His father's frown deepened. "That's another one of my mistakes - letting you take all that stress, not taking your side. So protective of your mother that we never even talked about Philip. It was like he'd never existed once we had the funeral. Now that you have your own twins, they must remind you of yourself and Philip when you were their age."

Rising from his chair, Steve stared at his father. "Dad, I really don't have time for this right now. I have to pack." Why was his father bringing this up now, twenty years later? No, not now.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I never meant to abandon you as I did...I . . ."

Steve put a firm hand on his father's shoulder. "You didn't - and I'm not either. Are you going to help us pack? We need some stuff from the attic."

"I just don't want you to do anything you'll regret," Jim Nelson said hoa.r.s.ely. "My only regret is that I abandoned you."

Steve stepped away. "Please, Dad, don't," he said sharply. "Right now I've got to save what's left of my family. I've got a job interview with the TV station in Fairbanks, and you know as well as I do that I need that job. We're going tomorrow."

"Still, Kev and Mike need some stability."

"And that's exactly why we're going, so we can get stable."

"But now that Laura is no longer charged, she can get her job back and -"

"No way. Not after what she did. Before - you know - I asked her to come with us. She refused. Then I find out about what she did. I just want to get far away from here. Away from Laura. Away from everything that happened in Tampa. I'd appreciate it if you'd drive me over to pick up my rental car in the morning. I'll drop it off at the airport in Detroit."

Jim sighed and stood up. "It's up to you, son. But I still think you should sleep on it."

"Look, Dad. Mike and Kev are all I have left. I won't lose them to Laura. Now that she's so-called 'free' again, you can bet her high-priced lawyer will try to take the boys away from me. Besides, I think we'll all start to feel a little better when we get some hunting and fishing in."

"Have you told the boys?" his father asked sadly.

Steve shook his head. "I'll tell them now so they can get packed. I didn't tell anybody before because I didn't want it getting back to Laura."

"Maybe you should wait until tomorrow. No use upsetting them prematurely. Maybe you'll change your mind by morning."

"I'm going up to talk to them now."

Steve found Mike and Kevin sitting on his bed, the airline tickets in Kevin's hands. He tried to cover them up as Steve walked through the door, but he recognized the colorful logo of the Traverse Travel Agency.

"What do you have there, Kev?"

"Uh, nothing," his younger son mumbled.

Steve opened his hand and waited until Kevin handed him the tickets.

"Dad, we heard you talking to Grandpa about taking us away," admitted Mike. "We just wanted to know where."

"Fair enough. We're going to Alaska. First to San Francisco, then on to Fairbanks."

"Alaska!" Mike bolted off the bed, shaking his head. "That's so far away. We don't want to go there."

"Mike, sit down. You're too young to understand. You don't know what's best for you, and I've decided that we're moving to Alaska. I already have a job interview lined up at the TV station there. It'll be great. Just what you guys like: camping, fishing, and hunting when you're ready."

"Only us?" Kevin gulped. "What about everybody else?"

"Nattie and Nicky? And what about Pat, isn't he getting surgery right now?" Mike added. "We can't leave the country -"

"Leave the country? Alaska's part of the United States, guys."

"You have to go through Canada to get there," Mike reasoned.

"Well, like it or not, we're leaving tomorrow so let's get packing. We'll hit the attic where Grandpa keeps his camping and hunting equipment. I still have some of my old stuff in boxes. We'll take all the heavy stuff since it does get cold up there."

Kevin started to cry quietly, but he couldn't suppress his sniffles.

"See what I mean, boys," Steve said sharply, "you guys have to stop being such mama's boys and toughen up."

"But we need to talk to Mom and make sure that Pat's okay," Mike insisted.

Steve frowned. "Boys, we're a team now. We're what's left of this family, and we're starting a new life. Now let's go. Let's get Grandpa and go sort out what goes and what stays."

As the Nelson men climbed the stairs to the attic, Mike excused himself to go to the bathroom.

"Mrs. Whitman?" Mike struggled to keep his voice low after he dialed his Tampa telephone number, which rang in her apartment. "Kevin's in the attic with Dad and Grandpa. They're -"

Carmen Williams missed Kim. Didn't matter that she now had money. Money from Kim's small nest egg and Kim's awesome wardrobe and jewelry collection. Didn't matter that she could now afford places like the bar at the Columbia Restaurant in Ybor City. A cla.s.sy place where Kim used to take her. A place where Kim used to go with Frankie Santiago.

Carmen approached the bar, aware of the looks. She looked great, and she knew it. Kim had been much tinier that she, but Carmen had found a seamstress that had done magic. The red halter dress - Kim's favorite color - was snug, but s.e.xy. Her luxuriant auburn hair was clipped into place with a ruby - probably not real - studded clip and she felt like quite the lady in red strappy heels.

"What'll you have?" asked the bartender, a hefty man with salt-and-pepper hair clipped military style. He had been there most times she and Kim had come in.

"Perrier with lime," she said after a noticeable hesitation.

"On the wagon or what?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm trying. Guess I shouldn't be here, but I'm so lonely. I sure miss Kim."

"You two were such good pals." He blinked as he poured the bubbly water into her gla.s.s. "I miss seeing her too. She was a perky one. Channel Eight's never been the same since she left." He nodded to the TV monitor over the bar. The news was on. The anchor couple from Memphis.

"Duds," Carmen said.

"But you're lookin' like a million bucks," he said. "You doin' okay?"

New patrons had arrived, so he took off without a response.

Carmen went back to her drink, but was soon distracted by a familiar sounding voice. She turned to look as an older man with longish gray hair and dark gla.s.ses nodded to the bartender. The guy looked out of place in this sw.a.n.ky lounge acheap baggy pants that hung to the floor, a faded teal Miami Dolphin tee shirt, worn sneakers. Curious, she watched as he headed up the steps leading to private rooms and offices, carrying a worn canvas gym bag.

"Who was that?" she asked the bartender when he came back her way.

"h.e.l.l if I know," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Knew the code, so I let him up."

He must be used to characters, Carmen thought. Everybody knew that the Columbia was a hangout for the mob boys. Even the big boys came here. Guess that's why Frankie kept taking Kim here, she figured. Then she choked on a sip of Perrier. That voice - Frankie's raspy voice.

There was a ladies' room upstairs next to the private rooms. Carmen bolted out of her chair before even thinking.

"Carmen?" the bartender asked.

"Gotta use the can," she said, rushing toward the stairs.

"One's down here," he said, scratching his head, but she was halfway up.

Carmen knew the cops were all over Tampa looking for Frank. So why was she following him? Did she want that Detective Lopez and that jerky Detective Goodnuf all over her again? s.h.i.t no. She stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs just as two men went into a room. The b.u.mmy looking one who sounded like Frank and, to her horror, a guy with a bushy moustache, coal black hair clipped close to his head, dressed in slacks and a black polo shirt. A guy she knew from the old days when she'd turned tricks. A high strung, slight man, who liked his s.e.x routine missionary. A john who'd used her twice and that was it until the night she'd been in this very restaurant with Kim. Kim had leaned over and whispered, "That's Manny Gonzolas. He's a hit man. Frankie told me. Lives in a mansion on the beach in Clearwater. Hangs out here all the time."

Carmen shook with fear then, and she did so again now. Frank and a hit man?

Instead of going back to the bar, she ducked into the ladies' room next door. Putting a cold paper towel to her forehead, she strained to hear conversation from the next room, but of course, she couldn't.

"C'mon, Manny, give it up," Frank snarled as he accepted a shot of tequila.

Manny sipped his beer. "You got the cash? Half now, half when it's done. Hundred grand plus."

"I got it, but you ain't seein' it till I get the plan. C'mon already, I gotta get outta here."

"Don't f.u.c.k with me, Frankie. I got a reputation, don't take no gang stuff. Don't want no complications with Miami."

"Won't be any. It's just gotta happen fast. So what did you find out?"

"My man's expensive, but he's good, long as I take care of him."

Frank reached down and lifted a worn athletic bag onto his lap. He carefully removed the dirty socks and underwear he'd brought with him from the Sanibel hideaway, revealing neatly packed rolls of hundred dollar bills beneath a sheet of plastic.

"Now you're talkin'. Ten grand for my informant. It ain't cheap to get inside like this. Maybe another five for expenses. One ten for the job itself. That's one twenty-five, my man."

"Yeah, I'm good for it. Now f.u.c.k it, Manny, what'd you find out?"

Manny dug out a piece of paper from his pants pocket. "It was the kid next door who fingered you at the Nelson place. Palmer. Turns out she's deaf and dumb, goes to a special school for the deaf."

Frank scowled. "A kid? Mierda. Not a f.u.c.king kid? How the f.u.c.k -"

"Nelson's lawyer called the cops 'bout what the kid saw. A woman lawyer. Turns out she's got a deaf kid too. Name's Carrie Diamond."

"Okay, so Diamond's a lawyer," Frank repeated.

"Firm hired a P.I. Big guy with a big rep, he got results. D.A. had nothin' on you till this Palmer kid shows up. Cops put a uniform at the house for protection once the kid pegged you, but over the weekend they got a call to hold off. So I figure maybe they split."

"Whadda mean? You gotta find this kid."

"Did a little walk around the neighborhood early this morning, but n.o.body's home at the Palmer's. Neighbor thinks they're on vacation, but doesn't know for sure. Not like them to just leave without tellin' the whole neighborhood. Apparently the missus is big on blabbin'. Knows everyone's business, tells everyone hers."

Frank drummed his fingers on the table. "Yeah, yeah. What else?"

"Followed up with the school the kid goes to, see what I can find out. Is the kid absent is the bottom line." He pointed to himself. "Make like I'm a prospective parent, right? I ask to see the school roster, there's the 'absent' or 'present' columns right there. I see the kid's gone. Also, the Diamond kid is 'absent.' What a coincidence, eh? Security cameras all over the place so I start asking questions about that. Managed to nab last week's tape by the time I left."

Frank grunted. "And?"

"Spent the rest of the day on fast forward with it, and bingo, caught the day Diamond showed up and then a half-hour later there's one kid having a conversation with another kid - fitting the description of the Palmer kid. Got a sign expert. Bingo again. She's the one fingered you, amigo."

Frank slammed his drink down on the table. "A f.u.c.king kid. No way. I can't believe it."

Manny watched him. "Yeah, so?"

"A kid. Takin' a kid out -"

"Job's a job. You want it done or not? The kid ID'd you, that's the word. If you want my advice -"

Frank scowled. "Hey, gimme a minute to think, a kid. Ice a kid?"

"Whatever you decide," Manny took a long swig of beer, "half that money's mine. Already did a ton of leg work."

"s.h.i.t, what am I gonna do?" Frank squirmed. "So the kid disappeared?"

Manny lit a fat Cuban cigar. "Vamoose. But I have my ways. You know how the females are. That Diamond b.i.t.c.h'll lead us to those kids no doubt. So, is it a go?"

"f.u.c.k it, Manny. You took the job, you f.u.c.king do it." Frank scratched the stubble on his chin. "No way around it."

Manny nodded. "Just so ya know, my inside didn't turn up anything linking you to that Mexican hit."

Frank checked his watch. "Tell me something I don't know. So what the f.u.c.k did you find out about Nelson?"

Manny smiled. "Put a bug in his place on Davis Island last night. Easy stuff. And it already paid off."

"What's that do for me?"

"Your guy's leavin' for Fairbanks, Alaska, tomorrow. Takin' off in the middle of all this s.h.i.t with two of his kids. So you better get on him p.r.o.nto. Unless you wanta freeze your a.s.s takin' him down in the tundra."

Frank stared at his empty shot gla.s.s. "Now why the f.u.c.k would he do that?"

"You tell me, I'm only the hired help. Your lady was killed at his place, right? He's gotta figure sooner or later you're on his tail so he tries to disappear in Alaska, I dunno. Do know the info's on target, checked out the airlines. Northwest flight out of Detroit with a connection in San Francisco."

"Detroit," Frank groaned. "Easier take-out than f.u.c.king Traverse City."

"Figured. I already booked you. Set up a car at the airport through a guy I know. There's a piece in it."

"Bueno. f.u.c.king Nelson." Frank stood up.

"Forgettin' something, Frankie?" Manny pointed to the bag of cash.

Frank shoved it at Manny as he fumbled in his pants pocket for a key that he put in Manny's other hand. "Once I hear the job's done, the rest'll be where we agreed."

Manny opened the door. The two men lingered as Manny slapped him on the back. "No worries, it's in the bag. Nail Nelson in Detroit. And amigo, when I'm done with the job you won't be seein' me around for a while."

"Same."

As the men said good-bye, neither noticed the young woman in a short red halter dress lurking just inside the open door to the ladies' room.