“And today is that day.”

“Not a day too soon, either.” He parked at the curb on the next street and cut the engine, then reached across the console and caught Britt’s arm before she could open the door.

He understood and respected her need to be personally involved in the solution to her problem. Her stake in this was as high as his, maybe ever higher because she stood to lose the most. She deserved a chance to remedy the wrong that had been done to her. In theory, he empathized.

But from a personal standpoint, he was afraid of something going terribly wrong and her getting hurt. “This could be ugly, Britt. You don’t have to go along.”

“I expect it to be ugly, and I most certainly do have to go along.”

He nodded, acknowledging that she was capable of making her own decisions and had the right to do so. But knowing that didn’t mitigate his fear for her safety. “This is a last resort kind of plan. We’re taking a huge risk.”

“Some risks are worth taking.” Her quiet tone, and the way she looked at him when she said that, let him know she was referring to more than their ambushing Fordyce at home.

“Damn right.” He hooked his hand behind her neck and pulled her toward him, giving her a hard, quick kiss before setting her away. He ran his thumb across her damp lower lip, then said hoarsely, “Let’s go.”

They followed the sidewalk around the block. It was an upscale neighborhood with its own police force and a crime watch co-op among homeowners. So as not to attract attention, they kept to a leisurely pace. A dog barked at them from behind an estate wall, and a jogger with iPod earplugs gave them an absentminded nod as he huffed past on the opposite side of the street. Other than that, they didn’t draw anyone’s attention.

When they reached the attorney general’s house, they turned and started up the central walkway as though that was their morning routine. Britt had expressed some misgivings when Raley outlined his plan to her.

“He may have security guards,” she’d said.

“He may. If so, we’ll create a ruckus. Media would get on it. Even if we’re dragged away in shackles, he’ll eventually have to address why we came knocking.”

“He could refuse to give us an audience.”

“I doubt it. Not after what Candy told him. She hinted that I was at my wit’s end and likely to do something crazy. I’m betting he doesn’t want a public spectacle and would much rather meet me in private.”

“But not quite this private.”

“No. We’ll definitely be an unwelcome surprise,” he’d said.

Now, Britt remarked, “One less worry. I don’t see any guards.”

In fact, the house and property had an aspect of serenity. Automatic sprinklers had left the lawn looking dewy and fresh. The front porch, running the width of the house, had four fluted columns supporting the second-floor balcony. Large urns containing Boston ferns framed the double front door, which was painted high-gloss black.

Reaching it without being challenged, Raley looked at Britt. “Ready?”

“Get to the good stuff soon. This battery isn’t fully charged.”

She aimed the camera’s lens at the door. Raley rapped the polished brass knocker three times. While waiting for it to be answered, he braced himself. For what, he didn’t know. He tried mentally and physically to prepare himself for anything. An attacking Doberman? A formidable housekeeper? A child in Lightning McQueen jammies?

Surprisingly, the door was opened by Cobb Fordyce himself. He was dressed in suit trousers, shirt, and tie but wasn’t wearing his jacket. He was holding a linen napkin. Apparently they’d caught him having breakfast.

Britt started recording.

He reacted as though the camcorder was an Uzi, staggering backward several steps. “What’s this?”

“Good morning, Mr. Fordyce,” Britt said. “It’s been a while.”

Identifying her as the newswoman cum fugitive, his eyes went wide. Then his gaze swung to Raley, and again he asked, “What is this?”

“This is the day you’ve been dreading for five years. We’ve come to talk to you about Cleveland Jones. Remember him?” Raley held up his files, which he’d brought with him. “If your memory needs refreshing, it’s all in here.”

The AG’s eyes skittered beyond them, and he looked relieved to see that they were unaccompanied. Coming back to Raley, he said, “Cleveland Jones. Of course I remember. He was the man who started the fire at the police station.”

“You’re sticking to that story, then?” Britt asked.

Irritably, Fordyce raised his hand as though about to cover the lens of the camera with the napkin, then thought better of it and lowered his hand back to his side. “He set it just before he died of head wounds.”

“Ms. Shelley and I think otherwise,” Raley said. “And you know otherwise. So did Pat Wickham, Senior. So did Jay Burgess. That’s why they’re dead.”

Fordyce’s eyes shifted over to Britt. “She’s charged with Burgess’s murder.”

“So arrest her,” Raley said. “We’ll wait while you read her her rights, and then when the police get here to take her into custody, they may be interested to hear what you were doing at the police station the very day it became a tinderbox and seven people died.

“Oh, and we’ll gladly surrender this video recording so they can see for themselves the nervous perspiration that broke out on your lying face at the mention of that incident. Good morning, Mrs. Fordyce. Forgive the intrusion.”

The attorney general spun around to find that his wife had come to see who had interrupted their breakfast. Raley recognized her from Jay’s funeral. She was a pretty, ladylike woman. Even at this early morning hour, she was in full makeup, dressed casually but well. She had a small purse hanging from her shoulder and a set of car keys in her hand.

Apprehensively she regarded the trio at her front door. “Cobb? Is everything okay?”

“Sure. Fine.”

“The boys are due at baseball practice. Should I-”

“Yes. Go. Take them. Everything’s fine.”

Apparently she never questioned her husband, even when there was a fugitive from justice on her threshold. There was only the slightest hesitation before she turned and went back to the part of the house from which she’d come.

Fordyce faced Raley and Britt again. During that brief exchange with his wife, he’d regained his composure. Being a natural politician, he was ready to compromise. “I’ll talk to you, but not here. Not now. You were supposed to be at my office at eleven. I agreed to that. As far as I’m concerned, you’re trespassing.”

“Good try, but no dice,” Raley said. “We talk here.”

“My family-”

“They’re on their way to baseball practice. Even if they weren’t, we don’t mean any harm to your family. Where would you like to talk?”

“I won’t talk to a man with a weapon.” He said it without fear, levelly, firmly.

Figuring this probably wasn’t a point the AG was willing to concede, Raley said, “If you agree to talk, I’ll surrender the pistol.”

“And no camera.”

“The camera stays on,” Britt said. “This recording may be the only possible means I have of exonerating myself.”

Fordyce mulled that over for several seconds, then said tersely, “Fine.” He turned and motioned for them to follow.

The room to which he led them off the central foyer was a well-furnished and tastefully decorated home study, more for show than for actual work, Raley guessed. Fordyce moved behind his desk and sat down. “The pistol, Mr. Gannon.”

Raley pulled it from his waistband and laid it on a square end table in the corner, within his reach but out of that of the attorney general. Then he sat down in a chair facing the desk. Britt took the matching chair. He noticed her fingers adjusting the focus on the camera.

Fordyce motioned toward the files Raley held. “What is all that?”

“The findings of my and Teddy Brunner’s arson investigation. They’re incomplete insofar as the seven casualties are concerned. I wasn’t allowed to finish my investigation into the cause of Cleveland Jones’s death. Brunner settled for the PD’s explanation.”