"Greggory Urskine," he said, sticking out his hand.

"You cut yourself," Angie said, not accepting the gesture, her gazestill on the smear of blood that crossed his palm.

Urskine looked at it and rubbed the rag over it, chuckling in thatnervous way people sometimes have when they are trying to make a goodimpression, Angie just stared at him. He looked a little like KurtRussell, she thought: a wide jaw and small nose, tousled sandy hair.

He wore gla.s.ses with silver wire rims. He had cut himself that morningshaving his upper lip.

"Aren't you hot in that jacket?" he asked.

Angie said nothing. She was sweating like a horse, but the sleeves ofher sweater were too short and didn't cover all the scars on her arms. The jacket was a necessity. If she got any money out of Kate, she wasgoing to buy herself some clothes. Maybe something brand new and notfrom the Goodwill or a thrift shop.

"I'm Toni's husband-and handyman," Urskine said. He narrowed his eyes.

"I'm guessing you're Angie."

Angie just stared at him.

"I won't tell anyone," Urskine said in a confidential tone. "Yoursecret's safe with me."

It seemed like he was making fun of her somehow. Angie decided shedidn't like him, handsome or not. There was something about the eyesbehind the expensive designer gla.s.ses that bothered her. Like he waslooking down at her, like she was a bug or something. She wondered idlyif he had ever paid a woman for s.e.x. His wife seemed like the kind ofwoman who thought s.e.x was dirty. Saving women from having to do it wasToni Urskine's mission in life.

"We're all very concerned about this case," he went on, looking serious.

"The first victim-Lila White-was a resident here for a while. Toni took it hard. She loves this place. Loves the women. Works like a trooper forthe cause."

Angie crossed her arms. "And what do you do?"

Again with the flashing smile, the nervous chuckle. "I'm an engineer atHoneywell. Currently on leave so I can help fix this place up beforewinter-and finally finish my master's thesis."

He laughed like that was some kind of big joke. He didn't ask Angie whatshe did, even though not all of the women in this place were hookers. Hewas looking at her stomach, at the navel ring and tattoos revealed asher too-small sweater crept up. She c.o.c.ked a hip, flashing a little moreskin, and wondered if he was thinking he might want her.

He glanced back up at her. "So, they've got a good chance of catchingthis guy, thanks to you," he said as a half-statement, halfquestion."You actually saw him."

"No one's supposed to know that," Angie said bluntly. "I'm not supposedto talk about it."

End of conversation. She ignored the closing niceties, backed away fromhim, then headed up the stairs. She felt Greggory Urskine's eyes on heras she went.

"Uh, good night, then," he called as she disappeared into the darknessof the second story.

She went to the room she shared with a woman whose ex-boyfriend had heldher down and cut all her hair off with a hunting knife because she refused to give him her AFDC check so he could buy crack.

The woman's kids were in foster care now. The boyfriend had skipped toWisconsin. The woman had been through drug rehab and come out of it witha need to confess. Therapy did that to some people. Angie had been toosmart to let it happen to her.

Don't tell your secrets, Angel. They're all that make you special.

Special. She wanted to be special. She wanted not to be alone. It didn'tmatter that there were other people in this house. None of them werehere with her. She didn't belong. She'd been dropped here like anunwanted puppy. f.u.c.king cops. They wanted things from her, but theydidn't want to give her anything back. They didn't give a s.h.i.t abouther.

They didn't care about what she might want from them.

At least Kate was halfway honest, Angie thought as she paced the room.

But she couldn't forget that Kate was still one of them. It was KateConlan's job to try to wedge open her defenses so the cops and thecounty attorney could get what they wanted. And that would be the end ofit. She wasn't really a friend. Angie could count the only friends she'dever had on one hand and have fingers left over.

She wanted one tonight. She wanted not to be stuck in this house.

She wanted to belong somewhere.

She thought of the woman burning in the park, thought of where thatwoman had belonged, and wondered fancifully what would happen if shejust took that woman's place. She would be a rich man's daughter. Shewould have a father and a home and money.

She'd had a father once: She had the scars to prove it. She'd had ahome: She could still smell the sour grease in the kitchen, could stillremember the big, dark closets with the doors that locked from theoutside.

She'd never had money, She went to bed with her clothes on and waiteduntil the house was quiet and her roommate was snoring. Then she slippedout from under the covers and out of the room, down the stairs, and outof the house through the back door.

The night was windy. Clouds rolled across the sky so fast, it lookedalmost like time-lapse photography. The streets were empty except forthe occasional car rolling down one of the big cross streets going northand south. Angie headed west, jittery, skittish. The feeling that shewas being watched constantly scratched at the back of her neck, but whenshe looked over her shoulder, there was no one.

The Zone was chasing her like a shadow. If she kept walking, if she hada purpose, focused on a goal, maybe it wouldn't catch her.

The houses along the way were dark. Tree limbs rattled in the wind.

When she came to the lake, it was as black and shiny as an oil slick.

She stuck to the dark side of the street and walked north. People in this neighborhood would call the cops if they saw someone out walkingthis late at night.

She recognized the house from the news reports-like something fromEngland with a big iron fence around it. She turned and climbed the hillto the back side of the property, the big trees giving her Cover.

Hedges blocked the view of the house three seasons of the year, b.u.t.their leaves were gone now, and she could look through the tangle offine branches.

A light was on inside the house, in a room with fancy gla.s.s-paned doorsthat let out onto a patio. Angie stood at the fence, careful not totouch it, and gazed into Peter Bondurant's backyard. She looked past theswimming pool and the stone benches and the wrought iron tables andchairs that hadn't yet been taken into storage for the winter. Shelooked at the amber glow in the window and the figure of a man sittingat a desk, and wondered if he felt as alone as she did. She wondered ifhis money gave him comfort now.

PETER ROSE FROM the desk and moved around his office, restless, tense.He couldn't sleep, refused to take the pills his doctor had prescribedand had delivered to the house. The nightmare was alive in his mind: theorange brilliance of the flames, the smell. When he closed his eyes hecould see it, feel the heat of it. He could see Jillian's face: theshock, the shame, the heartbreak, He could see her face floating free,the base of her throat ragged and b.l.o.o.d.y. If his mind was filled withimages like these when he was awake, what would he see if he went tosleep?

Going to the French doors, he stared out at the night, black and cold,and imagined he felt eyes staring back. Jillian, He thought he couldfeel her presence. The weight of it pressed against his chest as if shehad wrapped her arms around him. Even after death she wanted to touchhim, cling to him; desperate for love, the meaning of it for her skewedand warped.

A strange, dark arousal flickered deep inside him, followed by disgustand shame and guilt. He turned away from the window with an animal roarand flung himself at his desk, sweeping everything from the tidysurface.

Pens, Rolodex, paperweights, files, appointment book. The telephonejingled a protest. The lamp hit the floor, the bulb bursting with anexplosive pop.11 casting the room into darkness.

The final bright flash of light remained in Peter's eyes, twin flares oforange that moved as he moved. Flames he couldn't escape. Emotion was arock in his throat, lodged there, hard and jagged. He felt a pressurewithin his eyeb.a.l.l.s, as if they might burst, and he wondered wildly ifhe might not still see the flames anyway.

A harsh, dry choking sound rasped from him as he stumbled in the dark toa floor lamp, tripping over the things he'd knocked from the desk.Calmer in the light, he began to pick up the mess. He put the thingsback one at a time, aligning them precisely. This was what he had to do:Put his life back together with seamless precision, smooth the tears inthe surface and go on, just as he had when Sophie had taken Jillian andleft him all those years ago.

He picked up the appointment book last and found it opened to Friday.

Jillian: dinner, written in his own precise hand. It sounded soinnocent, so simple. But nothing was ever simple or innocent withJillie.

No matter how hard she tried.

The phone rang, startling him from the dark memories.

"Peter Bondurant," he said as if this were normal business hours.

In the back of his mind he was trying to remember if he'd been expectinga call from overseas.

"Daddy dearest," the voice sang softly, seductively. "I know all yoursecrets."

CHAPTER 12.

"WE'RE GOING to look like a.s.ses if we have to release another composite," Sabin complained, prowling behind his desk.

His lower lip jutted out like a sulky two-year-old's, an odd contrast tothe sharp sophistication of his image. Ready to deal with the press at amoment's notice, he had decked himself out in a pewter-gray suit with atie two shades darker and a French-blue shirt. Very dapper.

"I don't see how it reflects badly on your office, Ted," Kate said.

"Chief Greer was the one who jumped the gun."

He frowned harder and gave her a meaningful look. "I know whose faultthis is."

"You can't blame the witness," Kate said, knowing full well he meant toblame her.

"I'm told she's not been very cooperative," Edwyn n.o.ble said withconcern, wedging his way into the discussion. He sat in a visitor'schair, his body too long for it, the legs of his dark trousers hiking upabove bony ankles and nylon socks.

Kate stared at him, half a dozen stinging remarks on the tip of hertongue, not the least of which was "R*at the h.e.l.l are you doing here?"

Of course, she knew what he was doing there. His presence skirted thebounds of propriety, but she had already run the argument through herhead and knew what the outcome would be. The county attorney's officeran victim/witness services. Peter Bondurant was the immediate family ofa victim-if the dead woman proved to be his daughter-and thereforeent.i.tled to be kept informed as to the disposition of the case. Edwynn.o.ble was Bondurant's envoy. Et cetera, et cetera.

She looked at n.o.ble as if he were something she might sc.r.a.pe off hershoe. "Yes, well, there's always some of that going around."

The insinuation struck the bull's-eye. n.o.ble sat up a little straighterin the too-small chair, his eyes going cold.

Rob Marshall moved between them as peacemaker, the bootlicker's grinstretching across his moon face. "What Kate means is that it's notunusual for a witness to such a brutal crime to become a little reluctant."

Sabin huffed. "She's not reluctant for the reward money."

"The reward will go out only upon conviction," n.o.ble reminded them, asif it would take his client that long to sc.r.a.pe the cash together. As ifBondurant might be half hoping to get out of it altogether.

"This office does not buy witnesses," Sabin proclaimed. "I told you Iwanted her dealt with, Kate."

He made her sound like a paid a.s.sa.s.sin. "I am dealing with her."

"Then why did she not spend Monday night in jail? I told Kovac to treather like a suspect. Scare her a little."

"But you-" Kate began, confused.

Rob gave her a warning took. "We still have that option in our pocket,Ted. Trying Phoenix House first might soften her up, give the girl theimpression that Kate is on her side. I'm sure that's what you had inmind, isn't it, Kate?"

She glared at her boss, openmouthed.

Sabin was pouting. "Now this sketch fiasco."

"It's not a fiasco. No one should've seen the sketch yesterday," Kateargued, turning away from Rob before she could go for his throat. "Ted,you pressure this kid, she'll walk. Get tough with her, she'll develop areal mean case of amnesia. I guarantee it. You and I both know you havenothing to hold her on with relation to the murder. You couldn't evenget her arraigned. A judge would bounce it out of the courtroom like aSuper Ball, and you'd be left with egg on your face and no witness."

He rubbed his chin as if he already felt the yoke drying. "She's avagrant. That's against the law."

"Oh, yeah, that'll look good in the papers. Teenage Murder WitnessCharged for Homelessness. Next time you run for office, you can billYourself as the Simon Legree candidate."

"My political life is not an issue here, Ms. Conlan," he snapped,suddenly stiff and steely-eyed. "Your handling of this witness is."

Rob looked at Kate with an expression that questioned her sanity.

Kate looked to Edwyn n.o.ble. Not an issue. In a pig's eye.

She could have pushed Sabin a little now and gotten herself rea.s.signed.

She could have confessed a total inability to deal with this witness andbeen out from under the burden that was Angie Dimarco.

But the second Kate thought it, she saw herself leaving the girl at themercy of the a.s.sembled wolves, and couldn't do it. The memory was toofresh of Angie standing in the ratty den at the Phoenix, sudden tears in her eyes, asking Kate why she couldn't go home with her.

She rose, discreetly smoothing the wrinkles from the front of her skirt.

"I'm doing my best to get the truth out of this girl. I know that'severyone's goal. Give me a chance to work her my way, Ted. Please."

She wasn't above giving him the hopeful, wide-eyed look if it would swayhis mood. He didn't have to fall for it if he didn't want to. The word mercenary crawled through her mind, leaving a small trail of slime.

"She's not the kid next door," she went on. "She's had a tough life andit's made her a tough person, but I think she wants to do the rightthing here. It won't do anyone any good to get impatient at this stageof the game. If you want corroboration of my opinion, ask Quinn. Heknows as much about dealing with witnesses in this kind of case as Ido," Kate said, thinking turnabout was fair play. John owed her one.

At least.

n.o.ble cleared his throat politely. "What about hypnosis? Will you trythat?"

Kate shook her head. "She'll never go for it. Hypnosis requires trust.

This kid hasn't got any. Oscar's as mystical as she's going to sit stillfor."

"I hate to play devil's advocate," the attorney said, unfolding himselffrom the chair, "but how are we to know the girl saw anything at all? Itsounds to me as if she's the type to do anything for money.

Perhaps the reward is her only goal."

"And she set her sights on that goal before she knew it would evenexist?" Kate said. "If that's the case, then she's worth more than sheever was to this case because she'd have to be psychic. No reward wasoffered after the first two murders."

She glanced at her watch and swore under her breath. "I'm afraid yougentlemen will have to excuse me. I have to be at a hearing in a fewminutes and my victim's probably already panicking because I'm notthere."

Sabin had come around the desk to lean back against it with his armscrossed and his stern face on. Kate recognized the pose from the profileMinnesota Monthly had done on him a year earlier. Not that shediscounted his power or his willingness to use it. Ted Sabin hadn'tgotten where he was by being anybody's fool or pretty boy.