Didn't you get my message? " ""Going crazy, " he said. "That's a good one." A wave of cold formed at her center and spread outward. With the cordless phone tight against her ear, she stepped out of her bedroom and began pacing the front room.

"Gerry, what's wrong? " "What's wrong? Gin . . . " he sighed, then said nothing. The few silent seconds seemed to stretch into the night falling outside her bay window.

"Gin, there was nothing there. ' It wasn't a complete shock. Some part of her subconscious must have expected this but hadn't allowed her to face it directly. Now she had no choice.

Still, she couldn't accept it.

Her words came in a rush. "There had to be. Gerry, I saw it. Less than an hour before the surgery he had the trocar and an implant filled with TPD sitting on his desk ready to go. I left the recovery room for a few minutes, and when I returned there was a puncture wound on the senator's thigh. It was still bleeding."

"We had that puncture wound' checked in the hospital. It was little more than a scratch."

"Gerry, it" "But it doesn't matter whether there was a scratch or a puncture in the skin, Gin, the fact remains that there wasn't anything under the skin.

The Mr I didn't pick up a single trace of a foreign body. Not in the right leg, and not in the left leg either, because we checked both of them. There's nothing under Marsden's skin but fat and muscle and bone.

No implant, no nothing! " "Gerry, that can't be. If it's not in the senator's leg then it's got to be somewhere else. I know" "That's the trouble, Gin. You didn't know. And you don't know now. I thought you did. I never should have" He cut himself off.

"Gerry, I'm so sorry. I was so sure. Why else would he have thatimplant out and ready to go just before the senator's surgery? " "I don't know, Gin." She sensed a growing edge to his voice. "You tell me. You're the only one who saw it . . . or that TPD stuff. ' "Do you think I imagined it? ' "I don't know what to think anymore. Look, I know I started you on this, but I must have been crazy, and I made you a little crazy too. I do know that Ketter and I are the big joke around the Bureau."

"Oh, G.o.d. I'm so sorry. Look, you sound tired.

When you and Martha come over we'll have some wine and you can relax while I" "I don't think we'll be able to make it, Gin. Not tonight.

" Something in his voice made her sit down in the nearest chair. She bit her lip.

"Gerry, what's wrong? " "Wrong? Everything's wrong, Gin." She heard the hurt, the disappointment in his voice. "I'm really not very hungry. And to tell the truth, I don't think I'll be very good company tonight." Gin felt tears well in her eyes. "I feel terrible about this, Gerry.

" "That makes two of us. Maybe you've been working too hard, stretching yourself too thin. I shouldn't have got you wired on my little conspiracy theory. ' She felt as if she'd been punched. "You do think I imagined all this!

Did I imagine all those newspaper articles? " "I told you, Gin, I don't know what to think anymore. Maybe this isn't a good time for us to be discussing it. I know it's not a good time for me. I've got to get dinner for Martha. We'll talk some other time, okay? " '"Talking it out tonight might" "The last thing I need is to talk about Duncan Lathram. Frankly, if I never hear his name again, it will be too soon.

What I need is to cool down and get this day over with. ' "You're sure? " "I'm truly sorry for begging off at the last minute like this, but trust me, it's for the best." She didn't want to hang up but sensed he didn't want to talk anymore.

'"Call me tomorrow? ' "Will do."

"All right. Good night."

"Good night, Gin." And then she hung up.

Bewildered, Gin sat and stared down at Kalorama Road.

"He thinks I'm crazy, " she whispered to the empty apartment.But she'd been so certain, so d.a.m.n sure that Duncan had stuck an implant into Senator Marsden. She'd seen it lying on his desk just before the surgery. Why else would it have been there?

Unless . . .

Unless Duncan had been setting her up.

But how? He had no inkling of what she knew. She'd relocked his desk drawer, erased the FDA download from the computer. She'd left no trail.

No reason in the world for Duncan to suspect she had the vaguest due.

So why would he set her up?

Maybe he had'ntr. Maybe he'd tried to jab an implant into the senator's thigh but didn't have time to complete the job, leaving a skin wound but no implant.

And maybe he wasn't up to what she thought he was. Maybe she'd misinterpreted everything.

Was that possible? Could she have been that far off the mark?

And poor Gerry. He'd stuck his neck out on account of what she'd told him. Sounded as if he'd been d.a.m.n near decapitated as a result. He had a right to be hurt and angry.

But so do I, dammit.

She wandered over to the kitchenette and saw the heads of broccoli sitting on the counter, waiting to be sliced up into flowerets. Enough for three or four. And she wasn't the least bit hungry.

I've really screwed things up, haven't I, she thought as she rerurned to the bay window and curled up on the seat.

The streetlights were on. She stared down at the pa.s.sing singles and couples. She felt utterly alone, but she wasn't going to cry.

Gerry sat in his easy chair with Martha on his lap. He had his arms around her, holding her close and warm against him in her OshKosh corduroys while she read him a story. It was the Martha Canney variation of Madeline. She couldn't read just yet, but she'd heard the story so many times that she knew it almost word for word.

So did Gerry. So his mind drifted. It would have drifted no matter what Martha was reading.What a G.o.dawful, rotten day. If only . . .

Yeah. If only. He must have had a million if-onlys since this morning when the Mr I report had come back negative.

d.a.m.n! If only he hadn't rushed it, taken a little more time to check things out. But dammit, they couldn't take too much TIME Marsden was supposedly in danger.

Supposedly . . .

He'd bought into Gin's scenario completely. If only he'd been a little more skeptical.

He winced as he remembered the excruciating moment when he'd had to call Ketter and tell him that they'd come up empty-handed. The little operation that was to make them a couple of fair-haired. boys had left them the big jokes of the Bureau. And then Cavanaugh, one of the a.s.sistant directors, had called them into his office and dressed them down but good. Gerry couldn't remember ever feeling so embarra.s.sed and humiliated. He'd wanted to crawl under a rock.

But the worst of it was that lost amid all the reprimands was the fact that the operation Gerry had designed and managed had gone off like clockwork. Everything as planned, on time and under budget. Marsden's car had been hit without damage to him, he'd been whisked off to the hospital, examined, and delivered back to. his office without the slightest hint that it had all been arranged.

At least the Bureau itself had been spared any public embarra.s.sment.

Thank G.o.d for that.

But no one would remember his well-oiled operation. Only that there'd been no poison pill in the senator's leg, and that Gerry Canney had to be the most gullible agent in the Bureau.

But what hurt most was knowing that any hopes he'd had of moving up to SSA soon had been dashed but good.

He held Martha closer.

Looks like it's business as usual, kid, he thought glumly.

Catch-as-catch-can fatherhood for the foreseeable future.

"Daddy, you're squeezing too tight! ' "Sorry, honey. What happens to Madeline next? " "She has her operation."

"Tell me all about it." His mind drifted again. What about Gin?

What was going on inside her?

Where had she come up with that wild fantasy? From me, dammit. At least initially. But she'd pushed it a few steps further . . .

Marsden . . .

that triethylwhatever-it-was . . . and he'd bought into it on the strength of her conviction, on the basis of his faith in her . . .

Looking back, knowing now that it had been the proverbial wild-goose chase, he couldn't believe he'd got sucked in like that. But thinking about it, he guessed he had been primed to believe anything shady about the uppity Dr. Lathram.

He wished today had never happened.

Gerry suppressed a growl as he closed his eyes. He knew he was feeling sorry for himself. He hated self-pity. Tomorrow was a new day. He'd suck this mess in, chew it up, spit it out, and get back on the job.

But tonight . . . tonight he was feeling pretty G.o.dd.a.m.n low.

His thoughts ran to Gin again. He'd been pretty rough on her. Hadn't meant to be, but the bitterness was like a pressure, he'd had to blow off at least some of it. Couldn'r on Ketter, who'd backed him a hundred percent, and certainly not on Martha.

That left Gin.

Maybe she needed some help. She certainly hadn't been fully connected to reality imagining that implant in Marsden.

Gin . . . he felt a need for her but didn't want to be in the same room with her. At least not tonight. Maybe he'd get past this and maybe not. Where did they go from here? The fallout from today could poison their relationship.

He shifted in the chair. Enough wallowing. He had someone very real and very important sitting on his lap. Time to focus on Martha, and on the problem of Madeline's tummy ache.

But a vision of Gin sitting alone in her apartment came to him. He wondered if she had anyone to turn to tonight. He wondered if she knew someone was thinking about her.

Duncan sat before MaeNeil/Lehrer, sipping a scotch and soda, barely listening. He was envisioning Gin. His earlier anger was gone and now he was wondering what slue was thinking.

Poor girl. Probably couldn't figure up from down at the moment.

Probably questioning her sanity.

He sighed. He wished he could feel good about hoodwinking the poor thing, but frankly, it hadn't taken much. He'd been all primed for her yesterday morning. He'd had the TPD, the trocar, and a saline-filled implant sitting on his desk where she could see them. He'd dosed her coffee with twenty milligrams of Lasix. The diuretic had achieved the desired effect, she'd had to leave Marsden's side for a trip to the john. And while she was gone he'd ducked in and given Marsden a quick jab with the tip of the trocar. After that it was simply a matter of waiting.

All to see what she knew. Obviously she suspected something, but how much?

Now he knew.

Gin knew everything. Or at least enough to go to her fellow in the FBI and convince him to save her dear senator from the wicked Dr.

Lathram.

The call from the hospital that the FBI was involved had come as a mind-numbing shock.

He sipped his scotch. But he was better now. Everything was under control again.

But poor Gin. She must have been so sure.

And right now she probably wasn't sure of anything at all, except that the FBI considered her an unreliable source.

He'd neutralized her without harming a hair on her head.

Pretty slick.

So now she had to put this behind her. Write it off as a bad dream and let things return to normal. If he were smart he'd find an excuse to fire her. Play it safe and get her off the premises.

But he couldn't do that. He still remembered that skinny, raven-haired little girl with the huge brown eyes, wide with fright, asking him if she was going to die, and later his hands inside her abdomen, her blood pooling around his wrists as he fought to find the bleeders and mend her damaged arteries. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed those days.He missed the adrenaline rush of the emergencies, opening up a patient and searching for the leak, racing against the falling blood pressure, the falling hematocrit, the impending cardiovascular collapse and shock.

Or rushing to tie off a bulging abdominal aneurysm before it blew and splashed red against the ceiling. He missed saving lives.

But McCready, Ailard, Lane, Schulz, Vincent, and the rest of them had made that impossible.

He rubbed his eyes as bitter memories rushed in. . . memories of poor Lisa . . .

Lisa Lathram . . . a euphonious name, such an up sound to it. And yet Lisa herself . . .

He remembered her as such a happy child, could still hear her dulcet laugh, see her bright eyes, her effulgent smile Lord, that smile .

Lisa was always smilingaccepting everyone and everything, hugs and kisses all around.

When Brad came along, Duncan loved him equally, but as a son. There was a difference there.

Lisa remained the light of his life. At times he was sure Diana was jealous of their relationship. When he arrived home from the hospital or the office, Lisa was the first one he looked for, and she always came running when she heard his voice. How he cosseted her. Whatever she wanted, whatever she neededa piano to play, a horse to ride, a balance beam for gymnastics practicewas hers for the asking.

But the halcyon days of her childhood evanesced as p.u.b.erty took hold, and Duncan came to understand firsthand the origin of the changeling myth. As her body changed, so did Lisa's personality. At first he and Diana chalked up the moodiness to the new hormones pulsing through her.

After all, what was there to be grumpy about? With her flowing blond hair and lissom figure, she was only getting prettier.

He and Diana kept hoping their adolescent age would snap out of it, but after a while it became clear that more than hormones were at work here. She lost interest in her friends, her piano playing, her horse.

The downs kept getting deeper and longer, and there never seemed to be any real ups, only not-so-downs.

And then she swallowed half a bottle of her mother's Dalmane and had to have her stomach pumped. She was diagnosed with severe endogenous depression and the endless rounds of antidepressants and outpatient therapy began.

Nothing worked for very long. And then came that terrible night she locked herself in her room and screamed with pain. Duncan kicked the door down and found her sitting in the middle of her bed bleeding from a slit wrist.

They hospitalized her for a month after that, and tried something new called Prozac. Lisa responded beautifully. In her case it was truly a miracle drug.

Duncan still remembered the day he came home from the hospital to find Diana standing in the foyer sobbing. Immediately his heart plummeted, expecting the worst And then he heard it, floating in from the living room, the sound of Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 2I. Lisa was playing again.