As Lily had ordered, the horses were ready and waiting. Serious Therapy was a sturdy bay quarter horse with a distinctive blaze along his nose from high on his forehead to his muzzle.

"I like him already," Gabe said, checking the tightness of the cinch and the length of the stirrups before swinging easily onto a hand-tooled saddle that might have cost as much as his car.

Lily eschewed the offer of a leg up from William, the stable man, but did use a low step to mount Belle Starr, an elegant steel gray mare. Side by side, Lily and Gabe began a slow walk past the corrals and out along a slightly shaded trail heading toward denser forest and the hills. For five minutes, perhaps even longer, little was said between them. As advertised, Serious Therapy was special-powerful, alert, and responsive. Later, when Gabe had the chance to reflect on these qualities, he concluded that they might well have been responsible for saving his life.

Lost in the perfection of the moment and in thoughts around the mysterious, unfathomable woman riding a few feet to the left and in front of him, he wasn't certain whether or not he had seen movement ahead of them and to the right, quite far into the woods. The possibility triggered a small jet of adrenaline-enough of a rush so that, when the threat became clear, his reaction was quick.

The horses had slowed as they headed up a modest rise. The man dressed in black and wearing a black ski mask materialized from behind a tree, twenty-five yards or so to their right. His rifle, with what might have been a hunting sight, was aimed directly at Gabe.

"Lily!" Gabe barked.

He reflexively pulled his reins back and sharply to the left. Serious Therapy went straight up on his hind legs and pirouetted like a ballet dancer, spinning to the left.

At the same instant, the rifle spit off one shot, then another. Gabe heard the second bullet snap into a tree somewhere to his left.

Belle Starr reared, as had Gabe's horse, but Lily was totally unprepared. She lost her seat and was airborne before she could respond, twisting ungracefully, then landing heavily on her left side, crying out in pain as she hit the hard-packed dirt.

Gabe clambered to the ground, thinking that she had been shot. Hunched low and weaving, he raced to where she lay, groaning and in obvious pain. Belle Starr stood dutifully nearby. The gunman was gone. Far to his right, Gabe thought he saw movement through the distant trees, but then there was nothing. Cautiously, his eyes still fixed on the forest, he turned to Lily.

She was conscious but in severe pain.

"Are you shot?"

"I… I don't think so. My shoulder. I think it's broken or-"

"Easy, Lily. Your neck hurt?"

"No… not really."

"Well, try not to move it anyway."

Her face was ashen, and already she was showing the early signs of shock. Careful to keep her left shoulder as stable as possible, Gabe checked her quickly for any gunshot wounds, then had her move her legs and left arm and finally turned his attention to the shoulder that, if she was lucky, was fractured just below the head of the humerus and, if she was quite unlucky, was both fractured and dislocated. Either way, she was shocky and in need of attention.

He slipped off Belle Starr's saddle and used it to elevate Lily's legs. Then he stabilized her shoulder with the saddle blanket. Finally, he eased off her boots and slid them, toe first, one on each side, under her neck. When he was certain there was at least some splinting action from the boots he warned her not to turn her head or move unless she absolutely had to.

Then he swung up into the saddle, with Serious Therapy galloping the moment his feet were firmly in the stirrups, and bolted back down the trail.

CHAPTER 37

Alison stood on the walk at the base of the Lincoln Memorial, alternately pacing impatiently from one side of the broad stairway to the other and gazing up at the profoundly moving statue of The Great Emancipator. With a mixed heritage, she had always revered the man, his accomplishments, and the heart-wrenching decisions he had to make.

Seth Owens's man was late-fifteen minutes late to be exact.

Most days Treat Griswold went off duty at four, some days, it seemed, at three. Soon, even the remote possibility of moving on him today would be gone.

Yet another group of children, from yet another summer camp, jostled past her and up the stairs, followed by yet another trio of weary, perspiring counselors. Alison checked her watch, cast about again, and decided to wait five more minutes before calling Seth. Three years ago, the two of them had managed to make the difficult transition from being lovers to being just friends. At the time, Seth was on the rebound from a failed marriage and was still very much in love with his ex-wife, although he wouldn't admit it. Alison, still smarting from a failed relationship in L.A., had hoped for an uncomplicated physical connection with no expectations and periodic good times and great sex together. Quickly, though, she realized that as therapeutic and adult as such a relationship sounded in principle, in practice she was simply not cut out for it.

Alison hoped things with Gabe would turn out to have more substance. Meanwhile, it was good to know that the witty, intelligent, resourceful Owens was on her side-especially in situations like today, when the only one who might rapidly be able to fill her needs was an FBI agent. Owens had been happy to hear from her but made no promises at first. However, within half an hour he had called her back with a single name, Lester; a time, two thirty; and a place, right where she was standing. She reached into her jacket pocket for her cell phone at the moment it began ringing.

"Yes?"

"Alison, it's Seth. Everything okay?"

"Well, not exactly. It's, like a hundred degrees out here in front of the monument, every ounce of love I once had for schoolchildren has been ripped from my bosom by one stampeding horde after another, and your man Lester has failed to appear."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"Very sure?"

"Uh-oh."

"I did mention that Lester had a flair for the dramatic, didn't I?"

"I think you might have said something like that, yes."

"So Alison, my flower, what did you call and ask me for?"

"I asked you for the best pickpocket on the planet-the man you guys would send out to pluck a prime minister's speech out of his jacket before he got to deliver it."

"That's exactly what you said. So, why don't you take a look inside your purse."

"Inside my-"

The moment she touched her shoulder bag, she knew something was wrong. She opened it up. Her wallet was gone. So were her notebook, her lipstick, at least four packs of Trident, and a mini-size copy of A Walker's Guide to Washington. In fact, the purse was empty, completely empty. Well, not exactly. Lester-she had to assume it was he-had replaced the weight of what he had taken from her with plastic packs of Tic Tacs, at least a dozen of them.

"Your right earring?"

"Gone," she said, realizing even before she felt for it that it was.

"Like you, Lester is very good at what he does."

"I guess. Okay, Owen. I'm a believer. Where is he?"

"See the group of kids at the far end of the stairs?"

"Yes."

"See the guy entertaining them?"

"The one juggling?"

"Lester."

"He just waved to me without dropping a ball. I owe you big-time, Owens. When I get back to San Antonio, dinner at Paloma Blanca's on me."

"I thought you didn't want to come back," Seth said.

"If I screw this up, I may be shipped back to wash the urinals. Gotta go. Lester just waved to me again, this time with an Indian club while he was juggling two more with his other hand. I think he and I will be able to do business, provided he doesn't get busted by the park ranger heading toward him. Thanks, pal."