"Or get whacked," Washington put in.

[FIVE].

Matt's cell phone rang as Mickey, having quickly sent the drug bust article to be posted, was putting up his laptop computer.

When Matt saw the caller ID, he said, "Perfect," then answered the phone with, "Hold that thought, Kerry. I need you to drop everything and punch up Philly News Now. Go to Breaking News, then 'leak' to every other news outlet in town the article on the drug bust that Mickey just posted there. Anyone asks why he got the scoop, blame me. Say I called them but their number was busy."

"Matt-"

"Got it?"

"Got it, Matt. But-"

"But what, damn it?"

"We just got a couple units responding to a nine-one-one shots-fired call, on the scene at Mary's House. Came in hours after Special Operations pulled their unmarked. Tony Harris is en route."

"What scene? A homicide?"

Matt saw that that question caused eyes to turn to him.

"Almost. Two guys on a motorcycle shot up the place pretty good trying to take out one of the girl residents. Left a trail of nine-millimeter casings."

"Anyone hurt?"

"Not this time," Kerry said.

"What does that mean?"

"The shooters left a message-here, I'll read it."

After Kerry finished, Matt said, "What the hell? I'm guessing no word from Maggie?"

Eyes turned to him again.

"No. And there's only thirty minutes until the hour is up. They have six girls unaccounted for. And the woman who is Maggie's assistant, and witnessed the shooters on the motorcycle, sent an e-mail to Maggie and called her cell phone. It's all she knows to do."

Matt pulled the pen from his pocket, then stole Washington's cocktail napkin. "Give me that phone number again."

Kerry did, and added, "We are running it down. But dollars to doughnuts it comes up a go-phone dead end."

Matt stared at the number. "Kerry, get word out right now that nobody calls or otherwise communicates with the number without my permission or Lieutenant Washington's. Give whoever is in charge of the scene my number and instructions to call. And shoot me a copy of that note, please."

"Done, Marshal. Last one first."

Matt felt his phone vibrate.

The guy is good.

"And don't forget to feed the drug bust article to the media, Kerry. Keep me posted."

Matt broke off the call and went to pull up the image of the note left at Mary's House. He found Rapier's e-mail at the top of his in-box, right above an e-mail from Will McCain that was a forwarded e-mail of the one below it-Maggie's reply to Matt.

"Shit!" he blurted. "How did I miss this?"

"What, Matthew?"

"Maggie answered my e-mail," he said, as he opened her reply.

Matt saw that it had been sent almost a half hour earlier. He scanned through it, made a face as he shook his head in frustration, then opened the image she had attached.

"Huh," he said. "Well, she appears to be okay. But she really is starting to piss me off with this control issue of hers."

He forwarded it to Amanda-Maybe it will ease her mind, he thought-then he went to Kerry's e-mail and opened the image of the greasy handwritten note.

He handed Jason the phone and said, "You were right. Again. They are connected. Looks like Maggie may be the last witness. But witness to what? To what was stolen? At least we have some idea as to motive." He took a sip of his drink, lost in thought, then said, "But it doesn't track that the same person who would professionally take out the Gonzalez girl with .22 rounds behind the ear would attempt pulling off a third-world assassination stunt with a motorcycle and a spray and pray of nine-millimeter."

"And do not forget the note in the pizza box," Washington said dryly, nodding as he looked at it all.

Then he passed Matt's phone to Byrth, who then gave it to O'Hara.

"Congratulations, Michael," Jason said, gesturing at the image that Maggie McCain sent as her proof of life. "You're now part of the story the breaking details of which you have to sit on."

O'Hara nodded thoughtfully as he handed the phone back to Payne.

Washington then said: "We need details back on both Mary's House and the West Philadelphia Sanctuary."

At the thought of another attack, Matt felt his temper flaring, and forced it back.

"That Sanctuary has at least twice as many residents as Mary's," he said, his tone frustrated. "It is going to be a helluva lot harder to secure-if we can find enough blue shirts available for however long it will take."

He then rapidly replied to Maggie's e-mail: "I have seen the note about blood on your hands. Who is this guy? He will kill again. You may be safe now, but that can change. And your girls are at grave risk. I need your help, Maggie. Call my cell phone now."

He hit SEND and then looked at Washington.

"I just told Maggie we have the note and to call me." He picked up the cocktail napkin. "This number really is our only good lead now. But if we contact it, we could make things worse for her."

"Agreed, Matthew," he said, watching him shred the napkin, the pieces floating to the bar. "Stating the obvious, this is a desperate act on the miscreant's part to get to her. And he has the advantage of using violence to draw her out."

Payne glanced at his wristwatch.

"While we know he is capable of it," Matt said, "we don't know if he will act on his threat after this first hour, or the second, or whenever. We also don't know if Maggie is even aware of the note, of its threat. And if she is, if she has called the number."

He then met Washington's eyes. "What am I missing, Jason?"

Washington raised his eyebrows.

"The rules have changed, Matthew."

"How do you mean?"

"Maggie, with her need for control, created an impasse for everyone looking for her. What she did not-perhaps being in fear for her life could not-anticipate was that her stall tactic would force the miscreant to act again."

"Which, as Matt notes, could happen in a minute, a day, a week," Byrth said.

Matt looked at him, then Mickey, then Jason.

Then he checked his e-mail.

"No reply from Maggie. Fuck it. I'm calling the number."

X.

[ONE].

Kensington, Philadelphia Monday, November 17, 5:13 P.M.

Ricky Ramrez, draining his bottle of Yuengling lager, watched as Hector Ramrez reached into the rusty refrigerator and pulled out two more beers. Ricky threw his empty bottle across the bare kitchen. It smacked the far wall, leaving a wet mark on the peeling tan paint, then landed in a cardboard box in the corner that served as a trashcan.

"That ain't bad stuff," Ricky said, "but we need something better. Something stronger, like some good dark rum. Or..."

He looked past Hector at the warped kitchen counter. The dark green Formica had separated from the wooden backing. On the counter, next to the rust-stained porcelain sink, were two zip-top plastic bags packed with dried marijuana buds. A squat ceramic pipe, its bowl crusted with dark resin residue, sat between them.

Ricky stepped over and opened a bag. He dug into it with his fingers, pinching off a thumbnail-sized piece of the gold-veined green leaf. He tamped that in the bowl of the pipe, then lit it, inhaling deeply.

Hector popped the cap off one of the Yuenglings, then handed the bottle to him. Ricky heard his go-phone make a ping.

Still holding his breath, he put the beer on the counter, handed the pipe to Hector, then pulled the phone from his pocket.

He read the text message-and suddenly exhaled, the smoke billowing out.

Staring at the phone screen, he slowly rubbed his fingertips across his chunky pockmarked face.

Hector was right!

Wide-eyed, he held out the phone to show Hector the message.

"It fucking worked, man! It's her."

He picked up his beer and took a big swallow.

"And you had a doubt, mi amigo?" Hector said, smiling, and tapped the neck of his beer bottle against Ricky's.

Ricky grinned back and shrugged. Then he suddenly felt even more light-headed, the buzz from the marijuana now rising far above that from the beer.

And that hydro is really good shit.

This is all coming together!

Especially with getting Dmitri off my back.

Ricky read the next text, then fired back a reply.

There was the sound of a motorcycle pulling into the backyard. They briefly turned to it.

"And here come your sicarios. They made it happen," Hector said.

"Should we reward them?" Ricky said.

"I will think of something. Not too much too soon. Or they begin believing they really are assassins."

Ricky's phone then began ringing. He didn't recognize the number and pushed the key to send it directly in voice mail.

A moment later-ping-his phone suddenly lit up with another text message box, this one from the number that had just called: 215-555-4525.

I HAVE YOUR NOTE.

AND I HAVE WHAT YOU WANT.

NO MORE KILLINGS.

What the hell? Who is this?

How can this person have the books?

Or... was she shitting me?

"What?" Hector said, putting the pipe to his lips.