"We'll all wait," Ben said.

Emotion made it difficult for Decker to speak. "Thanks. I appreciate this."

"But I don't know how long I can keep stalling headquarters," Hal said.

"You've already been a great help."

"Maybe. We'll soon find out if what I learned really does help."

When Hal had driven to a pay phone in Santa Fe, he had requested information from his employer's computer system. The system had covert links to every civilian data bank in the United States and with remarkable speed was able to inform Hal that while several blue Chevrolet Cavaliers served as rental cars at the Albuquerque airport, all but one had been rented prior to Thursday, September 1. The remaining Cavalier had indeed been rented on September 1, at 10:13 in the morning, but the name of the renter had not been Dale Hawkins, as Decker had hoped. Instead, the name had been Randolph Green, and his address had not been in or around New York City, as would have been the case for Dale Hawkins; rather, the address had been in Albuquerque itself.

"Randolph Green," Hal said, driving farther from Santa Fe, almost to the crest of the hill. "Who do you suppose he is?"

"And why does a man who lives in Albuquerque go out to the airport to rent a car?" Decker turned from the diminishing crimson sunset. "That's what makes me think we're on the right track."

"Or at least the only track that's promising," Ben said.

"But why would Beth lie about his name?" Decker shook his head. In a way, the question was naive-he already knew part of the answer. Beth had lied for the same reason she hadn't told him she thought she was the real target of last night's attack, for the same reason she hadn't told him that Brian McKittrick would be waiting on Fort Connor Lane to pick her up. Throughout her relationship with me, Decker thought, she's been hiding something. The relationship itself had been a lie.

No! he insisted. It can't have been a lie. How could anything that powerful have been a sham? Wouldn't I have seen the deception in her eyes? Wouldn't I have noticed hesitancy or calculation, something in her manner that would have given her away? I used to be a master of calculation. She couldn't possibly have fooled me. The emotion she showed toward me was real, the tenderness, the pa.s.sion, the caring, the ... Decker was about to use the word love when it occurred to him that he couldn't recall an occasion when Beth had told him directly that she loved him. He had said it to her often enough. But had she ever initiated the statement or echoed it when he said it to her? Trying as hard as he could, he was unable to remember.

Other memories came readily-the first time he and Beth had made love, sinking to the brick floor of her studio, uncertain, tentative, awestruck, wanting, caressing, exploring. That, also, had been on September 1, after he had met "Dale Hawkins," after Beth had shown Decker her paintings. An avalanche of doubting questions threatened to crush Decker's sanity. Had Beth actually painted them? Was Beth Dwyer her true name? Was her husband in fact dead? For that matter, had she ever been married? What was her relationship with Brian McKittrick? It couldn't possibly be a coincidence that McKittrick knew both Decker and Beth.

Madness, Decker thought. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. He felt off balance. Nothing was as it seemed. Everything he had taken for granted was called into question. He had a persistent sense of falling and almost wished that he had never resigned from intelligence work. At least, back then, he had known the rules. Deception was the norm, and he had never been fooled by the lies presented to him. Now, in his determination to believe that life didn't have to be based on deception, he had finally been deceived.

Then why, he asked himself, did he feel so determined to catch up to Beth? To protect the woman he loved? Or was his motive the need to demand explanations from the woman who had lied to him? Confusion was the only thing about which he was certain-and the fact that for whatever reason, he would never rest until he found Beth. He would die trying.

Ben was talking to him again. "When that detective- what's his name? Esperanza?-figures out you've left town, he'll be mad as h.e.l.l. He'll have the state police looking for you."

"For all of us," Hal added. "He saw this rental car parked in front of Steve's house. He can describe it."

"Yes," Decker said. "He'll come looking for me."

The Taurus crested the hill and began the long descent toward Albuquerque. As Santa Fe vanished, Decker turned to study the dark uncertainties that faced him.

SEVEN.

1.

After the Hispanic-pueblo design of the buildings in Santa Fe, the peaked roofs and brick or wood exteriors of the conventional structures in Albuquerque seemed unusual. While Santa Fe had a few Victorian houses, Albuquerque had many, and they, too, looked unusual to Decker, as did the even more numerous ranch houses, one of which was Randolph Green's.

It took an hour to find the address. Decker, Hal, and Ben had to stop at three different service stations off Interstate 25 before they found one that had a map of Albuquerque. The map wasn't as detailed as they would have liked and they had to drive slowly, watching for street signs, but they finally reached their destination in the flatlands on the west side of the city. Chama Street consisted of modest ranch houses, whose lawns, shade trees, and hedges made Decker feel as if he'd been transported into a midwestern suburb. Again he had a dizzying sense of unreality.

"That's the address," Hal said, driving past a house that seemed no different from any of the others.

The time was after 10:00 P.M. Sunset had ended quite a while ago. Except for widely s.p.a.ced streetlights and a few illuminated windows in homes, the neighborhood was dark, residents presumably out enjoying their Sat.u.r.day night Green's house had a light on in a room at the back and on the porch.

"Maybe he's home-maybe he isn't," Ben said. "Those lights might be intended to discourage burglars."

"Drive around the block," Decker said. "Let's make sure there aren't any surprises."

There weren't. The neighborhood appeared as perfectly ordinary as Green's house.

"Maybe we've made a mistake," Hal said. "This doesn't exactly seem like a hotbed of danger."

"It's the only lead we've got." Decker struggled to maintain hope. "I want to ask Green why he had to go all the way to the airport to rent a car."

Hal parked down the street.

Decker waited until the Taurus's headlights had been extinguished before he got out. He wanted the cover of darkness. But as he started to walk back toward Green's house, Hal opened the trunk.

"Just a minute," Hal told him softly, and handed him something. Decker recognized the feel of a packet of lock picks.

Then Hal handed him something else, and Decker definitely didn't need to ask him what it was. The feel of the object was all too familiar-a semiautomatic pistol.

"Nine millimeter," Hal said even more softly. "A Beretta. Here's a sound suppressor for it." Hal was taking items out of a suitcase. Ben was helping himself.

"But how did you get through airport security?"

"Didn't need to."

Decker nodded. "I remember now. Back at the house, you mentioned you'd used a company jet."

"All set?" Ben asked.

After glancing around to make sure he wasn't seen, Decker removed the pistol's magazine, checked that it was fully loaded, replaced the magazine, and worked the slide on top of the weapon, inserting a round into the firing chamber. Carefully he lowered the pistol's hammer, didn't bother to engage the safety catch, and shoved the weapon under his belt, concealing it beneath a tan windbreaker that he had put on along with dark sneakers, fresh jeans, and a clean denim shirt. Although he had done his best to shower off the soot in his hair and on his skin, the cold water had not done a good job. He still had a faint odor of smoke about him. "Ready."

"How do you want to do this?" Ben asked. "If Green's at home, he might not be by himself. He might have a family. He might be innocent. Or he might be rooming with a bunch of guys who love to sit around with automatic weapons. In either case, we can't just barge in."

"Watch the house from here. I'll have a look," Decker said.

"But you might need backup."

"You said yourself that this isn't business. Since this is my show, I'll take the risk."

"We're not doing this for business reasons."

"Believe me, if I need help, I'll let you know."

As Hal shut the trunk, Decker walked with deceptive calm along the shadowy sidewalk, warily scanning the houses on both sides of the street as he approached Green's. No one was in sight. He pa.s.sed Green's house, turned left onto the yard of the house beyond it-that house was completely dark-and moved along a wooden fence, staying low until he reached the back. He had been concerned that there might be a dog at this house or at Green's, but neither backyard had a doghouse, and he didn't hear any barking. The night was still. While he worked to control his tension, he smelled the unfamiliar sweetness of new-mown gra.s.s.

The light at the back of Green's house came from a window, sending a rectangular glow into the murky backyard. No figures moved inside the house. From Decker's position, he had a view of the back of Green's single-car garage. Moving slowly to minimize any slight noise he made, he climbed the waist-high fence and dropped to the opposite lawn. Immediately he pressed himself against the back of the garage, blending with shadows. When no one responded to his entry into the yard, he peered through the garage's back window, the light at the rear of Green's house allowing him to see that the garage was empty.

Immediately he crept toward bushes at the back of the house and stooped beneath a dark window, listening for voices, music, a television show, anything to indicate that someone was inside. Silence. Satisfying himself that a hedge and some trees concealed him from the house in back of this one, he emerged from shadows and warily listened at Green's back door. No sounds from within. He approached the illuminated window and listened beneath it. Nothing.

He a.s.sessed the situation. If Green lived alone, the empty garage suggested he had gone out. But what if Green shared the house with others and not everyone had left? Or what if Green didn't have a car and that was why he had rented the Cavalier on September 1?

d.a.m.n it, I don't have time to rethink everything, Decker told himself. I've got to find Beth! In his former life, he would have backed off and maintained surveillance on the house, waiting until he had a chance to confront Green under controllable circ.u.mstances. But this was Decker's present life, and his heart pounded with the certainty that Beth was in danger, that she needed his help. There had to be an explanation for why she had lied to him. For all he knew, at this very moment she was about to be killed in Green's house.

He hadn't seen any signs warning potential intruders that the house was equipped with a security system. Usually, such signs were displayed in prominent areas. None of the windows in back had a PROTECTED BY sticker. On the off chance that Green had forgotten to lock the back door, Decker tried it. No luck. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out the packet of lock picks, and in thirty seconds had freed the lock. He could have done it much quicker, but he had to work cautiously, making as little noise as possible so as not to alert anyone who might be inside. He was suddenly conscious of the irony that last night someone else had tried to be cautious while picking his lock.

Drawing the Beretta, he crouched, opened the door, and aimed toward what he discovered was a small kitchen. The light he had seen was above the sink. As quickly as soundlessness would allow, he crept through the otherwise dark house, checking every room, grateful that there was only one level and that the house didn't have a bas.e.m.e.nt. He found no one.

He went out through the rear door, emerged onto the murky front sidewalk without being noticed, and in five minutes was back inside, this time accompanied by Hal and Ben. The moment Decker locked the door behind them, he said, "So let's find out who the h.e.l.l Randolph Green is. When I searched earlier, I didn't find any children's clothing or toys. I didn't find any dresses. Green lives alone or with a man."

"I'll search the master bedroom," Hal said.

"If there's another bedroom, I'll take it," Ben said.

"There is," Decker said. "And I'll take the study."

"Maybe not." Hal frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"Headlights coming into the driveway."

2.

Decker felt a shock. Through a side window in the kitchen, he saw the gleam of approaching headlights and heard a car engine. The vehicle wasn't close enough for anyone inside it to have a direct view into the kitchen, but it would be that close in a matter of seconds. Decker, Hal, and Ben ducked below the window and peered around hurriedly.

"Let me handle this. Don't let anyone see your faces unless it can't be avoided," Decker said. "If this turns out to be nothing, I don't want you identified for breaking and entering." He retreated through an archway on the right, concealing himself in the darkness of the living room. Hal and Ben took a hallway on the left that led to the study and the bedrooms.

Outside, what sounded like a garage door made a rumbling noise. A few seconds later, the car engine stopped. The garage door made another rumbling noise.

Pressed next to a bookshelf in the living room, Decker felt sweat trickle down his chest as he listened to the sound of a key in the back door's lock. The door was opened. A single pair of footsteps came in. The door made a sc.r.a.ping sound as it was shut. The lock was twisted back into place-and Decker stepped into the kitchen, ready with his handgun.

His reaction to the person he saw was a mixture of relief, confusion, and anger. Decker was well aware that his determination had led him to take risks that he never would have considered in his former life. There was every possibility that Randolph Green was a perfectly law-abiding citizen, that it was only coincidence that the man had rented a blue Chevrolet Cavalier from the Albuquerque airport on September 1. In that case, what if Green panicked at the sight of Decker's handgun? What if something went horribly wrong and Green was fatally injured? Even if Green wasn't injured, Decker had broken the law by invading Green's home, and Decker didn't have his former employer to convince the local police to overlook the crime if he was caught.

His misgivings vanished as the man who had just entered the kitchen swung in surprise toward the sound of Decker's footsteps. Stunned by the sight of Decker's pistol, the man lunged his right hand beneath the navy blazer he wore. Decker got to him before he had a chance to pull a revolver all the way free. Kicking the man's legs from under him, Decker simultaneously yanked the man's right hand toward the ceiling, twisted the man's wrist sharply, and pried the revolver from his grasp.

The man grunted in pain as he hit the floor. Decker slid the revolver away and hurriedly searched the man while pressing the Beretta against the man's forehead. Rea.s.suring himself that the man had no other weapons, Decker took the man's wallet and stepped back, continuing to aim the Beretta down at him. At the same time, he heard urgent footsteps in the corridor at his back as Hal and Ben rushed into the room. "Are you okay?" Ben aimed his own Beretta.

"As okay as I can be, considering how p.i.s.sed off I am." Decker gestured down toward the slender fiftyish man with soft features and thinning partially gray hair. The only detail that had changed since Decker had last seen him was that the man's skin had been pale ten days ago but now had some color from the desert sun. "Let me introduce you to the art dealer who claims to sell Beth's paintings-Dale Hawkins. Long time no see, Dale. How's business?"

Hawkins glared up from where he was sprawled on the floor. "What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing? Do you have any idea-"

Decker kicked him. When Hawkins finished groaning, Decker said, "I asked you a question, Dale. How's business? It must not be too good if you had to leave your gallery in New York? Or is your real name Randolph Green? I'm really confused about all this, Dale, and when I get confused, I get angry. When I get angry, I-"

Decker pulled out a kitchen drawer and dropped its heavy contents on him, making Hawkins groan and clutch his arm. "Talk to me, Dale. Eventually you will, so you might as well save yourself a world of hurt in the meantime."

"You don't know what-"

When Decker threw a toaster at Hawkins, it struck his thigh. The man contorted his face in pain, not knowing which part of his body to clutch.

"Don't make me impatient." Decker poured water into a pot, set it on the stove, and turned on the burner. "In case you're wondering, that isn't for coffee. Ever had a third-degree burn? They say scalding is the worst. I'm really serious about this, Dale. Pay attention. What ... is ... your ... connection ... to ... Beth ... Dwyer?"

Hawkins continued to hold his thigh in pain. "Look in my wallet."

"What?"

"My wallet. You've got it in your hand. Look in it."

"There's something about Beth in here?" Not wanting to take his eyes off Hawkins, Decker tossed the wallet to Ben. "See what he's talking about."

Ben opened the wallet, studied its contents, and frowned. "What's the matter?" Decker asked. "He lied? There's nothing about Beth?"

"Not that I can find." Ben looked extremely troubled. "But a.s.suming that this ID isn't bogus, Randolph Green is his real name."

"So? What's the problem?"

"According to this"-Ben held up a badge-"he's a United States marshal."

3.

"A marshal?" Decker's thoughts swirled. "No. That doesn't make sense. What would a U.S. marshal have to do with-"

"Quiet," Ben said.

"What's-"

"I heard something." Ben stared toward the window in the back door. "Jesus." He raised his pistol. "Get down! Someone's outside!" In that instant, he jerked backward, his forehead spraying blood from the force of a gunshot.

Decker flinched, his ears ringing from the blast that shattered the window on the back door. Sensing Hal dive to the floor, Decker did the same, aiming toward the back door, frantically shifting his aim to the window above the kitchen sink, then to the windows on each side of the room. Shocked, he couldn't allow himself to react to Ben's death. Grief would come later, strong grief, but for now, training controlled him. He had only one imperative-to stay alive.