"What?"

Decker vividly remembered his telephone conversation with McKittrick. "I think McKittrick told the mob how to find her, provided they killed me in the bargain. I think he blames me for the CIA's decision to kick him out. I think he's a sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d who planned to ruin my life from the moment he was a.s.signed to help turn Diana Scolari into Beth Dwyer."

5.

The small living room became silent.

"That's a serious accusation." Miller bit his lower lip. "Can you prove any of this?"

"No." Decker didn't dare tell him about what had happened in the van.

"How did you find out that Beth Dwyer's real name is Diana Scolari?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

Decker didn't respond.

"Listen very carefully." Miller stood. "You are in possession of information indicating there was a serious breach of security in the protection of an important government witness. I am ordering you to tell me how you came by this information."

"I'm not at liberty to say."

Miller glared. "I'll teach you about liberty." He picked up the telephone. "You'll be giving up your liberty for quite a while until you tell me what I want to know."

"No. You're making a mistake," Decker said.

Miller glared harder. "I'm not the one who's making a mistake."

"Put down the phone. Please. All that matters is saving Beth's life."

Miller swung toward Esperanza. "Do you hear this bulls.h.i.t?"

"Yes. For the past twenty-four hours, he's been playing mind games with me," Esperanza said. "What worries me is, he's beginning to make sense. Beth Dwyer's safety is the priority. If Decker cut corners to get his information, I'm prepared to deal with that later, provided it doesn't compromise me."

"Plausible deniability," Decker said.

"What?"

"That's what we used to call it in the Agency."

"How about calling it accessory to a felony?" Miller asked.

"Tell me what Beth Dwyer was going to testify about."

Miller wasn't prepared for the abrupt change of topic.

"Did she really shoot her husband in the head and get away with two million dollars of mob money?" Decker asked.

Miller gestured fiercely. "Where the h.e.l.l did you learn this stuff?"

But Decker ignored the outburst. He was too busy recalling something the gunman had said on the telephone-"d.a.m.n it, Nick's going to be furious."

"A man called Nick is involved," Decker said. "Do you know who that is? What's his last name?"

Miller blinked in astonishment. "It's worse than I thought. There'll have to be a complete review of witness relocation security procedures."

"Beth's in danger," Decker said with force. "If we share what we know, we might be able to save her life."

"Diana Scolari."

"I don't know anything about Diana Scolari. The woman I care about is Beth Dwyer. Tell me about her."

Miller stared toward the darkness beyond his window. He stared at his hands. He stared at Decker. "Diana Scolari is the wife-or used to be the wife until someone shot the son of a b.i.t.c.h in the head-of Joey Scolari, the chief enforcer for the Giordano family in New York City. We estimate that Joey was responsible for at least forty mob executions during his eight-year tenure. He was a very busy man. But he didn't complain. The money was excellent, and just as important, he loved his work."

Decker listened, distressed.

"Three years ago, Joey met the woman you know as Beth Dwyer. Her unmarried name was Diana Berlanti, and she was working as an activity director on a cruise ship in the Caribbean, where Joey had decided to put himself on display to give himself an alibi while one of his lieutenants eliminated a problem back in New York. Diana attracted his attention. Understand, he was a good-looking guy, stylish dresser, knew what to say to women. They normally fell all over him, so it wasn't any surprise that Diana didn't tell him to get lost when he started making advances. One thing led to another. They were married three months later. The courtship was convenient for him. He arranged it so they kept going back to the Caribbean. It gave him a chance to have a natural-seeming reason to visit certain islands that have banks with numbered accounts and no objection to laundering money. Same with the honeymoon."

Decker felt sick.

"It's important to emphasize that, according to Diana, she had no idea of Joey's real occupation. She claims he told her he was in the restaurant business-which is true enough; Joey did own several restaurants as part of the same money laundering scheme. Anyhow, time pa.s.sed, and, no surprise, Joey's attention span was limited-he started to get tired of her. For a while, they lived in his penthouse in the city, but when he needed the place for his extracurricular activities, he put Diana in a big house with walls around it across the river in one of those mob bedroom communities in New Jersey. Plenty of guards. To keep her safe, he claimed. Actually, they were to keep her from going back to the penthouse and catching him with his girlfriends. But an equally important reason for the guards was to make sure she didn't get any ideas about moving out after the numerous times he beat her up."

Decker's temples throbbed.

"And I mean he beat her up a lot," Miller said. "Because Diana had started asking questions not only about his fidelity but also about his business. You know how intelligent she is. It didn't take her long to realize what Joey really did, what kind of monster he was. So now she had a big problem. If she tried to leave-and there wasn't much hope of success with so many guards-she was certain he'd kill her. If she stayed and he suspected she was noticing too much, he'd also kill her. Her temporary solution was to pretend to lose interest in his women and his business, to pretend to be compliant. She spent her days doing what under other circ.u.mstances would have given her a great deal of pleasure-painting. Joey got a kick out of that, found it amusing. Sometimes, after he beat her up, he would build a big fire in the den and force her to watch him b.u.m her favorite paintings."

"Jesus," Decker said. "Why did the b.a.s.t.a.r.d marry her?"

"Obviously for the pleasure of possessing someone he could hurt. As I said, Joey was a monster. Until nine months ago, in January, when someone solved her problem by blowing Joey's brains out. Or maybe she did it. There are two conflicting stories. Diana claims she was outside in the back of the estate, painting a winter scene, when she heard a shot in the house. Cautious, not knowing what to expect, she took her time going inside. Her a.s.sumption was that whatever had happened, Joey and the guards would take care of it. Her first surprise was to find the guards gone. Her second surprise was to find Joey dead in his study, his brains across his desk, his safe open. That safe normally held a considerable amount of cash, she knew. She'd seen bags of it delivered from time to time. She'd caught a glimpse of Joey putting it away. She'd overheard references to amounts. Her best guess was that two million dollars was missing. The implications of that didn't strike her at the time. All she cared about was taking the opportunity to escape. She didn't even bother to pack, just threw on an overcoat, grabbed Joey's keys, and drove away."

"To the Justice Department," Decker said.

"What other direction did she have? She knew the mob would be looking for her after she disappeared. But she figured their motive would be to keep her from talking. She didn't realize until later that Joey's G.o.dfather blamed her for the death, that the mob figured she killed Joey and took the money. It was a matter of family pride now. Blood pride. Revenge." Decker nodded. "So the Justice Department spent months debriefing her, relocated her with a new ident.i.ty in Santa Fe, and finally summoned her back to New York to testify."

"Under protection."

"You mean McKittrick's protection."

"Unfortunately."

"What a G.o.dd.a.m.n mess," Esperanza said.

"You still haven't told me who Nick is," Decker said.

"Nick Giordano, the head of the family, Joey's G.o.dfather. Joey's birth father was Nick's best friend. When Joey's parents were killed in a mob attempt to kill Nick, Nick raised Joey as his own. That's what I meant about blood pride. To Nick, it's a matter of personal honor-family in the strictest sense-to find and punish her. Now it's your turn," Miller said. "How is what I just told you going to help save Diana Scolari's life?"

Decker didn't speak for a moment. "It looks like I have only one choice."

"What are you talking about? What choice?"

"I'm suddenly very tired. I'm going home."

"How the h.e.l.l is that going to help your girlfriend?"

"I'll phone you when I wake up. Maybe you'll have more information by then." Decker turned toward Esperanza. "I'll drop you off."

6.

"Don't bother taking me home," Esperanza said as Decker put the Cherokee into gear and sped from Miller's house.

"Then where do you want me to take you?" Decker veered around a shadowy corner.

"Just figure I'm along for the ride."

"What do you think that will accomplish?"

"Maybe I'll keep you out of trouble," Esperanza said. "Where are your friends?"

"Friends?" The thought of Hal and Ben made Decker's mouth taste of ashes.

"You sound as if you don't really have many."

"I have a lot of acquaintances."

"I was referring to the two men who showed up at your house this afternoon."

"I know who you're referring to. They left town." The taste of ashes was matched by an aching sensation-in his chest and at his eyes.

"So soon?" Esperanza asked. "After they went to all the trouble to get here so quickly?"

"My former employer decided what was happening here had nothing to do with business." The murky streets were almost deserted. Headlights blazing, Decker pressed his foot on the accelerator.

"Do you think it's a good idea exceeding the speed limit with a police officer in the car?"

"I can't think of anyone I'd rather exceed it with. If a cruiser stops us, show your badge-explain we're on the way to an emergency."

"I lied to you," Esperanza said. "I did have the state police and the Albuquerque PD looking for you."

Decker felt a cold spot on his spine.

"I gave them the license number and the description of the Taurus your friends were driving. The car was found near a crime scene on Chama Street in Albuquerque around eleven o'clock tonight. The neighbors complained about what they thought were gunshots and explosions. Turned out the neighbors were right. A man whose ID referred to him as Ben Eiseley was found shot to death on the kitchen floor of the house the neighbors complained about. We have no idea where Hal is."

For an instant, Decker could no longer repress his grief. The memory of the shocked expression on Ben's face as the bullet struck him, blood spewing from his head, seized Decker. Suddenly it was as if he had never come to Santa Fe, as if he had never tried to distance himself from his former life. He thought about how Hal had been shot in the chest and yet had still managed the strength to kick the man who had shot him. This wasn't their fight! Decker thought. I should have insisted they back off. But I asked for their help. They died because of me. It's my fault!

"They must have been given another a.s.signment while they were out here," Decker said as calmly as he could.

"You don't seem affected by what happened to Ben."

"In my own way."

"I've never met anyone like you," Esperanza said. "Aren't you curious about what he was doing there and where his partner is?"

"Let me ask you a question," Decker said angrily. "Why did you wait so long to tell me you'd put out a police alert about me?"

"I wanted the right moment. To make a point. You need me," Esperanza said. "Security at the Albuquerque airport has your name. The officers are watching for a man of your description. The minute you try to buy a ticket, you'll be stopped. If you want to fly to New York, you need me to call off the alert, and I charge a price for doing that. You're going to have to let me come along."

"Fly to New York? What makes you think I-"

"Decker, just once, for Christ sake, quit playing mind games with me, will you?"

"Why would you want to go to New York?"

"Let's say tomorrow's my day off and my wife and I could use a little distance from each other." Esperanza gestured with frustration. "Or let's say being with you is a definite learning experience and I'm not ready to let the cla.s.ses end. Or maybe, let's say ... and this is really far-out... let's say I'm a cop because I'm a sucker for helping people. Dumb idea, huh? Right now, I can't think of anybody who needs help more than Beth Dwyer. I want to help you save her. I've got a feeling you're the only person who really knows how to do that."

7.

The roar of the eastward-bound jet vibrated through the fuselage. Sunlight blazed through the window, making Decker's weary eyes feel stabbed. As flight attendants came down the aisle, handing out coffee and a sweet roll, his stomach pained him, reminding him of the stomach problems that he used to have when he was an operative. It's all coming back, he told himself.

Esperanza sat next to him, the only other pa.s.senger in the row. "I regret I've never met Beth Dwyer. She must be very special."

Decker stared out the window at the high-desert landscape he was leaving, the mountains, the arroyos, the Rio Grande, the green of pinon trees against the yellow, orange, and red of the land. He couldn't help being reminded of his ambivalent feelings when he had first arrived, his concern that he might have been making a mistake. Now, after more than a year, he was flying away, and again he felt ambivalent, again wondered if he was making a mistake.

"Yes," Decker said, "very special."

"You must love her very much."

"That depends. It may be"-Decker had trouble speaking-"that I also hate her."

"Hate?"