depressing than knowing you were going to live forever?"

The nurse snorted in agreement and gestured toward her littered desk. "You might as well take those flowers right down to Irma. G.o.d knows there's no place to put them here."

Gwen got the room number and general directions, and set off down a series of halls floored in cracked, yellowed linoleum. The walls were long overdue for painting, and many of the rooms she pa.s.sed were still the shade of inst.i.tutional green that was considered soothing fifteen or twenty years back. The unsavory scent of lunch-liver and onions with a side of broccoli would be Gwen's guess-competed with a strong undercurrent of unwashed bodies and unchanged Depends.

Gwen couldn't help wondering what happened to her kind of people when they got old-or for that matter, if they got old. She couldn't see the Elder Races warehousing their oldest members. In her more facetious moments, Sister Tamar claimed the Canadian government could afford a uniform health-care system because they set their elderly adrift on ice floes. From what Gwen had seen of the Elder Races so far, she suspected they'd employ some similar method.

She found room 321 and tapped on the open door. A tiny woman with skin like thin, crumpled brown parchment was seated by the window. She regarded Gwen with bird-bright eyes.