Dolan nodded grimly to himself, finally satisfied with the plan. He would spend the day preparing his package for that prosecutor. Put it in the overnight mail. Then drive out to the country later this afternoon and eat his shotgun for dinner. All the while crowing over the thought of Sarah’s getting arrested. His only regret would be not witnessing it himself. But he could imagine the scene vividly enough. After all, he knew what Sarah looked like in handcuffs.

42

SOPHIE CHO PUSHED THE BABY STROLLER DOWN A pathway darkened by an overhang of lush late-summer trees. With the sun high overhead at eleven o’clock, it was ninety degrees in the shade in Central Park. The air smelled of ozone and baking pavement; the pathway was completely deserted except for a professional dog walker escorting a lethargic group of terriers and poodles. She wondered where the experienced mommies went on a stifling morning like this. They had a secret gathering spot, she was sure-an air-conditioned museum perhaps, or a coffee shop.

She was heading for a sculpture she’d noticed and admired many times in the past, a whimsical brass rendering of Alice in Wonderland characters that she’d often seen covered in small, climbing bodies. She’d imagined herself there, shouting at a child who had her hair, her eyes-be careful, don’t fall. But as she wilted more with each step and Maya began to fuss, she knew she’d made a bad choice. That sculpture was best on a clear, cool day. Going there in the heat, like so much else in her life these days, was a mistake.

Dead calm, without the slightest stir of breeze in the trees. Sophie leaned down into the stroller and blew lightly on Maya’s face, earning a delicious giggle for her troubles. How could she possibly run away to Vancouver and leave this baby behind? Melanie’s job was so demanding, and her marriage was on shaky ground. As time went on, Aunt Sophie’s role in the little girl’s life would grow and grow. She imagined buying her clothes, taking her to tea at the Plaza, listening to her childish confidences. Giving up those dreams would feel like ripping her fingernails from her flesh. Yet she’d reached the point where she saw no other way out.

Maybe if she’d told Melanie that first night, when Jed was murdered and the fire broke out. Then it wouldn’t seem so much like she had something to hide. But would that have made any difference? Either what she did was a crime or it wasn’t. She didn’t know the exact legal answer to that question. The only person she could think of to ask was Melanie. But asking, of course, would reveal her secret, and then Melanie would never let her care for Maya again. Yet if she ran to Vancouver, she wouldn’t see Maya anyway. She just went around and around in terrible circles.

She reached the sculpture and took a seat on a bench, lifting Maya out of the stroller to sit on her lap. As she’d feared, they were the only ones here today. The sun beat down on her head as she pulled out a bottle filled with a mixture of one part apple juice to two parts water, exactly as Melanie instructed. She’d measured it out with great care. She held it for Maya, who began to suck happily, oblivious to the heat now that she was enjoying her favorite treat.

“Good girl. See, look over here, Maya. See all those funny critters? Aunt Sophie’s going to tell you a nice story about them. Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Alice.”

They were no longer alone. A young man came and sat down on the bench opposite. She smiled at him, proud to be observed mothering this child, wondering if he had children, too. Because, despite his intimidating appearance-he had small, cold features and multiple tattoos-he seemed to listen to the story with great interest.

43

THEY EAT LUNCH EARLY IN COW TOWN, MELANIE thought grimly, taking a seat on a red leatherette stool at the counter of the metal-sided diner. It wasn’t even eleven-thirty, and all the tables were occupied, the patrons an odd mix of farmhands and flamboyant city types in fashionable outfits. The smell of frying bacon hung in the air, overpowering and unpleasant on a scorching day. A tired-looking waitress with bluish hair slapped a menu down in front of Melanie. Having just been shot at, Melanie was hardly in the mood to eat, but she didn’t think the waitress would take kindly to her sitting there without ordering. Her handbag was where she’d left it, on the floor of Dan’s car. If he didn’t come back for her, she’d be stranded with no money and no identification.

She ordered egg salad on whole wheat toast and an iced tea, then sat waiting for it to come, spinning back and forth on her stool like an anxious child. She could barely keep her body still. The possibility that the informant might shoot Dan flooded her thoughts, making her crazy with worry. She’d seen so much tragedy in the space of a few days-Jed Benson, then Rosario, then Jasmine, now Amanda. She’d kept going by focusing on getting Slice, on locking him up for the rest of his life. But now, thinking of Dan O’Reilly lying broken and bleeding on the ground, she came undone. Even if he was-maybe, possibly-involved in a string of brutal murders. Even if he’d lied to her. Even if nothing more ever happened between them.

She checked her watch again. How long should she wait before she asked to use the diner’s phone to call 911? He’d been gone only ten minutes. Dan was an FBI agent, after all. Presumably, if he needed reinforcements, he’d have the sense to call them in. Then again, maybe not. She knew him well enough to imagine he’d be touchy and secretive about soliciting help. The Bureau bred that in its agents, playing things close to the vest. Plus, she thought grimly, there was always the chance he wouldn’t call the police because he was really one of the bad guys.

The sandwich, when it finally came, looked decent enough, so she forced herself to eat it. Food might seem repellent, but she needed to maintain her strength. She chewed mechanically, barely tasting it, still hearing the sound of bullets whizzing past her ears, still seeing that vicious dog lunging for her. Dan said it was Slice’s dog. How could he know that? Had the snitch told him? Was the story about the snitch even true? Dan had protected her, put his body between her and the bullets. Surely that meant he was on her side. Or was it a show? Designed to convince her he was still on Team America when he wasn’t?

This diner brought out the child in her, or maybe anxiety was making her regress. She used her straw to slurp the remaining iced tea from the bottom of the glass, her mouth puckering at the tart bite of juice from the lemon slice. She swung her stool around backward, dangling her feet, looking through the plate-glass window. To her astonishment, as she watched, Dan’s G-car pulled into the parking lot. He was alone, and he’d been gone only twenty minutes.

HE WALKED INTO THE DINER HOLDING HER HANDBAG, and she’d never felt so happy to see anybody in her whole life. But the next second, all the doubts rushed back in.

“Your phone just rang, but I felt funny answering it,” he said, handing her the bag.

“What happened? Where’s the informant?”

He slid onto the stool next to her. “I missed him. But I got some other leads instead.”

“What do you mean, you missed him?” she asked sharply.

He avoided her eyes. “He was gone by the time I got back. Win some, lose some, I guess.”

She searched his face apprehensively. His nonchalance at the informant’s escape seemed like an act. She felt certain he was hiding something.

“What’ll it be?” asked the blue-haired waitress, shoving a menu at Dan.

“Nothing, thanks.” He waved the waitress away and turned to Melanie. “Listen, your car’s safe enough sitting in the lot at Otisville. You can deal with it later. We need to get back to the city and find Slice.”