"You again," said Arnold, his eyes narrowing. "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you about your wife and my daughter and why they both got anthrax," said Lucy. She spoke right up and was gratified to see that the people standing in line and waiting to be admitted were taking notice of the scene and looking on with interest.

"Come with me," said Arnold. His voice was quiet and authoritative.

The guard let go of her arms and Lucy practically fell to the floor in amazement. Catching herself, she trotted after Arnold, like a little page carrying the king's train. Everyone stepped back to let him pass, heads nodded, and people practically bowed and scraped. They eventually reached his office where his secretary's eyes widened in surprise as Lucy was allowed to enter Arnold's inner sanctum.

Arnold lowered himself heavily into a leather chair behind his desk and indicated with a nod that Lucy should seat herself, too. "You're that Stone woman."

"Lucy Stone. My daughter Elizabeth is still in the hospital with anthrax."

Arnold's voice was serious. "Is she getting better?"

"Yes," said Lucy, surprised at his concern.

"So what's the problem?"

"I want to know who did it. Who poisoned your wife and my daughter."

"How would I know?"

Lucy's eyes met his.

Arnold didn't get to be a multimillionaire because he was dumb. He got the point immediately. "You think I did it."

"Uh, of course not," stammered Lucy.

He looked straight at her. "I give you my word. I had nothing to do with it."

Arnold wasn't a handsome man. He was short and fat and flabby. His eyes were too small and his nose was too big, but Lucy understood why he'd been so astonishingly successful. When he looked you in the eye and gave his word, you believed him.

She sat for a minute, looking at the swirling design in the very expensive carpet. Raising her head she looked past Arnold, through the wall of glass behind his desk at the city stretched out far below. The view was magnificent, over the rooftops with their wooden water towers all the way down to the Wall Street skyscrapers and the Narrows beyond. An architect's drawing of the City Gate project was affixed to the window. It was rendered in scale on some clear surface, allowing a viewer in the office to see what the towers would look like if they were built on Governors Island. Other framed drawings of projects were displayed around the office: a shopping mall in New Jersey, apartments in Westchester, dorms for Manhattan College and a lab for New York University. The stylized architect's letters identified it as The Marcus Widmann Institute for the Study of Infectious Diseases. The image reminded her of something Geoff had said at the AIDS gala, that the lab project was in jeopardy.

"You've had threats and you're taking them seriously," said Lucy, turning away from the image of the lab and meeting his eyes. "That's why you have all this security."

Arnold shrugged. "It's part of the business."

"No, this is not your average security setup. There are dozens of guards out there, and that barrier looks pretty serious to me. I bet it's designed to resist sizeable explosions and the whole area can be sealed off in seconds in case of a poison gas attack."

Arnold didn't say a word.

Having gotten this far, Lucy wasn't about to give up. "It's about the lab you're building, right?"

Arnold's eyes widened slightly, but he remained impassive, giving no other clue to his thoughts. "Like I said, I get threats all the time. I don't pay attention. There's no point, because once I've signed a contract, the project is going forward. If I say I'm going to build something, it's going to get built."

"Do you know who's behind these threats?" From somewhere deep in the back of her mind Lucy dredged up a tiny bit of information. "There's even been sabotage, right?"

He shrugged. "Construction is a tough business, and when you're successful you make a few enemies. Competitors, unions, even neighborhood groups. That's how it is."

Lucy couldn't understand his attitude. Why wasn't he angry? Unable to get to him, thanks to his impenetrable security, these saboteurs had sent anthrax to his wife. Why didn't he want to get them? What was she missing here? "Don't you want revenge?" she asked. "Don't you want to make them pay for what they did?" She thought of Elizabeth, lying unconscious in the emergency room after collapsing at the photo shoot. "I know I do."

Arnold's head was down. He was intently studying his desk's burl-wood pattern. "I have confidence in the FBI," he said. "They have their job and I have mine." He glanced at his watch. "Now, I'm afraid I'm late for a meeting."

"The FBI?" Lucy couldn't believe it. "They still haven't solved the 2001 anthrax attack. Why do you think they're going to do any better this time?"

Behind her, the door opened and one of the guards entered. The message was clear: the meeting was over and one way or another, voluntarily or not, she was going to leave. Lucy got to her feet. "Thanks for your time," she said. "And I'm truly very sorry about your wife."

"Me, too," he said. Much to her surprise, Lucy believed him. He may have been a philanderer, but there was no doubt in her mind that on some level he truly loved Nadine.

One of the security guards was waiting for Lucy in the reception area outside Arnold's office. He helped her on with her coat, then presented her with her purse and the foolish plant, which she refused, before escorting her to the elevator. He accompanied her for the ride downstairs and walked her to the door, where he stood watching to make sure she left the building.

Outside, the cold air was like a slap in the face. Lucy took a deep, invigorating breath. She felt as if she were waking up from a dream. She could remember bits and pieces but she couldn't put it all together so it made sense. It was exactly the same feeling, she thought as she walked along, that she'd had so often upon waking. She would be afraid or confused and would lie in bed trying to remember the dream so she could discover its meaning. The most she could ever do, however, was to recapture a series of disjointed images. Yet always, there was the feeling that there was something more, if she could only remember it.

Heading back to the hospital, she kept thinking about Arnold. What was he really like? There was the obnoxious womanizer she'd encountered at the ball, and then there was the angry Arnold at the funeral who had kicked her out. Today, she'd met the rich and powerful Arnold, secure in his skyscraper fortress high above Manhattan. None of these men seemed to bear any resemblance to Nancy Glass's version of Arnold, the bereft widower in need of her tender loving care, or the suave salesman Arnold she'd seen on the Norah! Norah! show. show.

Okay, Lucy admitted to herself, most people were a mix of contradictions, herself included. She loved her family; she loved getting away from them. Nobody was entirely consistent one hundred percent of the time, but Arnold certainly seemed to be an extreme example. Maybe, she thought, he had some mental problem. Split personalities? Schizophrenia? Or maybe he was just a chameleon who adapted to different situations with different responses.

She didn't know the answer, she concluded as she turned the corner by the hospital, but she now suspected that the anthrax attack was designed to send a message to Arnold and he'd gotten it. There had to be a reason for all that security. But who was trying to stop the lab? And were they the same group that was running around town tossing red paint and tomatoes?

When Lucy returned to Elizabeth's room she found Lance sprawled in the chair and clicking through the TV channels with the remote. He seemed quite at home, as if he'd been spending a lot of time there.

"Hi, Lance," she said, setting a couple of chocolate bars she'd picked up in the gift shop downstairs on the bedside table. "It's nice of you to visit Elizabeth but I hope you're not neglecting your studies."

"Nope," he said, turning off the TV. "Classes are over for the day; I studied for a quiz and I've started researching a paper that's due next week. Everything's under control."

"Isn't he amazing?" Elizabeth was beaming at him. "Did you know he's got a 3.9 grade average?"

"Good for you, Lance," said Lucy, watching as Elizabeth picked up one of the bars and began unwrapping it. Lance also had his gaze fixed on Elizabeth, but he wasn't watching to make sure she actually took a bite of chocolate. He looked positively lovesick; it was almost as if he were worshipping at a shrine or something, thought Lucy, feeling like a third wheel.

"I guess I ought to get going," she said, standing.

Elizabeth took another bite of chocolate. "You know, I almost forgot. Brad called. He was looking for you."

"Brad?"

"Yeah. He said he was going out to some island and he thought you might like to go along. Get away from the hospital for a while." She sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. "Like you're actually here that much, taking care of your poor, sick daughter."

Lucy paid no attention to the sarcasm. "Governors Island?"

"Maybe. He said you'd like it."

"Yeah, it's cool out there," said Lance, his eyes still fixed on Elizabeth.

"Have you been there?" Lucy was surprised; she thought the island was restricted.

"All the time. I've been helping Geoff with a research project. It's real interesting. Because they've cleaned up the water so much, these marine worms have made a big comeback. Problem is, they eat wood, like piers and bulkheads and all that stuff. So Geoff is trying to find a way to protect the wood without hurting the worms."

"Eeew," said Elizabeth. "Do you have to touch them?"

"Actually, no. Geoff handles that stuff. I mostly collect water samples and go exploring." He paused. "There's interesting stuff out there. It's an old military base, you know."

Suddenly, Lucy was convinced she'd found the missing part of her dream, the piece that had been floating around just outside her consciousness. Somehow, she was certain, Governors Island was the key.

"Did they ever do germ warfare research out there?" she asked.

"I don't know. They might have. It makes sense, if you think about it. I mean, if you're going to play around with deadly microorganisms, it's better to do it on an island than in the middle of a big city."

"Isn't it dangerous, poking around a place like that?" asked Elizabeth. "What if some of the stuff is still around?"

"If anything's left, and I very much doubt there is, it would be harmless. That's the big problem with infectious agents. It's hard to sustain viability over the long term...." He slapped his forehead with his hand. "Except for anthrax. Boy am I dumb! That could be where it came from! It can be viable for forty or fifty years, that's one of its advantages." Lance had pulled a laptop computer out of his book bag and was opening it up.

"Do you think they actually did anthrax research over there?" asked Lucy.

"I know how we can find out," said Lance, clicking away on the keyboard.

"From the computer?" asked Lucy. "That research would probably be classified, and it was all done long before computers, wasn't it?"

"I'm not doing research," he said. "I'm e-mailing Geoff. He says he'll meet us at the marina at three o'clock and take us over there."

Lucy was puzzled. Somehow it had never occurred to her that such a thing as a marina existed on the island of Manhattan. "Geoff has a boat here in the city?"

"Sure. A twenty-two footer. How else could he do the research for the project?"

"Of course." Lucy was still trying to get used to the idea. Somehow New York Harbor, with its ferries and water taxis and tugboats towing barges and container ships and enormous oil tankers, didn't seem like a good place for a little twenty-two-foot boat. Not even for the short crossing to Governors Island. "Is it safe?"

"Sure. We do it all the time."

That was reassuring, kind of, but she didn't think that the makeover outfit she was wearing-a light wool-blend pantsuit with a silk blouse and high-heel boots-would keep her very warm on a small boat in winter. "I'll need to change into some warm clothes. Maybe Sam has some stuff I can borrow."

"Good idea," agreed Lance, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from Elizabeth. "We're also going to need some protective gear like gloves and masks if we're going to be looking for biological toxins. Better safe than sorry."

Lucy couldn't agree more. "And where are we going to get those?"

"This is a hospital, right?" Lance had a naughty gleam in his eye.

"Oh no," cautioned Lucy.

"Don't worry. I know where there's a supply closet." He was out the door before Lucy could protest.

"I better stop him before he gets in trouble," she told Elizabeth, as she shot out the door after him, teetering on her high heels.

Lance was already at the end of the corridor, and Lucy was afraid she'd lose him. She was hampered by those darned boots and she didn't dare run for fear of attracting attention. Lance, on the other hand, was wearing athletic shoes, had awfully long legs, and knew his way around the hospital. She could see him at the end of the hall, rounding a corner, but when she got there found he had vanished into thin air. Lucy's feet hurt and she was out of breath; she was deciding that she might as well go back to Elizabeth's room when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She whirled around and saw an arm extending from behind a door; she quickly stepped inside the supply closet.

"This is stealing. It's not a good idea," she told Lance, who was scanning the shelves of neatly stacked boxes of supplies.

"They'll never miss a few masks and gloves," he said. "Put your weight against that door."

"Oh, great, now I'm an accessory," said Lucy, bracing herself with her feet "Why are they hiding this stuff?" muttered Lance, peering into box after box.

"Probably because of people like you," said Lucy. She was about to make a joke about the high cost of health insurance when she felt pressure from the opposite side of the door. "Help!" she hissed, throwing her weight against the door. "Somebody's trying to get in."

"Push harder."

"I'm trying," gasped Lucy, pressing with all her might. It was barely enough; she was terrified the door would give.

Lance had joined her and was also pressing against the door. His eyes were round with panic. "What are we going to do?" he whispered.

"Pray," said Lucy, as the pressure on the door continued. She was horrified at the thought of being discovered in the closet. Stealing was bad enough, but even worse was the fact that Lance was a very attractive young man. She couldn't imagine anything more embarrassing than being discovered in a closet with him.

"This door is not supposed to be locked," declared a stern female voice. The knob rattled. "Darn!" They heard footsteps, clicking down the hall, away from the closet.

"That was close," said Lucy, breathing out a huge sigh of relief. She stuck her head out in the hall to make sure the coast was clear while Lance frantically searched the boxes. She was about to abort the mission when he finally found some masks and a second later got the gloves.

"We're out of here," he said, stuffing them in his pockets. But as they strolled ever so casually down the hallway Lucy couldn't help wishing Lance had been a little less impulsive. They were lucky this time, but she was afraid their close escape didn't bode well for the expedition to Governors Island.

Chapter Nineteen.

LOOKS THAT GO FROM DAY TO NIGHT!.

After trying three times to reach Sam by phone, Lucy finally acknowledged the gruesome truth that she would not only have to stick close to Lance in order to keep an eye on him but also have to borrow his clothing. There was no way she could venture out on the water in her makeover black pantsuit and sleek, black leather city boots. Why oh why had she been so quick to give up her duck boots for these pointy-toed numbers with a three-inch heel? Her feet were killing her, too. How did these women do it?

"Don't worry, I've got plenty of clothes," Lance assured her as they exited the subway a few blocks from his dorm.

"Slow down," she gasped, out of breath from trying to keep up with him. "You're twenty and have long legs. I'm five-two and, well, never you mind how old I am but I am old enough to be your mother."

"Oh, sorry." He looked genuinely abashed. "I didn't think."

"No problem. You don't usually hang out with old fogies like me."

"You're hardly an old fogey, Mrs. Stone. You're actually pretty good looking for somebody your age."

Lucy wasn't sure which was worse: being too old to keep up with his young legs or his condescension. Pretty good looking for her age-ouch!

"My room's on the third floor," he said, full of concern. "Do you think you can make it?" he continued, adding insult to injury. "It's no problem if you can't because there's an elevator, but you're only supposed to use it if you're handicapped."

"I don't think it will be a problem as long as there's oxygen available," she said.

He looked at her oddly. "Oxygen?"

"Just a joke." Lucy was dismayed. What was the matter with kids today? They had no sense of humor and apparently, if Lance was typical, absolutely no ability to focus. While Lucy pointedly checked her lobster watch and tapped her foot, Lance paused in the dorm lobby to check his mail and chat with a friend. Then, when they'd reached the second-floor landing he dashed off, leaving Lucy standing in the stairwell, getting madder by the minute.

"Where did you go?" she demanded when he returned.