Jensen watched Jason Amurri sit for his photograph. He appeared upbeat about it, but Jensen sensed an undercurrent of unease.

Why? This was a unique privilege-one that Jensen had been against, but he'd been overruled-so why wasn't Amurri happy?

Just one more thing about this guy that didn't add up. He was supposed to be some kind of rich loner, but he didn't move like a guy who'd grown up deciding which silver spoon to put in his mouth. And his eyes... they didn't miss a thing. Jensen was sure he'd spotted some of the video pickups, maybe all of them, but he hadn't asked about them.

Of course he might have expected them as part of the security system, but wouldn't a guy so hooked on privacy have made some sort of squawk?

Then again, maybe Jensen was wrong. Maybe Amurri hadn't spotted the pickups.

Still, he was getting an itch about this guy-no red-flashing alarms or anything like that, just a feeling that something wasn't quite what it seemed.

He wouldn't tell Brady yet. The boss saw dollar signs when he looked at Amurri and would brush off Jensen's suspicions. So right now he'd keep them to himself and have Margiotta do a little more digging. And maybe have Peary follow him again.

Scratch an itch and sometimes you find a chigger.

5.

A large Dunkin' Donuts coffee in one hand, the Post Post in the other, Richie Cordova elbowed his office door open and breezed through the reception area. in the other, Richie Cordova elbowed his office door open and breezed through the reception area.

"What've we got today, Eddy?"

"New client at two."

He stopped in mid-breeze. "That's it?"

"Afraid so."

He shook his head. Christ, things were slow.

In his office he dumped his weight into the chair behind his desk, set down the coffee and paper, and pulled a bag containing a pair of glazed chocolate donuts from the side pocket of his jacket.

He hadn't been able to resist. d.a.m.n. He had everything else in his life pretty much locked down the way he wanted. His appet.i.te was the only thing not under control.

Maybe tomorrow.

He hit the power b.u.t.ton on his computer and gobbled one of the donuts while it warmed up.

He'd had a dream last night about that nun. A hot one. Must've been because he'd talked to her during the day. He knew what Sister Golden Hair looked like in her birthday suit and she was nothing great-sure as h.e.l.l nothing like the faked-and-baked babes in the shots he downloaded from teen-l.u.s.t.com teen-l.u.s.t.com-but she wasn't bad, and she was real real. And he'd been there, watching in real time as he snapped shots. Last night he'd had that pale, hot little body sweating over him instead of Metcalf.

Richie entered his pa.s.sword and went directly to his photo files.

Photo-wise, he was moving away from film to digital. Eventually he'd be all digital, but old habits were hard to break. Photos of any kind had stopped being worth much in court these days. Too easily faked. h.e.l.l, even negatives could be faked. But things were different in the good old Court of Public Opinion. A compromising photo could still mess up a reputation.

Even if you came out and swore on a stack of Bibles that the pictures were fakes, those images stuck in people's minds long after the explanations had faded away.

He opened the SIS folder and double-clicked one of the jpeg files within. But instead of an image of Sister Maggie in a clinch with her fundraiser pal, he found only a string of flashing capital letters.

HOPE YOU REMEMBERED TO BACK UP!.

Where was the photo? He closed that file and opened the next. Same message.

"Oh, my G.o.d!"

He opened more files and felt his mouth grow progressively drier as the same words popped up time after time. He moved to other folders, but all his jpegs carried the same message. He tried a couple of doc files and they were the same! Every G.o.dd.a.m.n file on his computer had been wiped clean and replaced by the same sneering message!

He was on his feet, hands clamped against the sides of his head. "This can't be! This can't f.u.c.king be!"

Eddy poked her head through the doorway. "Something wrong, Richie?"

"My computer! Someone's been in here and sabotaged my computer! Wiped out everything!"

"How is that possible?"

He went to the two windows and checked the contacts. No sign of tampering. And both were locked from inside.

"I don't know. I-" He jabbed an index finger at her. "You must've forgot to turn on the alarm."

Eddy shook her head and looked offended. "Not a chance. I put it on as I always do. And it was still armed this morning when I opened up."

"Bulls.h.i.t!" he said as he charged her way. She had to back out of the doorway to allow him through. "If that's true, how did he get to my machine?"

Same story with the sealed window in the reception area. What was going on?

"Maybe he didn't," Eddy said. "Maybe he-what do they call it?-hacked into it. I've heard they can get into government computers, so why not yours?"

Richie didn't know much about hacking, but he knew one thing for sure: "A computer's got to be turned on before you can hack it, and I turn mine off every night."

He returned to his office.

Eddy said, "Well then, I don't know what to tell you besides the alarm was set." She frowned. "And then you've got to ask yourself, why anyone would want to sabotage your computer? I keep all the correspondence and billing records on mine. If someone wanted to hurt your business, they'd go after my machine, wouldn't they? And mine is fine."

Richie couldn't answer that. And suddenly he was thinking about the envelope.

"Okay, okay, we've wasted enough time jawing about it. Get the number of that computer place down the street. Call him and tell him I've got an emergency here and need him ASAP."

"Will do."

As soon as the door closed, he went over to the radiator. The envelope was still there. He yanked it out and checked the money-all there. He dropped it back into its hiding place and stumbled back to his chair.

Maybe no one had broken in after all. That was a relief. He'd moved his computer here for the security system. Rudimentary but better than nothing, which was what he had at the house. And since it came with the rent here, a h.e.l.l of a lot cheaper than installing one.

He grabbed the Post Post and fanned to the horoscope page. and fanned to the horoscope page.

Gemini (May 21-June 21): Win points by accepting additional responsibilities. Extra hours ensure future financial security. If you are in negotiations, you know by now that the other side may not be taking things as seriously as you are.

Well, he was always in financial negotiations, and that nun b.i.t.c.h didn't seem to be taking things as seriously as she should, but nothing here about bad luck or watching your back. Cusp guy that he was, he read on to the next.

Cancer (June 22-July 22): Being in the right place at the right time is your style today. You get recognition for a job well done. Balance job responsibilities with social ones. Celebrate, even if you have to invent a reason.

No warning here, either. But he liked the being in the right place at the right time part. That never hurt. No help, though, on what had happened to all his files.

He glanced at the screen where the words still flashed: HOPE YOU REMEMBERED TO BACK UP!.

Richie jabbed the off b.u.t.ton and the screen went dark. "f.u.c.k you!"

He had had remembered to back up. He had a copy of every file in a safe place. remembered to back up. He had a copy of every file in a safe place.

6.

Jack found a small neighborhood no-name bar and earned a lot of stares as the only white face in the place. The available drafts were various Buds and Millers so he ordered a bottle of Corona-no lime-and a bar pie. He took it to the front window where he had a good view of Cordova's office across Tremont.

Traffic was thick on the sidewalks as well as the street where every third car seemed to be a black Lincoln Continental or Town Car with a livery sticker.

The Corona was good, but he barely tasted the pie. Good thing, because the backroom microwave oven had left the crust as gummy as the stingy layer of cheese. Hard to tell where one left off and the other began.

Not that he cared. He was eating simply to keep from being hungry later. Knowing that his face now resided in the Dormentalist computer had filched his appet.i.te. Didn't want his photo anywhere.

But he hadn't been able to do anything about it. He'd considered pushing the privacy-nut persona a little further but had had a feeling that wouldn't wash with Jensen. The big guy was no dummy, and Jack sensed he could be trouble.

Maybe he was already trouble. He'd had him followed again. The same guy who'd tailed him yesterday had tried to dog him again today. Jack had lost him easily in the Rockefeller Center mob and then headed straight up here to the Bronx.

Jack read the tail as a sign Jensen might not be completely sold on his Jason Amurri persona. Maybe just his nature: He didn't seem to be a trusting guy in the first place, and no doubt a big part of his job was sniffing out trouble and heading it off at the pa.s.s. But beyond that, he appeared to have a chip on his shoulder where Jack was concerned. Probably hadn't liked looking bad in front of his boss.

So Jack had let them take his picture. Now what to do about it? He'd have to think of something. Maybe Russ could handle it, although Jack sensed he might be leery about serious hacking, considering how it could screw up his parole.

Checked his watch. Almost noon. Cordova had probably fired up his computer by now. Jack wished he could have been a fly on the wall when he'd opened his first file, then watched the growing horror on his face as he realized he'd been wiped out.

He was halfway through the pie and three-quarters done with his Corona when he spotted Cordova sidling out onto the sidewalk with his computer tower cradled against his big belly. As he started moving uphill, Jack gulped the rest of his beer and headed for the door.

It took him longer than he liked to weave through the lunchtime crowd-it looked like Sidewalk Sale Day, with more clothes and electronics and miscellaneous merchandise displayed outside the stores than in-and when he got to the street, Cordova was gone.

"What the-?"

Had he jumped into a cab? Jack was about to launch into a litany of self-excoriation when he noticed a sign just a few doors to his left: Computer Doctor Computer Doctor.

"Let's hope," Jack muttered as he dodged across the street.

He stopped before the front window and pretended to be looking at the display of monitors and keyboards and various gazillion-megabyte hard drives. A quick glance up showed Cordova standing at the counter, waving his arms at the white-coated clerk.

Jack let out a long breath and retreated to the far side of the street to watch and wait.

7.

"I've got your diagnosis already," said the clerk after Richie had explained what had been happening.

Richie wanted to wipe that smug grin off his pimply face-preferably with a barbed-wire washcloth. His white coat hung loose on his narrow shoulders; he had a shaved head and lots of earrings. Lots. Richie stopped counting at six.

"Yeah? What?"

"Your computer caught a cold."

What was this a.s.shole up to? "How do you know that? You ain't even hooked it up yet."

A wider smile as the geek hooked his thumb under the name tag of the white coat. It said Dr. Marty Dr. Marty.

"The doctor knows. And you've come to the right place. Where better to take a computer with a virus than to the Computer Doctor?"

"Virus?" Richie had heard of those. "How'd I get that?"

"Do you have antivirus software?"

"No."

Dr. Marty rolled his eyes. "Do you go on the Internet?"

"Well, yeah." This clown better not ask where.

"Ever download anything-programs, patches, files?"

"Yeah, sometimes."

Lots of times. Richie didn't know what a patch was, but he'd downloaded a ton of picture files of tight young bodies going hot and heavy at- of times. Richie didn't know what a patch was, but he'd downloaded a ton of picture files of tight young bodies going hot and heavy at- "Then that's where you probably picked it up. That or through e-mail."

"So it doesn't mean someone came into my office and put this in my machine?"