,:That ain't no incentive, Kojak," Adler said.

Let Tippen do it," Liska said. "He might find a girlfriend."

"Send Charm," Tippen said. "The hookers will pay him."

"The two of you," Kovac said, pointing to Yurek and Tippen both.

"You're the perfect pair,"

"G.o.d's Gift and the Mercy f.u.c.k," Liska snickered.

Tippen jerked the end of the scarf around her throat. "You'll get it oneof these days, Liska."

"Not if I stay more than three inches away from you."

"Hit the bricks," Kovac ordered. "Time's a-wastin' and this case isstarting to cook. No pun intended. Let's get this dirtbag before helights someone else's fire."

"THAT IS A h.e.l.l of a cat," Quinn remarked, regarding Thor as Thorregarded him from the front hall table. "But I think I could take him."

The cat had to be twenty pounds. Fantastic tufts of hair sprouted fromhis ears. His whiskers looked a foot long. He tucked his chin back intoa great ruff of fur and made a sound like "hmmm" deep in his throat. Heraised his hind leg up behind his ear in a yoga move and licked hisb.u.t.t.

Quinn made a face. "Guess I know what he thinks of me."

"Don't take it personally," Kate said. "Thor is above the petty considerations of mere humans."

She hung herer coat in the hall closet and nearly reached for a secondempty hanger, but stopped herself.

"Thanks for your help tonight," she said, closing the door and leaningback against it. "I was less than gracious about the offer, but I knowit's not your job to investigate."

"Or yours."

"True, but I needed to do something productive. You know I can't bear tojust sit back and let things happen. What about you? It wasn't your jobto go to the Phoenix with Kovac."

"This case has been anything but normal."

"Because of Peter Bondurant. I know." She stroked a hand over Thor.

The cat gave her a look of affront, hopped down, and trotted away, bellyhanging low to the ground.

"Money changes all the rules," Kate said. "There's not a politician inthe Cities who wouldn't bend over backward to kiss Peter Bonduran's a.s.s,then tell him it smells like a rose. Because he's got money to burn andthey want him to keep it here. Because of that his attorney can sit inon meetings with Sabin, and he can have the ear of the mayor, and of thedirector of the FBI, no less. I'll bet Lila White's parents couldn't getpast Director Brewster's secretary. If it would even occur to them totry."

"Now you're sounding like Toni Urskine, saying there's no equal justiceunder the law."

"It's a lovely ideal. we both know doesn't hold water in the real world.

Money can and does buy justice-and injustice-every day.

"Still, I guess I can't blame Bondurant. What parent wouldn't doeverything in their power to get their child back?" she said, herexpression somber. "I would have made a deal with the devil himself whenEm got sick. In fact, I believe I tried," she confessed, forcing alopsided smile. "No takers. Shook my faith in evil."

Her pain was still a palpable thing, and Quinn wanted to pull her intohis arms and invite her to divide it between the two of them, like oldtimes.

"Bondurant's money didn't stop his daughter's death either," he said.

"If that body is Jillian's. He's convinced it is."

"Why would he want to believe that?" Kate asked, bewildered by thenotion. She had been so violently resistant to the news of Emily's deaththat even after a nurse had taken her into the room to see her daughter's body, to touch the cold little hand, to feel for herselfthere was no pulse, no breath, she had insisted it wasn't true.

"What an odd man," she said. "I was surprised to see him at the meetingtonight. He's been keeping such a low profile."

The offhand remark hit Quinn like an invisible fist. "You saw Bondurantat the meeting? Are you sure?"

"Sure looked like him to me," Kate said. "I saw him on my way out.

I thought it was strange he wasn't with his camp, but it was clear hedidn't want any attention. He was dressed down like one of the commonfolk in a parka and a crumpled-looking hat, trying to look anonymous,slipping out the back with the rest of the crowd."

Quinn frowned. "I can't get a handle on him. I'd say he's beinguncooperative, but he's the one who brought me in, then he turns aroundand refuses to answer questions. He's one contradiction after another.

"Christ, I can't believe I didn't see him there."

"You weren't looking for him," Kate said reasonably. "You were lookingfor a killer."

And did I miss him too? Quinn wondered, rubbing harder at the suddensearing pain in his gut. What else had he missed? Some subtle sign: alook, a squint, the hint of a smile. And if he'd seen it, would AngieDimarco be in bed at the Phoenix right now? Logically, he thought no.But catching a killer like this one required something more than logic.It required instinct, and it seemed that he was feeling around in thedark through a blanket for his these days.

"I can't shake the feeling that his daughter is the key to this wholething," he said. "If she's the third vic. Smokey Joe deviated from thepattern with that one. Why? With the first two, he burned the bodies butdidn't try to make them unrecognizable in any other way. With numberthree he obliterates her fingertips and the soles of her feet.

He takes her head. He makes it as difficult as possible to identifyher."

"But he left her driver's license."

"Why do both?"

"Maybe the first as part of the torture," Kate suggested. "As part ofthe depersonalization. He reduced her to no one. He doesn't care if weknow who she is after she's dead, so he leaves the DL as if to say "Hey,look who I killed.' But maybe he wanted this victim to feel like n.o.bodyin those last few moments of her life, let her die thinking no one wouldbe able to identify her or take care of her body or mourn her."

"Maybe," Quinn said. "And maybe this extreme depersonalization is thedeviation in his pattern because he knew Jillian. If, for instance, wecan develop this security guard who lived at Jillian's town housecomplex, we might speculate he killed the two prost.i.tutes for practice,projecting his feelings for Jillian onto them. But that didn't satisfyhis need, so he does Jillian, goes overboard, keeps her head because hewants to own her.

"Or maybe the killer takes the head because that body isn't JillianBondurant and he wants us to believe it is. But that's definitely herDL, and if the body isn't her, then how'd Smokey Joe get it?" he asked."We know this is no kidnapping. It's been days with no call, no ransom demand-at least that we know of. Bondurant won't allow a tap on hisphone-another odd bit of behavior on his part."

"And if Jillian is alive," Kate said, "then where is she and how is shetied to all this?"

"I don't know. And there doesn't seem to be anyone who knew Jillianwilling or able to tell us. This case gives me a bad feeling, Kate."

"The kind you should see a doctor for?" she asked with a pointed look tothe hand he was rubbing against his stomach. "You keep doing that."

He killed the gesture. "It's nothing."

Kate shook her head. "You've probably got a hole in your stomach liningbig enough to drive a Buick through. But G.o.d forbid you admit it. Thinkwhat that would do to the Quinn mystique. It would bring you down to thelevel of Superman with his weakness for kryptonite.

How embarra.s.sing."

She wanted to ask if he had talked to anyone in Psych Services, but sheknew it would be a waste of breath. Every other agent in InvestigativeSupport could line up at the shrink's door and no one would bat an eye.

Stress disorders were the norm in the unit. Everyone understood. Theysaw too much, got too deep into the heads of victims and killers in caseafter horrific case. They saw the worst the world had to offer everyday, and made life-and-death decisions based on an inexact science:their own knowledge of human behavior. But John Quinn would never admitto bending beneath the strain of that. Vulnerability did not become alegend well.

"Bullets don't really bounce off you, John," she said quietly.

He smiled as if she had amused him in some small, endearing way, but hewouldn't meet her eyes. "It's nothing."

"Fine." If he wasn't taking care of himself, that was his problemor theproblem of some faceless woman back in Virginia, not hers.

"I'm having that drink now. You want something before you go?

Maalox? Mylanta? A roll of Turns to chew on for the cab ride?"

She headed for the kitchen, kicking herself for giving him theopportunity to linger, then rationalized it was payback. She owed himfor tonight. Besides, he looked like he could do with a drink.

Of course, she knew he wouldn't allow himself one. He was too consciousof the alcoholism that ran rampant both in his family and in hisprofession. As much as he may have needed to douse the frustration andthe tension the job induced, the risk of drowning was too high.

"Great house," he said, following her to the kitchen.

"I bought it from my parents when they lost their minds and moved to LasVegas."

"So you really did come home."

From the shattered mess that had been her life in Virginia to a housewith warm memories and a sense of security. The house would havesubst.i.tuted its comfort for the comfort of her family-whom he doubtedshe had ever told the whole story. When everything had broken inQuantico, she'd been embarra.s.sed and ashamed. It still hurt him to thinkof it.

What they'd had together had been a connection deeper than any otherhe'd ever known, but not deep enough or strong enough to survive thestress of discovery and disapproval and Kate's predisposition to guilt.

He watched her now as she moved around the kitchen, getting a cup fromthe cupboard and a box of herbal teabags, her long hair falling down herback in a wave of red-gold. He wanted to stroke a hand over it, restthat hand at the small of her back.

He had always seen her femininity, her vulnerability. He doubted manypeople looked at Kate and thought she might need protecting.

Her strength and tenacity were what others noted. But just behind thatwall was a woman not always so certain as she seemed.

"How are you, Kate?"

"Hmm? What?" She turned toward him from the microwave, her brow knit inconfusion. "I'm tired. I'm upset. I've lost a witness-" Stepping close,Quinn put a finger to her lips. "I don't mean with the case. It's beenfive years. How are you, really?"

Kate's heart thumped hard against her sternum. Answers logjammed in herthroat. Five years. The first was remembered as a pain so sharp, itstole her breath. The second had been like trying to relearn how to walkand talk after a stroke. Then came the third and the fourth and another after that. In that time she'd built a career, made a home for herself,done some traveling, settled into a nice, safe rut. But the answers thatrushed to mind were other words.

How are you? Empty. Alone. Walled off.

"Let's not play that game," she said softly. "If you'd really wanted toknow, it wouldn't have taken you five years to ask."

She heard the regret in those words and wished them back. What was thepoint now, when all they would have was a few days. Better to pretendthere'd been no fire at all than to poke at the ash and stir up the dustof memories. The timer went off on the microwave, and she turned herback to him and busied herself making a cup of tea.

"You told me that was what you wanted," he said. "You wanted out. Youwanted a clean break. You wanted to leave, to start over.

What was I supposed to do, Kate?"

Ask me not to go. Go with me. The answers were right there, as fresh asyesterday and just as futile. By the time she'd left Virginia, the angerand the pain had taken them past the point of his asking her not to go.

And she knew without having to ask that he would never have leftInvestigative Support to go with her. The job was who John Quinn was. He was bound to it in a way he would never be bound to a woman. And, G.o.d,how it still hurt to think that.

"What were you supposed to do? Nothing," she whispered. "You did itwell."

Quinn moved in close behind her, wanting to touch her, as if that mightmagically erase the time and the trouble that had pa.s.sed between them.He wanted to tell her the phone worked both ways, but he knew she wouldnever have backed away from her pride or the insecurity it covered. Apart of him had been relieved that she had never called, because hewould then have had to face himself in life's big mirror and finallyanswer the question of whether or not there was enough left in him tobuild a lasting relationship. His fear of the answer had kept himrunning from that question for a long, long time.

And now he stood here, an inch away from the better part of his past,knowing he should let it lie. If he hadn't had enough to give arelationship five years ago, he sure as h.e.l.l didn't have any more now.

He raised a hand to touch her hair, his memory of its texture meetingthe silk of reality. He let his hand rest on her shoulder, his thumbfinding the familiar knot of tension there.

"Do you regret it, Kate? Not the way it ended, but us."

Kate squeezed her eyes shut. She had a truckload of regret she had tomove out of her way every day in order to get on with her life. But shehad never been able to find it in her to regret turning to him. Sheregretted she had wished for more. She regretted he hadn't had more togive. But she couldn't think of a single touch, a single kiss, a singlenight in his arms, and regret a second of it. He had given her love andunderstanding, pa.s.sion and compa.s.sion, tenderness and comfort when shehad needed so badly, when she had hurt so much, when she had felt soalone.

How could she regret that?

"No," she said, turning and holding the steaming mug of tea betweenthem.

"Here. It's good for what ails you."

He took the cup and set it aside.

"I don't regret us," he said. "There were times when I thought I should,but I didn't, and I don't."

His fingertips touched her cheek and slid back into her hair, and heleaned down and touched his mouth to hers. Need, sharp and bitter andsweet, instantly sprang up inside her. Her lips moved against his out ofmemory and longing. A perfect fit. The perfect balance of pressure andpa.s.sion. Their tongues tangled, seeking, searching, tasting, touching,deepening the kiss and the emotions it evoked. Her heart beat hardagainst the wall of her chest and his. She was instantly aware of atenderness in her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, a longing for the touch of his hand, hismouth, a need for a connection beyond this simple act. His armstightened around her. She could feel him hard against her belly as hepressed against her.

He would be here a matter of days, her fading logic reminded her.

He had come for a case, not because he needed her or missed her orwanted to resolve what they had walked away from. All of that wasincidental.

"No," she said softly as he raised his head. "I don't regret it. b.u.t.that doesn't mean I'll go through it again, John. I'm not here for yourconvenience."

"You think that's what I expect?" he asked, hurt. "You think I expectyou to go to bed with me because you're handy and you know what I like?I thought you knew me better than that, Kate. His voice dropped low andrough, and skimmed across her heart like a callused hand. "My G.o.d,you're the only person who ever knew me."

"Well, at least I thought I did," Kate murmured. "It seemed at the endthere we didn't know each other very well at all."

He sighed and stepped back.

"Let's just call ourselves old friends and leave it at that, huh?" shesaid around the knot in her throat. "You didn't come here for me, John.

You would have done that years ago if it was what you wanted.

I'll go call you that cab."