Barry, on the other hand, was present, even though he had absolutely no reason to be. He was out of the tournament, and it showed. He looked as if he hadn’t budged from his barstool all day. He was barely able to sit upright. Conner actually felt sorry for him. He didn’t know why-possibly because for once, Barry had his mouth shut. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that Barry had a serious drinking problem, and needed help.

Conner knew it well; he had a stockpile of paternal memories on the subject.

And where was Freddy, come to think of it? Sure, he’d been planning to leave town, but now that the cops had made that impossible, Conner thought he might show up at the clubhouse. But there was no sign of him. He wondered if O’Brien had exchanged any heated words with the man yet, or if she was still laying back. Hard to know. She was a very cool lady-very cool, and very several other things as well.

And speak of the devil…

He saw O’Brien entering the clubhouse, carrying a large black valise.

“Well,” she said, “I don’t know whether to snap the cuffs on you or buy you a bottle of champagne.”

“I know which I’d prefer,” Conner replied.

O’Brien grinned. “Didn’t take you for a champagne drinker.”

“I’m not. But that thing with the cuffs could be kinda kinky.”

“As I recall, you didn’t enjoy it that much last time.” She edged closer to him and lowered her voice. “Are you ready to go?”

“Go where?”

“I see your triumph has addled your wee brain. The sun has set, Conner. And you have a date tonight, remember?”

“Cool. Your place or mine?”

“Neither.” Leaning close, she opened the valise a crack, so only he could see inside. It was filled with cash. More cash than Conner had ever seen in one place in his entire life.

“Get some coffee for the road,” she said, snapping the bag closed. “It’s show time.”

23

Night had fallen, and it seemed appropriate somehow that there was no moon. In stark contrast to the glistening hustle-bustle of the day, the Augusta National course was now dark and gloomy, somnolent. Much too quiet. Almost spooky.

Conner strode into the darkness, O’Brien on one side, Agent Liponsky on the other.

As they marched toward the fifteenth green, Liponsky gave him a last minute briefing. “The faxed instructions just say that you’re to be on the fifteenth green with Tenniel’s cell phone,” Liponsky explained. “Evidently the killer already knows the number. Once you’re in place, we have no idea what he might have in mind.”

Somehow Conner didn’t much like the sound of that. “Care to speculate?”

“Either he plans to meet you there, which I doubt, or he plans to send you somewhere else. We’ll be using scanners to try to pick up the conversation on your cell phone, of course. And we’ll try to trace the call, although that can be tricky with mobile phones. And we won’t be far away.”

“Didn’t the fax say I had to come alone?”

“Yes. And you will, too. We just won’t be far off, that’s all.”

Conner frowned. “Sounds dangerous.”

“It’d be a lot more dangerous to send you out there with no backup, believe me.”

“What if this guy gets pissed off?”

O’Brien cut in. “We won’t give him any reason to get pissed off. We’ll keep our distance, and we’ll stay hidden.”

“Then what’s the point of being here at all?”

“Because eventually, this blackmailing murderer is going to instruct you to put the money somewhere. And then he’s going to try to get away with it. Once he does-and you’re safely out of the way-we’ll make our move.”

Conner nodded, just as they arrived at the fifteenth green. “Just remember that part about ‘safely out of the way,’ okay? That’s the most important point.”

Liponsky didn’t smile. “Look, we’re talking about a killer who’s already taken two lives and is threatening to take more. We have to do everything possible to apprehend this person.”

“Meaning what exactly?”

“I think I’ve made myself clear. I want to bag this creep. So follow my instructions and don’t screw it up. Got it?”

As soon as he could tear himself away from Liponsky’s fiery glare, Conner took O’Brien aside. “I’m not sure I like this Special Agent Liponsky.”

She nodded. “That’s because you have a problem with women in positions of authority.”

“No, that’s because I think she’d tear my heart out and eat it if it allowed her to catch this killer.”

O’Brien smiled wryly. “I’ll try to keep her talons in check.”

“Don’t forget to wear your Kevlar.”

The group reassembled. Liponsky pushed a small black palm-sized device into Conner’s hands. “Keep this in your pocket. No matter what happens. Don’t let the killer see it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a PDA.”

Conner blinked. “A Public Display of Affection?”

“A Personal Digital Assistant.” Liponsky paused. There was no light of recognition in Conner’s eyes. “Think of it as a souped-up pager. A signal device. It works via satellite, so even if the killer manages to disrupt phone transmissions or ties up the line, you can still get through.”

Conner stared at the tiny plastic box with its myriad buttons. “Looks complicated.”

“It isn’t. Here’s all you need to know. As soon as you’ve made the drop, push the red button.”

“Red button. I can do that.” He looked up. “As soon as I see the killer.”

“Wrong. Pay attention. You may never see the killer. As soon as you’ve deposited the bag wherever it is he wants it, you push the button. That’ll be our signal to close the cordon-to make sure no one gets out.”

“All right. Red button. Got it.”

“Keep it in your pocket the whole time. If the killer is watching, he doesn’t need to know you’ve signaled.”

“If-“ Conner looked up abruptly. “You mean you think the killer could be watching?”

“It’s possible.”

“You mean-“ He turned his head skyward. “Even now?”

“It’s possible.”

“How?”

Liponsky shrugged. “How should I know? Maybe he’s up one of those trees. Maybe he’s planted video cameras. Maybe he’s in a hotel hot tub laughing his head off at our expense. I can’t know.” Her voice dropped. “But I have to be ready for all contingencies.”

Liponsky pushed the black bag filled with loot into Conner’s hands. “Here’s the McGuffin. Take good care of it.” She raised an eyebrow. “And by the way, I feel compelled to say that if you’re having some cockamamie thoughts about taking off and keeping the cash yourself-forget it.”

“Me?” He stared at O’Brien. “What have you told her about me?”

“Everything.”

“Well, that explains it.” He opened the bag, just to establish in his mind that the money was still there.

It was. A million dollars in cash. Amazing.

O’Brien checked her watch. “Almost time. We’d better scram.”

Liponsky nodded. “Right. We have to stay out of sight.”

O’Brien laid her hand on Conner’s shoulder. “Good luck, slick.”

Liponsky laid her hand on his other shoulder. “Don’t screw it up.”

Twenty minutes later, Conner remained all by himself at the fifteenth hole, leaning against the flag. It was painfully dark out here, and painfully quiet as well. He would’ve given a great deal for some company-as long as it didn’t involve getting whacked on the head with a golf club.

Inevitably, his mind reeled backward through the sights and sounds of the last few days. He remembered that stupid food fight at the champions’ dinner. A harmless bit of revelry. Who would ever have thought that would be the last time he’d see John alive? He couldn’t imagine a world that didn’t have John McCree in it.

And he didn’t particularly want to, either.

That train of thought led him in no time at all to Jodie. Sweet Jodie. His first love. An aching in his heart that never quite subsided.

He closed his eyes tight, wincing at the memory of that last sight of her, floating in the fountain, a thin tissue of blood issuing from her throat. God-who could have done such a thing? And why? Who could possibly be so cruel? It was like tearing the wings off a butterfly. Taking such a beautiful creature and-