"Thanks for telling me," I said, my voice hoarse.

"She's a terrific woman." I would've prayed for her if I'd thought my prayers ever did any good.

"She deserves better."

"So ?" he prompted.

So why did I call?

"Ginny and I are safe," I told him. Fighting obstructions that crowded my chest.

"Don't worry about that."

"So ?" he repeated. It was still the middle of the night.

Despite his exhaustion, I made him wait while I took a couple of deep breaths and fought to clear the bullshit out of my way. Then I said simply, "She doesn't want me for a partner any I more.

Sam didn't hesitate.

"She said that? You've been known to do some mind reading when you think no one will notice."

I was in no condition to recite her exact words.

"She got a job without me. She told me I'm on my own. She didn't say much about what she wants."

Although I could guess He paused to think. Not long, but long enough to scare me. I was afraid he'd ask me why I cared.

Then he said, "Brew, I know this is difficult for you. But you're stronger than you realize. You work hard not to realize it. If you admitted the truth, you'd have to take responsibility for yourself.

"I'm not talking about drinking. I'm talking about not drinking. You pin that on Ginny. You tell yourself you don't drink because you couldn't survive if you lost her. But it's your decision, Brew. You're the one who chooses. Every day." He sighed.

"Then you lie to yourself about it.

"I can't make you face the truth. I wish I could but I'd probably be dangerous if I had that much influence on people."

Now his tone suggested a smile that I remembered vividly, full of friendship I hadn't earned.

"Queenie remembers you and Ginny. We talk about you from time to time.

In the morning I'll tell her you called.

"I'm going back to bed."

When he hung up, he left me with the sensation that I'd come this close to knowing what he meant. But the obstacles in my chest had become storms, and I couldn't go the rest of the way.

I should at least have told him that I still wasn't drinking.

The next morning before I left the apartment, I wrote Ginny half a dozen notes. They said things like, "Pack your stuff and get out. You can stay with Marshal." Or, "I'm working at The Luxury this weekend.

Give me a call when you get a chance." Or just, "Are you all right?"

But I tore them all up.

I probably could've called her. Or called Professional Investigations and left voice mail for her. But I didn't do that either. Instead of clutching after her, I went to work.

By 7:45 I was back at the hotel with my suit clean and my sunglasses polished. The .45 I left in the Subaru under the driver's seat. Armed with nothing except concern and sleep deprivation, I headed across the parking lot to tackle my new job.

The first job I'd found for myself sort of in more than a decade.

Certainly the first job I'd faced alone.

Ginny was fucking Marshal right now.

She was in trouble she needed me.

Sam's advice seemed impossibly far away, like a voice you hear in dreams.

The lobby was already busy. Men, women, and kids dressed in warmup suits or martial uniforms clustered around each other, obviously waiting for the convention hall to open. Various parents and instructors kept tabs on the kids as best they could. A number of the competitors carried what I assumed were weapons in cloth or canvas cases like ski totes, and everyone seemed to have a gear bag. But I wasn't on duty yet, so I ignored the details. Instead I trudged across the lobby to Bernie's office.

I found him there, apparently handing out duty assignments to half a dozen men in hotel Security blazers with badges pinned to their breast pockets. Practicing my manners, I withdrew and started to close the door, but he gestured me into the office with a vehement flap of his hand.

As soon as I'd complied and shut the door, he announced, "Men, this is Axbrewder. Watchdog insisted on extra security, so he'll be working the tournament with us."

By way of introduction, he listed a handful of names I didn't try to remember. His guards nodded at me like I was none of their business.

Or maybe they were just bored. Hotel security wasn't usually what I would've called stimulating work.

"I want you to know him by sight," Bernie went on, "because he won't have ID. He's undercover" he snorted the words "so the rest of us can concentrate on staring at antique artifacts.

"Just for variety, we'll use channel seven." Dutifully the guards undipped walkie-talkies from their belts and clicked the dials.

"Max will be on the monitors as usual, since he seems to be the only one who can sit there and stay awake. Coordinate with him. I want two of you on that display at all times, and two more nearby."

His men nodded again. They'd all done work like this before.

"And remember," Bernie added, "nobody goes off duty until the night shift is in place. Watchdog won't cover us unless we have a full crew.

Plus Axbrewder.

"Let's go." He slapped his hands together.

"Sternway wants to open the doors as soon as those gooks deliver their display."

Murmuring to each other, his crew left the office.

While they filtered out, he handed me up a cell phone.

"You don't get a radio. If anyone sees it your cover is blown, but every hotshot here already has cellular. Just hit 'send' if you need something. It's set to dial straight in to Max. He can patch you to me." He indicated a small receiver in his left ear.

"Or get the paramedics. Or the cops.

"Just be discreet about it."

"No problem." Hiding the way my hand shook, I slipped the phone into a pocket.