FIFTY-NINE.

Thursday, November 13, 2003 9:45 a.m.

Jane waited for the guard to bring Ian to the visitors' room. It had been one week since she'd seen him. Seven, twenty-four-hour segments, nothing in the course of a lifetime let alone an eternity, yet it had brought two deaths and the loss of their child.

Doobie's neck had been broken. Because they'd found no signs of a struggle, or defensive wounds on the man, Stacy and Mac believed he had turned his back on his attacker. That his killer had been someone he trusted. An unlit cigarette and a Bic lighter had been found under the body. They supposed he'd turned his back to the wind to light the smoke.

She had been so close to learning the name of the man terrorizing her, the man who had stolen not only her face but her young adulthood.

Not close enough.

It was as if he antic.i.p.ated her every move.

That night, unable to sleep, she had prayed. For strength. For help. For justice.

This morning, she had prayed for her husband. Their relationship. The events of the past week separated

them as surely as the gla.s.s part.i.tion before her now. The truth was, she felt him, their love, slipping away.

She felt that loss as keenly as that of the life she had carried.

Ian and his guard entered the room. He crossed to the cubicle and laid a hand on the gla.s.s, making no

move to pick up the phone. He simply mouthed "I love you."

She fitted her hand to his; the gla.s.s warmed. Her chest grew tight; tears swamped her. She couldn't bring herself to repeat the endearment.

For long minutes they stood there that way, gazing at one another. Finally, he reached for the phone. She

did the same.

"My heart's broken," he said simply, voice thick. "I don't know what to say. How to make it better."

"There's no way to make it better."

"We'll have other children. I promise."

His words hurt. They angered her. "How can you promise that? How...with everything-"

Her throat closed on the words, choking them off.

"I'm sorry we fought. That I picked a fight. I was jealous. Angry." He lowered his voice. "Hurt that you

didn't believe in me. Scared to death. Of losing you."

"Everywhere I turn, there's evidence against you. All I wanted was rea.s.surance."

"You deserved it. Did Stacy tell you? I asked her to explain."

"She did." Jane looked away a moment, then met his gaze once more. "But she shouldn't have to explain.

I'm your wife. I deserved answers from you."

"Anything you want to know, just ask. Please," he begged. "I don't want anything between us."

"It may be too late for that."

He looked as if she had struck him. "Don't say that, Jane. I couldn't bear it. Anything. Ask me anything."

"Did you have an affair with Elle Vanmeer?"

He didn't blink. "Before you and I met, yes, we had a thing. It wasn't exclusive. Elle had a thing with a lot

of men."

Jane swallowed hard, struggling to come to grips with what he was telling her. "Go on."

"That's why her name was in my PalmPilot. Why La Plaza's number was there. We rendezvoused at the

Plaza. She liked that. She liked wild s.e.x. Variety."

Jane wanted to cover her ears. Wanted to hide. Deny it was true.

"Did you sleep with other patients?"

"A few. Not while they were patients. After the fact. We'd run into each other at some event and one

thing would lead to another." He brought a hand to his face. She saw that it shook. "I wasn't a saint, Jane.

I never pretended I was."

"Have you been faithful to me?"

"Yes."

She wanted to believe it. So badly it hurt.

Lord in heaven, why couldn 't she ?

"I met you," he said softly, "and I knew I'd never want anyone else."

"You lied to the police."

"When I was doing it, I knew it was a mistake. But you were standing there and I...I couldn't say the words. I knew they would hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Your lie makes you look more guilty."

"I know that now...but I had nothing to do with her death. I figured my past relationship with her didn't

matter."

"A lie always matters."

"And now you doubt me."

"Not your innocence, Ian. I know you didn't kill those women."

His eyes grew bright. She saw that his hand holding the phone trembled. "And what of my love? Do you

doubt that?"

Jane searched her heart. She didn't answer; she couldn't. "Ted's dead," she said instead, softly. "He was

murdered. In the studio."

Ian went white.

"The police think he surprised someone robbing the place."

"You don't agree?"

"No. There's more. That snitch I told you about, the one who was on the boat that day sixteen years ago,

he's dead, too. Murdered as well. Detective McPherson had contacted him. Arranged a meeting. When

we got there, he was-"

"We? Are you saying, you-"