Jeffrey Riordan arrived in Sacramento just after ten that morning. He'd had to suffer through traffic almost the entire drive from San Francisco-it had taken three hours when it should have taken two. He drove directly to Richie's house. Chad Harper answered the door.

"Clue me in, Harper. What the f.u.c.k is going on? Hamilton has called me a half-dozen times in the last two days. It's usually Richie who panics, not Judge Prozac."

"You know everything, except the latest news. Hamilton is on the phone with Richie. The district attorney is meeting right now with O'Brien's attorney to arrange terms of surrender."

"Good! Get him back into custody. Take care of him once and for all."

"There's a little problem."

"What?"

"The FBI is involved."

"s.h.i.t."

They didn't have a mole in the FBI office. Local government, local law enforcement, D.A.'s office-within reach, they had at least one person under their thumb. But the FBI? None. And it irked Jeffrey. He had one, but only in Washington. That sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't help him here in Sacramento.

He started up the stairs, but Harper called him back. "I had a call from Isleton."

"Isleton? Who the f.u.c.k cares about-" He stopped. "Dammit, I knew we should have offed Barney when he moved back to Sacramento."

"Jeffrey, sometimes murder isn't the best solution. Barney knew nothing of Lowe's arrangement with Taverton. He went to L.A., bought a bar, lost a bunch of money, returned to his hometown. Nothing strange there. Killing him? No. Maddox didn't learn anything from him. He's not talking because he knows s.h.i.t. If he knew anything, our snitch would have heard."

"That r.e.t.a.r.d?" Jeffrey snorted.

"At least she follows orders and keeps her mouth shut."

"So who's down there snooping this time?"

"Two federal agents."

"s.h.i.t."

"They're only following up on Maddox's death. I don't think they will be a problem."

"You don't know that! This is spiraling out of control again, just like with Maddox. If we'd taken Barney out of the picture with Lowe, or even two years ago, I'd be far more comfortable."

"Barney knows nothing. It's too late to do anything-killing Barney would only raise suspicions, and if he knew what Frank Lowe did, he would have talked or asked for money."

"Maybe, but somebody tipped off Maddox about Tip Barney being back in Sacramento." Jeffrey hated not being in control.

"Maddox found out about Lowe and Barney from Taverton's personal files, but we have those now-both the copies and the original-so there's no threat. And if Claire O'Brien starts asking questions, she'll be taken care of."

"She's far too nosy. Let's keep this tidbit from the others. They are already too paranoid, and paranoia makes people act stupid."

"Agreed."

Jeffrey went to the top of the stairs and opened the double doors into Richie's plush office. "Put Hamilton on speaker," he demanded.

Richie said into the phone, "Jeffrey's here. You're now on speaker, Hamilton."

"O'Brien is surrendering to the FBI today at six," he said.

"The FBI? Why?"

"Safety issues. I didn't get much out of the D.A., but the word is out that Matt Elliott is quietly reopening the case."

"That's it. We're done for," Richie said.

"No we're not." Jeffrey slammed his fist on the desk. "Keep your cool. It's not over. It's never going to be over. They can't connect anything to us."

"You're the one all hot and heavy to kill people!" Richie said.

"Only if it has to be done. Maddox had to go. He made too many connections." Jeffrey started giving orders. "Richie, you make sure there is no paper trail."

"There isn't-"

"Double check. Triple check! And Hamilton, you keep your ear to the D.A.'s office. We need to know everything Matt Elliott is up to."

"I'm already on it, but I have a bad feeling about this."

"It's not over," Jeffrey reiterated.

Lexie Santana hated surveillance. She'd much rather be in the thick of things, like bringing in the fugitive, Thomas...o...b..ien.

But maybe she'd get lucky. Maybe the daughter would lead her to O'Brien and Lexie wouldn't be so bored just sitting here.

She watched as a car pulled up in front of Claire O'Brien's house. Maybe this was it . . . A man got out-late thirties, a bit overweight, dressed business casual. A kid got out of the pa.s.senger side. Boy, ten or eleven. The man put his arm around the kid's shoulders, squeezed, then dropped the arm as they approached the front door.

Not O'Brien. d.a.m.n. The dogs in Claire's backyard started barking. They continued to bark. No one answered the door. The man stood there a few minutes, then walked away. They sat in the car for about five minutes, then drove off.

Lexie left her surveillance post and ran across the street to the house. She knocked on the door. The dogs barked. There was no answer.

Did she have probable cause to enter O'Brien's house? No one had left or entered. Yet . . .

She called Meg. "I think Claire O'Brien has given me the slip. She didn't answer her door to a visitor, and now I'm looking in all the windows and it doesn't look like she's here. Her Jeep is, she isn't."

Mitch and Steve walked into FBI headquarters at noon. They'd stopped by Frank Lowe's mother's apartment, but she wasn't home. Her neighbor said she worked for the postal service and usually came home between four thirty and five.

"Mitch. Steve." Meg waved them into her office. "Good news, we got the contents off the flash drive."

"What do we have?" asked Mitch as he sat down in front of Meg's desk.

"That's the problem. I'm not quite sure." Meg slid over a small stack of papers. The top was the cover page from their Menlo Park facilities verifying they were able to retrieve all data from the flash drive. The second page was a print of a JPEG, a beautiful young woman. "There's nothing about her on the drive, but we ran her photo. Jessica White. Missing since 1978. She was a student at Stanford University and disappeared her soph.o.m.ore year. No evidence of foul play, no anything. The police felt there were some shenanigans at one of the fraternity parties, but the girl was seen at three different parties the night she disappeared. They interviewed everyone at the fraternities and Jessica's sorority; nothing solid. I've requested the files, but I don't know how that's going to help us. Except I did learn one thing-Oliver Maddox requested the files as well."

"Did they send them?" Steve asked.

"Maddox picked them up in person on Friday, January 18," she answered.

"We didn't find anything like that in his town house," said Mitch.

"And they aren't on the flash drive, either," said Meg.

Mitch turned the pages. There was a series of articles related to the Delta Conservancy, Elk Grove, the Waterstone Development Corporation, and probably a half-dozen more. They were all LexisNexis files that had been saved to the drive.

"Did you contact LexisNexis to retrieve any other searches Maddox might have done?" Mitch asked.

Meg frowned. "The U.S. Attorney's office is working on it, but there are huge privacy issues. We won't have anything today."

"These are all old stories. Twenty, twenty-five years." He turned pages and found an obituary. "Rose Van Alden. Died at ninety-one, in her sleep." Mitch read the article. She was a lifelong resident of Elk Grove and left her money to the Delta Conservancy. "Is there anything important here?"

"I don't know. They're old articles, and normally I wouldn't waste my time, but Maddox swallowed the flash drive for a reason, so I'm thinking there's a connection we don't see. I've sent everything to a.n.a.lysts at Quantico and asked for a rush. But one thing seems pretty obvious: Keep going," she said.

Mitch flipped through the articles, then started to see another pattern-a series of stories about Judge Hamilton Drake.

Steve looked over Mitch's shoulder. "A judge? Why's that important?"

"If you read the articles, you'd learn that Drake is one of the original partners in Waterstone Development," said Meg. "Maddox was digging into something. The a.n.a.lysts are doing a complete background check on Drake and seeing if there is any crossover to Maddox's other articles. Even if there is something here, that doesn't mean it's related to O'Brien. In fact, I don't see how any of this relates to the O'Brien case. Maybe Maddox was killed for a completely different reason."

Mitch didn't yet see the connection either, but he sensed it was there. "Did Matt call?" he asked Meg as he handed back the file.

"Yes. He met with O'Brien's attorney. She happens to be the ex-wife of the district attorney in San Diego, so there's apparently some clout there. Matt didn't get into all the details, but O'Brien will surrender here, at headquarters, at six p.m. today. There's one major concession that Matt agreed to. We're transporting O'Brien directly to Sutter Memorial Hospital."

"Why?"

"In your report from Montana, you said that O'Brien had been shot, but was presumed alive because of his call to the Beaverhead County sheriff several hours later."

Mitch nodded.

"He never got medical attention," said Meg. "It's probably a miracle he survived. The bullet is still in him, and according to his attorney there is a serious medical problem that has come up in the last few weeks. I'm not a doctor, I have no idea what's wrong, but he'll be given a complete exam and surgery if necessary. We'll be responsible for a guard on his room at all times."

"I'm glad this is nearly over," Steve said, his hand on the door. "Now we just need to find Maddox's killer."

"One more thing," Meg said. "Lexie called right before you walked in. You were right, Mitch. Claire is good. She slipped out sometime this morning. Took a taxi, which we tracked down to Elk Grove and the residence of a retired sheriff deputy, Bill Kamanski."

"Her former guardian. Was she there?"

"No. Kamanski loaned her a vehicle. She said her Jeep wouldn't start."

"s.h.i.t! Where is she?"

"We have a BOLO on her," said Meg, "but I'm not going to put her under arrest. We want her to cooperate with us, and it's in her best interest to do so, but the truth is...o...b..ien is coming in. She wasn't involved in Maddox's homicide. For all we know, she convinced her father to surrender. Hard to arrest her for that."

"She's working the Maddox case on her own. She's in danger."

"So I should arrest her? Mitch, she's a professional, a licensed private investigator. Researching a missing, now dead, person. She hasn't interfered with or stymied your investigation."

"She knows stuff we don't know."

"Why is that?"

Mitch ran a hand through his hair. "Dammit, Megan! We have to bring her in for her own safety."

"When-or if-we track down Claire O'Brien, you talk to her and convince her to come in. But unless she has information about the Maddox homicide I don't see how she can help."

"Do you want us here for the surrender?" Steve asked.

"No. I've a.s.signed Davidson and Kinsley to handle transport to the hospital and guard duty."

"Then we're going to follow up on some information related to Frank Lowe down in Elk Grove."

"Go ahead. I'll call when I get the a.n.a.lysis back."

"If it's today. I'm not holding my breath to get a report on Friday afternoon," Mitch said.

Meg smiled. "You might be surprised."

TWENTY-NINE.

When Greg Abrahamson finally called back, he agreed to give her a few minutes if she could meet him at 12:30 outside the Crest Theater on the K Street Mall.

She was early and he was late. She sat on the bench across from the theater as he'd instructed.

A homeless man shuffled up the street past her, so filthy he smelled like he'd slept inside a Dumpster. He wore three layers of long-sleeved shirts, though it was ninety degrees out. He looked in the garbage and Claire was both revolted and filled with compa.s.sion.

"Loaves and Fishes is only a couple blocks that way." She pointed north.

He sat down next to her. Why had she said anything?

"Look, I have no money for you."

"Claire."

He spoke under his breath. When Greg Abrahamson said he was undercover, he was really undercover.

"What are you working on that you have to smell like that?"

He responded, "What are you working on that is so important that I have to risk my cover?"

"I'm sorry-it's about my father."