"Angela Day and John Tucker were attacked on their way back down to the lodge after your meeting with her at the upper cabin."

Lawrence glanced up. "Attacked?"

"Yes, sir. They were fired on while they were on that narrow section of the trail."

"My G.o.d, why didn't you tell me all of this before?"

"It appeared at first that the man who perpetrated the attack was nothing more than a drifter, a n.o.body John Tucker had hired to work on the ranch."

"Do you have the man in custody?"

Colby shook his head. "No. He was killed as we attempted to apprehend him."

"Killed? How should I take that, Bill? Did your people help him die?"

"No, sir. Just the opposite. We were trying to keep him alive so we could question him. In fact, his actions at the point we were about to apprehend him were what caused me to dig more deeply into his past. Past the initial findings."

"What actions were those?"

"He committed suicide. He threw himself off the mountain rather than allow us to take him alive." Colby's eyes narrowed. "He was very committed to what he was trying to do, and I have not been able to track down his true ident.i.ty. Even with all of the resources available to us."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm concerned that somehow Angela Day poses more of a security risk to you than either of us understands."

Lawrence shook his head. "No, you're way off base with that."

"I've been working in the crime and protection businesses far too long to completely dismiss any possibility out of hand. But, don't misunderstand me. I'm not trying to convince you that she's involved in some kind of plot to harm you."

"What then?"

"I believe that the individual who shot at Ms. Day and Mr. Tucker on the mountain was working with someone inside our camp."

"Why do you say that?"

"Just a sense." Colby wasn't yet prepared to tell anyone about the silent communication he thought he had detected between Tucker and the man who was still hanging from the bas.e.m.e.nt ceiling of the farmhouse, the man who had been watching Angela Day. He needed more proof before he would do that. "But my instincts are pretty good. Though I haven't figured out how yet, I'm concerned that Ms. Day's presence somehow compromises your safety." He'd figured it out all right. Tucker was getting close to Lawrence because Lawrence believed that Angela trusted Tucker. What Colby hadn't figured out was why Tucker would want Angela Day dead. Why he would leave her in that cave alone. Colby's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Lawrence, my job is never to allow your safety to be compromised. And I never will."

Once a month she had this opportunity. Just once a month for two short days, and an additional two weeks in the summer. She had thirty-eight days a year to see her son. Otherwise, except for a once-a-week half-hour telephone call, Hunter was off-limits. And the judge probably hadn't even given his edict a second thought since the day he'd come down with it. Hadn't ever considered the emotional torment he'd caused. In fact, he'd probably long forgotten the case. Forgotten everything except the bribe Chuck Reese must have paid him.

Angela hurried out of the elevator toward her car, parked in a far corner of the bas.e.m.e.nt garage on Cary Street. Because she wasn't allowed to pick Hunter up until seven o'clock, she had remained at her desk to get some work done. Now she was late.

Late because Ken Booker had stuck around, too. At 5:15 he had asked her to come to his office to talk about a piece of business they were trying to win from an Atlanta bank. At 5:45 she had told him she needed to leave, but he had ignored her. Finally, at six o'clock she had simply gotten up and walked out of his office, even though he was still talking. Booker knew where she was going, and he knew that her time with Hunter was extremely limited. But he had still tried to make her stay. She hurried across the garage, footsteps echoing as she trotted to her car. And he had children of his own. Two of them. Of course he had no idea what it was like to not be able to see them whenever he wanted. He saw them every night when he got home.

As Angela neared her Saab, a huge form stepped from the shadows and moved directly in front of her, blocking her way. "Oh, my G.o.d!" she shouted, stepping back and turning to run.

"Angela!"

She recognized the voice instantly and stopped, looking back over her shoulder through the dim light. "John?"

"Yes," Tucker confirmed, moving toward her.

"You scared me," she gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"I have a message from Mr. Lawrence."

She glanced around furtively. There were only a few cars left in the garage, and she saw no one. But she was coming to realize that not seeing anyone didn't mean a thing. "I don't want any messages from Mr. Lawrence. Please," she begged, thinking about Carter Hill. "Just leave me alone."

"Angela-"

"I'm late, John. I'm on my way to pick up my son. Please just let me go," she murmured, reaching for the car door.

But Tucker blocked her path. "This won't take long."

"Get out of my way!" she yelled, trying to push him aside.

"Angela."

She thrust her arm past him and grabbed for the door.

This time he took her by the wrists, spun her around, and pushed her back against the cinder block wall. "Dammit, listen to me!"

"I'm going to scream b.l.o.o.d.y murder, John."

"Lawrence wants to have dinner with you tomorrow night," Tucker said, ignoring her threat. "He told me what happened at the cabin, and he said to tell you that he very much regrets his actions. I can't believe it, but he followed up on a promise this time. I'm sure you know that by now."

"Let me go!"

"Are you really willing to give up your son?"

Angela stared into Tucker's eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"The Lord giveth and the Lord can taketh away."

"Stop speaking in code."

"Jake Lawrence has become involved in your son's situation. Inyour situation." Tucker glanced around, then looked back at her. "You've already received a call from your attorney. One of the men who accused you of adultery six years ago wants to talk all of a sudden. Right?"

She hesitated, the horrible understanding that her life was no longer her own overwhelming her. A horrible feeling that she was being manipulated by forces which she had no chance of controlling. Forces whose motivations were cloaked, so that she could not determine who was friend and who was foe. There seemed no way for her to figure out which side to ally herself with. Perhaps the answer was that there was no side to ally with. Perhaps both sides would ultimately discard her once they'd gotten from her what they needed.

"Angela!"

She dreaded what was coming. She had a feeling that something was out there, stalking her. Something that meant her terrible harm.

"Jake Lawrence can help you more than you can possibly imagine," Tucker said, holding her wrists tightly. "But he can hurt you too. I've seen him in action for twenty years, admittedly from the cheap seats. But it's still clear to me what kind of man he is. He's a vindictive son of a b.i.t.c.h, Angela. If you're loyal to him, he'll go to the ends of the earth for you. But if you don't play by his rules, he'll destroy you."

"You mean he won't help me get Hunter back," she whispered.

"Worse. Much worse. He'll make certain you never see the boy again. He'll spin a hundred and eighty degrees on you in the time it takes to say 'custody battle.' He'll use all of his power to make certain that judge reopens the case. But not to help you. Tohurt you. To make certain the judge decides you aren't fit to see the boy at all. Ever."

"He wouldn't."

"Oh, yes, he would. He'd do it and laugh at you when it was done."

Angela searched Tucker's eyes for some sign that he was just trying to intimidate her. Instead, she found an intensity that told her he sincerely believed what he was saying. "What's going on, John?" she asked, her voice wavering slightly. "Why is he doing this to me?"

Tucker shook his head slowly. "How the h.e.l.l do I know, Angela? I'm just one of his boys, just one of those people who carries out orders. I'm not privy to the big picture."

"Tell him to leave me alone, John. Please. Just leave me alone."

Tucker shook his head. "It wouldn't do any good, even if I did. Once he's got you in his sights, you stay there until he's finished with you. What I say would have no effect on him."

"I've got to go," she blurted, pulling away from Tucker's grip. She climbed in behind the steering wheel and reached for the door.

"There's one more thing," said Tucker, grabbing the door before she could close it.

"John!"

"Something else Mr. Lawrence wanted me to tell you."

"What?" she snapped.

"He said you need to be very careful with Hunter."

"Careful?"

"Yes. The boy could be in danger."

Angela stopped trying to yank the door shut and turned in the seat to look up at Tucker. "Don't threaten my son," she warned. "If Jake Lawrence lays one finger on my son just to protect his precious billions, I swear to G.o.d I'll kill him. Even Bill Colby won't be able to stop me with all those men in Wyoming."

"Angela, shut up and listen to me."

She glared at Tucker, her entire body shaking in rage.

"Mr. Lawrence has entered the situation. He has become engaged in the battle to win your son back. He has chosen a side. Understand that there are those who watch his every move, enemies who might believe that they could manipulate Mr. Lawrence if they control the boy. Mr. Lawrence wants you to understand that his a.s.sistance comes with potential consequences."

Jake Lawrence had told her in the cabin that he was never truly safe, that there were those who wanted to see him dead. She'd thought him paranoid. Then she and Tucker had been shot at on the way back down the mountain. Now Tucker was warning her about Hunter. She had to believe what Tucker was saying.

Tucker pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket. "Take this," he ordered, holding out his hand.

"What is it?" she asked, taking the note from his fingers.

"My cell phone number."

She glanced at it, thinking about how everyone was suddenly giving her their phone numbers. Tucker had penned his full name in a looping script, then written the number beneath his name. "Thanks," she said quietly, looking up. He had begun to turn away, but stopped and looked back.

"By the way, Angela," Tucker said. "Mr. Lawrence also wanted you to understand that your former father-in-law is a very bad man." He hesitated. "But I think you already know that."

Then he was gone.

"What are you saying?" Chuck Reese asked.

"I'm saying that Angela Day has managed to restart the custody process for her son."

Reese shifted uncomfortably in the large chair. He had sh.e.l.led out a significant amount of money to ensure that this would never happen. "That can't be."

"You should know better than anyone that there is no such thing as 'can't.' "

"In this case it would have to be someone with tremendous resources."

"I agree."

"Then I think we can a.s.sume we know who's behind the activity."

"You're probably right."

"But you aren't comfortable-"

"Not yet. This thing is like an artichoke. You peel away layer after layer, but you can't get to the core."

CHAPTER NINE.

Chuck Reese had two homes in Richmond. A three-story brick colonial on two acres in the heart of the West End and a gray stone mansion on a hundred acres of heavily wooded riverfront property twenty-five miles east of center city. The mansion-fifteen thousand square feet of it-was set atop a small ridge several hundred yards back from the banks of the James. A wide, gardened lawn-lush and meticulously manicured in summer-sloped gently away from the mansion, cutting a swath through the forest until it reached the river and an impressive boathouse. There, Reese's children, grandchildren, and many friends and acquaintances enjoyed his fleet of power boats in the warmer months.

In winter, when the weather turned too cold to enjoy the river, the estate's indoor pool became the center of recreational activity. It was connected to the mansion by a long underground pa.s.sageway so that no one had to endure the elements to get to it. And so, the landscape wasn't spoiled by an above-ground eyesore. Reese was particularly proud of this feature of his beloved estate, which he had named Rosemary in memory of his wife. She had pa.s.sed away a decade ago after a series of strokes.

After cutting off the Saab's engine, Angela remained in the car for a few moments, hands clasping the steering wheel. She hated coming to Rosemary because of the inevitable confrontation with Chuck Reese. It happened every time. Reese would appear unexpectedly, as if out of thin air, giving her that smug expression she wanted to smack off his face. The same expression he'd given her across the courtroom when the judge had come down with his final decision, an expression that said, "You only have your son for forty-eight hours a month. Then he's mine again."

Reese had a reputation as a gregarious man who would regale a room full of admirers for hours with stories of his adventures, a man with a kind word for everyone. But he rarely said anything to Angela when she came to the estate, as he had rarely said anything to her when she and Sam were married. He didn't have to. His eyes conveyed his hatred more effectively than words ever could. And when he did deign to say anything to her, the words were far from kind.

Angela reached for the handle, then eased back onto the seat and shut her eyes. She was nervous about seeing Hunter too. He was growing up, his physical and mental development apparent each time she saw him. He was getting to an age when he would appreciate the material things the Reese money provided, nearing an age where going from a palace on the James River to a two-bedroom apartment in the Fan would be noticed-and perhaps resented.

At some point in the not too distant future, Hunter might not want to come with her any longer, might not race toward her the moment he saw her and throw his arms around her neck the way he did now. Angela had already antic.i.p.ated the scenario. Chuck Reese would tempt Hunter with a fabulous weekend, a get-anything-and-everything-you-want shopping spree at the FAO Schwarz store on Fifth Avenue in New York City, or a VIP trip to a Redskins game, including an autograph session with the star players. Then he'd tell the little boy that all of that was possible except for one thing. His mother was coming to take him away. She couldn't bear the thought of that. In her mind's eye, she would see the crestfallen look on Hunter's face; the satisfied look on Reese's.

There was something else, too. John Tucker's surprise appearance in the bas.e.m.e.nt garage had unnerved her. It had been almost an hour since she'd seen him and she was still shaking, still angered and upset by his warnings, increasingly anxious each minute she didn't log in a call to Carter Hill.

She stepped from the Saab and hurried across the circular driveway toward the mansion's huge front door. She had no doubt that Chuck Reese adored Hunter. That had been obvious from the moment Hunter had been born-the first male grandchild. And she'd seen the way Reese still doted on the boy. But Chuck Reese was a selfish man. Sharing someone as precious as Hunter was something he would avoid at all costs-which was why, Angela knew, he tried making her visits to Rosemary as unpleasant as possible. Perhaps he hoped to make her loathe the visits so much that she would ultimately give up and stay away from his world for good. She gritted her teeth as she pushed the doorbell. That would never happen. No matter what he tried.

A blonde woman opened the door, smiling politely. "Yes?"

Angela glanced down at the foyer's gray slate. This was Caroline Reese, Sam's wife of two years. It was the first time they had ever met, but Angela recognized Caroline immediately from newspaper and magazine photographs. Caroline and Sam had quickly become one of Richmond's most prominent couples. She was from a well-to-do family of Savannah, Georgia, and no charity event or social gala was an A-list affair without the Reeses.

Angela had read about Caroline in the society pages of theRichmond Tribune when the engagement was announced. Caroline was the daughter-in-law Chuck Reese had always wanted, a rich debutante from an old-money neighborhood in a stylish southern city. In fact, he'd probably arranged the marriage himself. Rosemary had been his wedding gift to them, according to the newspapers. He still stayed there on weekends, but according to the press, Rosemary had been deeded to Sam.