"I think you and I need to talk."

"I can find my way out." Jane moved quickly to the door. She looked at Stacy. "Call me later. Bye,

Detective."

The two of them watched Jane walk away, then Mac closed the door and faced her. "I was just up on five."

Stacy said nothing. She knew what was coming.

"I was bothered by Ted's death. What you said about the pieces. I came in early, thought I'd check out the Plaza security tape. Take another look at it. Funny thing happened while I was up there."

He crossed to the video player, popped out the tape. Turned back to her. "Sam told me it was checked

out. By you."

She couldn't meet his eyes.

"What're you doing, Stacy?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Bulls.h.i.t. You showed a key piece of evidence to the wife of the man charged with the crime."

She opened her mouth to deny it but said instead, "She's certain it's not Ian."

"Of course she is."

"I've been thinking about this, Mac. About Ted's death and-"

"Stop it! It's over. Don't you get it? It's up to his lawyer now, the judge and jury."

"Are you going to the captain with this?"

He leaned toward her. "I'm not going to throw my career away for your sister. Are you certain you want

to?"

He handed her the videoca.s.sette, turned and walked to the door. There, he stopped and looked back at

her. "You were a good cop, Stacy. One I admired. I wanted to work with you. I chose to work with you. But you're losing it, big time. And I'm not sure I want to be around to pick up the pieces." And then he was gone.

FIFTY-SIX Monday, November 10, 2003 9:00 a.m.

For a long time after Mac left, Stacy sat alone in the interrogation room, thinking of what he'd said to her. The expression in his eyes when he said it.

She'd let him down. Lied to him. Betrayed his trust.

I'm not going to throw away my career for your sister. Are you certain you want to?

You 're losing it, big time. And I'm not sure I want to be around to pick up the pieces.

She didn't blame him for being disappointed in her. She pa.s.sed her hand across her face. She wouldn't

blame him if he requested a transfer. He would be right to go to the captain.

She prayed he didn't, anyway.

And she prayed she could win his trust back. The question was how. She figured it began with honesty.

Stacy returned the tape to Evidence, then went in search of her partner.

Mac wasn't at his desk. He was in the building, she knew be-because his sport coat hung over the back

of his chair.

Mac had many fine qualities, though neatness wasn't one of them. His desktop was a jumble, the top covered from corner to corner with reports, files, empty coffee cups and a copy of USA TODAY. As she reached for the newspaper, her gaze landed on a photograph peeking out from a manila folder.

She flipped it open. It was a crime scene photo. The victim was a woman. It looked as if she had been beaten to death. The beating had obliterated much of her face. She was naked from the waist up. Stacy stared at the image, something about it plucking at her memory. Her path had crossed this woman's. But when? And why?

"Our dead hooker from the other day," Mac said from behind her.

She turned. "You collar the pimp yet?"

"Can't locate him. We figure he skipped town." He shrugged. "He'll be back. They always come back."

"There's something familiar about her."

He reached around her, picked up the photo. "Something familiar? What?"

"I don't know. Name?"

"Went by Sa.s.sy. Real name was Gwen n.o.ble."

Neither rang a bell. Stacy shook her head, and he dropped the photo into the file and flipped it shut.

"I'm sorry, Mac," she said softly. "d.a.m.n sorry."

"For what?"

"You know."

He was silent a long moment. His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. Finally, he spoke. "I want

to trust you, Stacy, but I don't know if I can. Partners don't lie to each other."

He put subtle stress on partners. She knew he was referring not only to their professional relationship but their personal one, as well.

She had waited so long for him, she prayed she hadn't blown it.

"You're right," she said. "Give me another chance. I won't let you down again."

"Even if it's for your sister? Before you make me that promise, think it over carefully, Stacy."

A fellow detective pa.s.sed by them, angling a curious glance their way. Stacy took a step back, putting

greater distance between her and Mac. "I have. I want you to trust me. It's important."

His gaze followed the other detective. "Okay...partner."

She went light-headed with relief. "Coroner call on Jackman?"

"Not yet. But I heard from Doobie."

Stacy stilled. She experienced a tingle of excitement. "Where is he?"

"At this moment, I have no idea. But tonight at midnight he'll be in the alley behind Big d.i.c.k's."

Stacy smiled. Now they were getting somewhere. Barring a natural disaster or the arrival of judgment

day, she would have her sister's boater's name tonight.

FIFTY-SEVEN.

Monday, November 10, 2003

11:15 p.m.

Jane sat on the guest room bed and watched her sister prepare for her meeting with Doobie. "I want to go."

"Forget it."

"That's not fair."

"Get over it."

Jane frowned. "Will you at least listen to me?"

"No."

Jane plowed on, anyway. "Who better to convince Doobie to give this guy up? I was there. I was the

one hurt." "You're a civilian."

"And the last time I checked, this meeting wasn't official police business. In fact, from where I'm sitting, it's my business."

"Has anyone told you that you're a major pain in the a.s.s?"

Jane ignored that and leaned forward. "Look, it makes sense, Stacy. Who better to convince him to turn over the name than me? By his own account, he's haunted by what happened. By what he did to me. I can beg. Be pathetic. I'll wear my eyepatch."

"No."

"He's a snitch. He narcs on friends for profit. If all else fails, I'll offer him money. A lot of money."

She saw by her sister's expression that she was reaching her. "It could be dangerous," she said.