Jade fired once and put a bullet right through his mouth. Blood splattered the white wall and the floral painting behind him. Trapp's knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, the girl still clutched in his arm. She flailed to get out from under him, screaming at the top of her lungs. Finally gaining her feet, she ran to Jade, embracing him around his waist.

He placed his hands awkwardly on her shoulders, pushing her away. He walked over to the body to make sure it was dead, laying two fingers on the neck to check for a pulse. There was none. "The real cops'll be here soon to take care of you," he said over his shoulder. He glanced at the two boys. They were shaking badly, still facing the wall. "You can get up now. He's dead."

They didn't move.

Jade released the cartridge so it tapped his palm, then clicked it back into place. He'd collect a twenty-thousand-dollar reward for four days of tracking. Not bad for an FBI dropout. He smiled and ran his hand over the rough stubble on his chin. To his right, the boys continued to quiver. Behind him, the little girl sobbed loudly.

Jade pulled Trapp's wallet out of his pocket and double-checked the driver's license, a formality since he was already positive on the ID. Several hundred-dollar bills stuck out, and Jade pushed them all the way into the billfold and stuck the wallet back in Trapp's pocket. He rose and walked downstairs as he heard the black-and-whites racing up the street, their sirens screaming.

He stepped over the two bodies downstairs, giving Goatee a kick that knocked his head against the wall. Putting his gun in the back of his jeans, Jade stepped through the doorway into daylight. Recognizing him, the cops sighed in relief and lowered their guns.

"One of these days, I'm gonna beat you to it," Lieutenant Hawkins said, fumbling over his beer belly to find his holster. Hawkins's eyes were as deeply brown as Jade's were green. He had a thick black mustache. They always have a mustache, Jade thought.

"I wouldn't count on it."

"Trapp dead?"

"Yeah. And the kid." Jade pointed with his gun at Dave's body, still sprawled out, reaching for the door. "The commissioner gave me him to work with. Almost got me killed."

"He break cover?"

"Yeah." Jade shook his head. "They never listen."

Hawkins sighed, running a hand over the top of his head. "Poor kid was just a rent-a-cop. Worked security at night to support his family."

Jade's mouth tightened. "You guys took long enough to get here. What, was there a cat stuck in a tree somewhere?"

"We didn't get the call till you'd already cornered them, then we came as fast as we could. You should've waited for us to back you."

"I didn't have the luxury."

Hawkins grimaced and glanced back at the house. Goatee's arm was visible in the doorway, lying in a pool of blood. Cops stepped over the bodies and headed inside to examine the scene. The sound of the boys weeping upstairs became softly audible.

"Jesus Christ, Marlow, you left the kids in there?" Hawkins asked in disbelief.

"Oh yeah, s.h.i.t, that's right."

"'Oh yeah'? You leave three kids alone in a room with a corpse and that's the best you can do? 'Oh yeah'?" Hawkins scratched himself angrily.

"Look, Hawkins, I don't see baby-sitter anywhere in my job t.i.tle."

Hawkins gestured to a newly arrived paramedics team. "You three-upstairs. Let's go." He turned back to Jade, shaking his head. "You bounty hunters are sick f.u.c.ks."

The paramedics rushed out carrying the kids. The children were sobbing freely now, all three of them. Jade looked down as they pa.s.sed, studying the ground. "I'm not a bounty hunter," he said. "I'm a tracker. It's an art."

"A madness, Jade." Hawkins wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "A madness."

13.

" T R A C K E R " was the term that Jade used to describe the new profession he had carved out for himself after resigning from the FBI. When he broke his second case, the media began referring to him as a "TDer" or "tracker and destroyer," but the phrase was too strained for his style. His language, like his actions, was quick and efficient.

Being a tracker set Jade apart from the b.u.mbling military Soldiers of Fortune and the trained dogs that the bail-and-loan companies sent out. He was the only one, and he worked alone.

Tracking didn't entail following a physical trail, it involved more subtle measures. Jade had learned that there was no straight line to a criminal's door. He began a case by going backward, studying a criminal's history-his motivations, his weaknesses. Once he got a profile, he could close in on him with the precision and determination of a shark circling its prey.

He said that he quit the feds because he couldn't stand the bulls.h.i.t of hierarchy. But there was a truer, more difficult explanation: He didn't get along with people. And in general, they didn't get along with him either.

There were people in his life, of course, but they came and went as the weeks pa.s.sed. He was always going somewhere else, always looking for something else. He was a hunter by trade, and hunters never stay in one place for very long.

Jade didn't like covering the same ground twice. And he didn't like the feeling that settled in once he stopped chasing. He pursued his prey with such fervor that it sometimes seemed he himself was fleeing from something. And it was true that he sometimes heard voices behind him, voices from his past. The singsong, manic voices of children spinning nursery rhymes in the hot summer air.

Eeni meenie minie moe, they sang, the notes of their song burning into his memory.

But eventually, after blisters, calluses form. They're much easier to live with.

When it came to himself, Jade didn't have time for complexity. Because he spent his days dredging society's murky waters, he had little energy for introspection. As a result, he viewed himself as fiercely independent, not isolated, as self-reliant, not difficult. It was easier that way.

Jade left the FBI after his rambunctious att.i.tude landed him in trouble. He had upbraided the Head of Operations of the Hostage Negotiation Department for allowing a terrorist to escape. The incident came after the agents had been ordered to stand down because hostages were in the line of fire. So when Jade had seen his shot open up for a split second, he had forced himself to resist. The terrorist had escaped and had been taken down by another agent in Maryland the next week. There had been other casualties along the way.

"You always shoot," Jade had yelled at the balding Head of Operations. "You shoot and ask questions later. So he takes out a hostage, big deal. If you let him escape, who knows who he'll do next?"

The Head of Operations had replied without looking up. "You throw temper tantrums like a child," he said calmly. "You have no grasp whatsoever of public relations. You don't follow orders and when you do, you do so grudgingly. You were the top agent in your entire graduating cla.s.s, Marlow," he said, finally raising his eyes to meet Jade's. "And for the life of me, I can't figure out what you're doing here."

Jade walked that day, and burned all his suits and ties that were part of the Bureau's uniform. He was on his own.

He was too good to be forgotten by law-enforcement officials, though, since during his five years as an agent he had had the top arrest record in the FBI. His combat skills and his abilities in criminal a.n.a.lysis and tracking were extremely well respected. He was best known, however, for his instinct. Jade had instinct like a tiger on the prowl; it seemed to come from the very blood running in his veins.

Local police units began hiring him to help take care of problems that eluded their own forces, everything from catching a burglar to tracking missing children. Eventually, even the FBI began to hire him for special cases, calling him in to coordinate and oversee operations. He felt a deep flush of satisfaction rise to his cheeks as he issued his conditions to them. He was the only outsider they'd ever hired for cases, and that knowledge was sweet revenge.

The FBI knew he was a risk. That was why they had asked him to resign. But in some cases, a risk was what was needed-an expert with a sharp tongue, a quick temper, and a quicker trigger finger. Sometimes, a threat arose that was so dangerous it was worth unleashing a tiger.

Jade Marlow was a tiger burning bright. He fed on the hunt, and his eyes sparkled green and yellow from the thrill of the pursuit. When he was angry, his face became downright cruel, and when he smirked, a thin scar across his left cheek rose slightly and highlighted the disdain on the rest of his face.

Jade left the San Francisco Fifth Precinct building, Hawkins and a group of officers behind him.

A brown Honda Civic squealed to a stop at the curb. The left-front side of the car's b.u.mper was caved in, and one of the back brake lights was broken. A b.u.mper sticker was stuck crookedly to the back, proudly declaring: MY SON BEAT UP THE STUDENT OF THE MONTH AT VISTA ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. A green, scented pine tree ornament dangled from the rearview mirror.

A woman in her mid-twenties fumbled at the door to get out. Her mouth was a red line, stretched thin with fearful antic.i.p.ation.

"Oh my G.o.d." She saw Hawkins and ran to him, her arms out-stretched. "Are you the lieutenant? Is it true? Oh my G.o.d. Where's Dave?"

Hawkins consoled her as the other policemen departed quietly.

"The rookie's wife?" Jade asked the nearest cop.

"Yeah. Eight-year-old kid too."

Jade swore under his breath. "He should've f.u.c.king listened to me."

"Well maybe he didn't-"

"He didn't f.u.c.king listen." Jade pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. "I really need this right now."

The officer stopped and looked at Jade, not quite sure he had heard him correctly. "You know, Marlow, you're a real a.s.shole."

Jade paused and ran his thumb across his bottom lip. "He gets himself killed breaking cover and I'm the a.s.shole. Astonishing logic."

"He died."

"He was my backup. He should have listened to me. If he had, he wouldn't have died."

"You think you're f.u.c.king flawless?"

Jade leaned back against a police car, ignoring him.

The cop bit his cheek and looked away for a moment before facing Jade again. "I heard you were a p.r.i.c.k, Marlow. But this is unbelievable." He pulled his shoulders back slightly, waiting through the tense silence for a response.

"You'd better move on, junior," Jade said, looking straight ahead. "You might hurt yourself."

The cop stepped forward. "You got something to say?" he asked, placing a hand on Jade's shoulder and leaning toward him.

The moment the cop touched him, Jade grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him into the police car. He moved his face right up to the cop's until he could see through the darkness of his sungla.s.ses. The cop didn't move. His arms were out to his sides, hands opened pa.s.sively. Jade held him for a moment, then let him go. He turned to walk away.

Dave's wife was walking toward him angrily, tears drying on her cheeks. She had overheard Jade talking about her husband.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she cried. "I knew it was trouble, him working with you." She stifled a sob. "And now. How dare you talk about him that way? He died helping you on this job."

"'Helping me,'" Jade said under his breath. He looked off in the distance, slowly shaking his head.

Her voice was wavering and her words blended together, but she forged ahead. "I knew it. I knew it would end in blood. But he was so excited to work with you. The great Jade Marlow."

"I think we should just-"

"How could you have let him die? He was there for you. He died covering you, and you didn't even try to help him." She raised a finger, pointing it at him. "You're a curse, a f.u.c.king death curse."

Jade finally looked down at her, his eyes narrowing. "I hate to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but he was breaking orders when he got shot."

She slapped him, her hand ringing loudly across his face, leaving a red outline. She pulled back to hit him again, but Jade caught her arm and threw it away roughly. She collapsed on the ground.

"You'll get over it," he snarled. "Start dating." He turned and walked slowly to his car, leaving her sobbing on the pavement.

14.

T H R E E women clad in green-sequined bikinis gazed out from the yellowed poster. Its caption proudly announced: STRAUDERS FULL-BODIED BEER-IT GLITTERS AS YOU GUZZLE. The women held sparklers and curled their hands suggestively around the large brown bottles.

"You know, I never understood that s.h.i.t," Jade said, indicating the poster with a flick of his head.

Tony Razzoni shifted heavily in his chair and turned to face him. "What s.h.i.t, Jade?"

"Why they always put chicks all over when they advertise. Beer, cars, power tools. I don't get it. Are we supposed to be able to f.u.c.k these girls if we buy the s.h.i.t?"

"No. No, I think if we buy the s.h.i.t, then we're the kind of guys who can get laid by chicks like that." Tony stabbed a meaty forefinger at the poster to emphasize his last words.

Jade glanced at Tony's rugged face, then down at his belly, which was wedged subtly beneath the bar. "Oh yeah. Right."

Tony had gone through six months of FBI training with Jade before dropping out. He'd gone into the police force and now headed up a squad for the small town of Falstaff Creek. He had remained friends with Jade, and now was one of the few people relaxed enough to endure Jade's abrasive personality.

Tony was a large man, about six feet, two-fifty. Much of his size came from muscle, though it wasn't readily apparent from his appearance. His face was round, his features soft. A thin sheen of sweat seemed always to cover his cheeks, and his snug-fitting shirt usually showed spots of dampness on the back. Jade couldn't remember ever having seen him when he wasn't sweaty.

Tony didn't lose his temper. Because of his size, he never had to. And he had a gentle touch, even when he wasn't being gentle. Tony's personality could be read right off his face. He was never mean, and fair all the way through. If he ever hurt someone, it was deserved.

"So . . ." Tony said. He paused to clear his throat. "I hear you were a real a.s.shole at the day care shoot-out today."

"So I'm garnering the usual thanks already?"

"I hear you yelled at the dead kid's wife."

"She was being dramatic."

Tony realized that he was pushing too far and softened his tone. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, Jade, but-"

"Bulls.h.i.t."

"What, bulls.h.i.t?"

"Whenever someone starts a sentence with 'I don't mean to be disrespectful, but,' it really means 'I'm gonna be disrespectful, but let's pretend like I'm not.' So just cut the s.h.i.t and say what you have to say."

Tony sighed and set his jaw. "Look, kid. How long I known you?"

"About eight years, Tony. About eight years."

Tony smiled affectionately. "How many people you known that long who still talk to you?"

Jade pretended to count them on his fingers. When he got to ten, he turned to Tony and smiled. "None."

"Now, Jade, that's gotta count for something."