"What's the treatment?" he'd asked the oncologist, who'd hemmed and hawed a bit before answering, which told him all he really needed to know.

"The cancer is already very advanced. Too advanced for surgery. Chemotherapy can slow the progression, but..."

Cold fingers had clutched at his belly when the doctor's voice trailed off. "But what? How long have I got?"

"Six months, maybe eight. I'm sorry, Mr. Marsh."

Six to eight months. Which probably meant four to six before being totally bedridden. And who knew if the oncologist was right? The man had admitted things could change if the cancer spread to his lymph system or to his other organs.

Months to live. How the h.e.l.l did you prepare yourself for something like that? It wasn't fair! He'd spent the first week in a raging tantrum, breaking things, shouting at people, even firing an attendant in the parking garage who'd been late in bringing his car around.

Then he'd come to his senses and realized this was just another problem to be solved, the same way he'd approach a hostile takeover or a declining stock market.

He'd done his research. Hepatocellular carcinoma was usually 90 percent fatal; that meant a 10 percent chance his chemo would work. Not great odds, but he'd taken chances on worse. However, it wasn't in his nature to toss all his eggs in one basket, be it finances or his life. He'd put the vast resources of his business empire to work on finding a cure. Research and development labs were ordered to drop everything and look into liver cancers. Pharmaceutical firms were instructed to go through their enormous files of botanicals and other natural substances.

And the word had been put out to look for any unusual cases of spontaneous cures or "miracle" healings.

Over the past six weeks he'd subjected himself not only to the exhausting effects of the chemotherapy treatments, but also to the salves, lotions and hands of supposed faith healers, voodoo pract.i.tioners and saints-in-waiting. He'd traveled to remote villages to dip himself into healing pools and stand shoulder to shoulder with terminally ill, stinking, Third World refugees at special Ma.s.ses.

None of it had helped.

But now fate had delivered this veterinarian, Leah DeGarmo, into his sights; she could very well hold the key to his continued life in her pretty little hands.

And if she did, there was no way anyone or anything was going to keep her from him.

Chapter Five.

Leah started her car and rolled down the windows, but didn't take it out of Park. She didn't trust herself to drive just yet.

Not after what John had asked just before leaving her clinic.

She a.s.sumed they were done talking, and she stood up to say good night. Not that she wanted him to leave, but now that she'd explained her Power to him, she figured never to see him again.

"Leah, there's something I want to ask you. Actually, I would have asked you yesterday, but the shooting and the dying kind of got in the way."

"What's that?" Even as he smiled at her, she had no clue.

He took a deep breath. "Would you like to go out with me sometime? Maybe dinner? Or even just coffee."

She felt her mouth open but no words came out. Did he really just ask me on a date? An embarra.s.sed look came into his eyes, and she realized she'd left him hanging.

"I shouldn't have asked. I-"

"No, no! It's okay, really. I just didn't expect it. I thought...I thought you weren't interested," she finished lamely.

He laughed. "You thought wrong. But you still haven't answered my question."

"Oh! Yes, I'd love to go to dinner. How about Friday?"

"Friday it is," he agreed. "I'll pick you up at seven. Good night." He gave her another of his bright-white smiles and then walked out the doors, waving to her through the windows as he headed for his car.

Now, sitting with her hands on the Avalon's steering wheel, she smiled to herself. I've got a date.

Her first one in years.

Oh G.o.d. I don't even remember how to date. What should I wear? Do women still offer to pay?

I'll have to corner Chast.i.ty tomorrow. She dates more than anyone I've ever known.

Not caring that she still had a goofy grin plastered across her face, Leah pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.

I've got a date!

She never noticed the brown pickup truck that exited the parking lot next door and stayed two cars behind her all the way across town.

Chapter Six.

Tal Nova leaned back in his chair, a smaller version of Leonard Marsh's leather throne, and checked the door before pulling his cell phone from his pocket. Having the office next door to the head of the company held both advantages and disadvantages. On the one hand, even though he only carried the t.i.tle of Vice President, his status as Marsh's right-hand man was well-known throughout Marsh Enterprises, providing him with a mult.i.tude of perks he never would have enjoyed in any other job, even as a star NFL tight end.

On the other hand, he was expected to be at the boss's beck and call every minute of every day, unless he was traveling on business. And even the lowliest of cubicle drones had more privacy-Tal never knew when Marsh would walk through the door dividing their offices. And G.o.d help him if the big man found him with his feet on the desk or his television turned to something other than the news.

Tal was pretty certain his office was under surveillance. Marsh hadn't gotten to be one of the world's richest businessmen by staying within the legal lines. Tal had planned enough "extracurricular" operations over the past six years to know exactly what lengths Marsh would go to.

It would be foolish to think that just because they were confidants of a sort, Marsh wouldn't still have eyes and ears on Nova all the time.

So Tal made it a point to never conduct any personal business in his office. More importantly, he made sure to never use his office for any business of any kind that might be used against him later in a court of law. That's why, after finishing his conversation with Marsh, he'd used his personal cell to send an innocuous text. Meet for coffee? Now, ten minutes later, he had an equally bland message waiting.

Corner of Ninth and Fifty-Fifth. Fifteen minutes.

Perfect.

As he left his office, Janice, his secretary, asked him where he was going.

"To take care of something for Mr. Marsh," he replied. "I'll be back in an hour."

Janice nodded and returned to her typing. She'd been handpicked for him by Marsh, and he trusted her about as much as he trusted the security of his office phone.

In the back of his limo, Tal had time to consider his place in the grand scheme of things at Marsh Enterprises. His innocuous t.i.tle was as much of a cover as any used by the CIA or FBI. In reality, Tal's job description was simple: to take care of anything that Marsh couldn't accomplish through regular, or legal, means. Corporate espionage, blackmail, even physical violence-they'd all been carried out on Tal's orders.

And he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, either, when the situation called for it. That was how he'd earned the position in the first place.

He remembered that night like it was yesterday; he'd barely gotten back to the apartment and gotten out of his b.l.o.o.d.y clothes when the phone had rung.

"Tal Nova?" The voice on the other end was filled with jovial good humor.

"Yes?"

"This is Leonard Marsh. It's come to my attention you were involved in an unfortunate incident earlier this evening."

"What?" Tal nearly dropped the phone. How the h.e.l.l had anyone found out already? It had only been an hour since the accident. The fact that it was the owner of Marsh Enterprises, where Tal was presently working as an intern, was even more unbelievable.

"Come now, Mr. Nova. Don't play stupid. You did a p.i.s.s-poor job of covering up your involvement in the hit-and-run. You left your fingerprints on the body, and no doubt there is DNA evidence on your car which would link you to the crime if the police were to do even a cursory investigation."

"What do you want?" He knew blackmail when he heard it.

"I'd like to offer you a business proposition. Say yes and you'll have my guarantee your name will never be brought up in connection with any police investigation. Say no and one carefully placed call will have you behind bars before the sun rises."

Tal knew he was helpless to say no, but he asked his next question anyway. "What kind of business proposition?"

Marsh's laughter echoed in Tal's ear. "My dear boy, you don't get to know that until you answer. That's the whole point."

The decision was easy. "Fine. I accept."

"Excellent. Come to my office tomorrow and I'll explain everything. Welcome to the team."

That was the end of Tal's old life, and the beginning of his new one. A week after graduation he turned down the offer from the Cardinals and accepted the position of Security Manager with Marsh Enterprises. Marsh arranged for him to attend an intense twelve-week school in corporate espionage that included cla.s.ses in firearms, self-defense and computer hacking.

He surprised himself by not only showing an apt.i.tude for the science of security operations, but also enjoying it, which lessened the disappointment of not fulfilling his dream of playing in the NFL. His rise to Vice President was rapid, and along the way he picked up several other useful talents.

There were times when Tal worried that Marsh might have stashed away evidence that could point a legal finger at who really ran over that traffic cop six years ago. But then he'd think about all the dirt he had on Marsh, names and phone numbers and even photographs, all stored away in safe deposit boxes scattered around the city under false names.

And, of course, he was the only one who knew Marsh was dying.

It would be interesting to see how things played out with the DeGarmo woman. If she was the real deal, there was a lot more the company could do with her besides keep Leonard Marsh healthy.

She could make Tal's life a lot easier.

"Stop here," he told the driver as they approached Ninth Avenue. He exited the car and walked the final block out of habit, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be watching him.

Del McCormick waited by the newsstand, their usual meeting spot. As always, Tal marveled at the man's ability to blend in anywhere. Unless you were specifically looking for him, there was nothing about him to catch the eye, nothing that would stick in a witness's memory.

McCormick was average everything. Not too tall or short, plain brown hair, plain brown eyes, and a face that would never be called ugly or handsome. A medium-sized nose, lips perhaps a shade on the thin side but not obviously so, and just enough color to his skin that you wouldn't call him pale. His frame looked slender, but Tal knew the man's slightly baggy clothes hid a body kept in excellent shape through intense martial arts training.

"What's up?" Del asked, as the two men sauntered down the sidewalk. His eyes darted back and forth, watching everyone and everything around them.

Tal stuck a piece of gum in his mouth. "Got a strange one for you. Highest priority. I want you to take care of it personally."

"Hush-hush?" Del kept his eyes forward, but Tal heard the change in inflection, indicating he was interested.

"You, me and the big man makes three," Tal said. "And it has to stay that way."

"No problem. Are we talking interaction?"

Tal shook his head, knowing the other man was asking if there'd be violence involved. "Not that kind. But you will have to meet the subject in person. She's a vet."

One of Del's eyebrows went up. "Army? Navy?"

"No, a veterinarian. I need you to pay her an official visit. She lives up north in the burbs."

Del frowned. "Got no pets. Travel too much."

"Don't worry, I'll supply the pet. Meet me at this address tomorrow afternoon at five." Tal pa.s.sed him a piece of paper. "Wear something you don't mind getting blood on, and that you can hide a videocam in. You'll be playing the role of desperate pet owner."

Pulling a battered Yankees cap from his back pocket, Del chuckled, a rare event for him. "Now I'm really interested. Later, my friend." He adjusted the hat on his head and walked away.

In less than twenty steps he was lost in the afternoon crowd.

I swear he's part chameleon, Tal thought, as he headed back to the limo. But McCormick was perfect for the job. An hour after talking to him, DeGarmo wouldn't even remember what he looked like.

As the car wove its way through the streets of Manhattan, Tal dialed Marsh's direct line.

"It's me. I should have what you need tomorrow night."

Chapter Seven.

"Jesus Christ, what the f.u.c.k did you do to it?"

Del McCormick looked around the parking lot to make sure the dog's pitiful cries weren't drawing any witnesses. In the city a howling dog might not be noticed, but in a boondocks town like Rocky Point some Good Samaritan might decide to check out what was going on.

The dog's broken limbs twitched and jerked, and Del could see jagged pieces of bone sticking through the b.l.o.o.d.y fur.

"Getting squeamish?" Tal Nova lifted the animal from his trunk and placed it in the late model Volkswagen Jetta Del had stolen for the job.

"No, just a little surprised. You could have warned me." He had no intention of telling the hulking black man that he had a soft spot for dogs, especially little brown mutts like the one he'd had growing up.