Riker looked up at Mallory, but before he could ask what was wrong with the cat, she said, "I didn't do it."

Charles Butler entered the room from the kitchen with two cold bottles of beer in hand. "Ah, the famous Mugs. What's wrong with him?" And now he also turned to Mallory.

She was definitely on the defensive when she said, "Dr. Apollo's vet drugged him."

Riker smiled at Charles. "You don't want to be around when this cat wakes up. He'll take an arm off you." He stroked the cat's head, enjoying the novelty of getting this close to the animal who maimed him on the day they first met.

"You like that cat." Mallory's tone of voice said that this could not be a good thing, not a normal thing.

"You could say I admire his style." Riker folded the animal into his arms. Mugs lifted his head, saw a familiar face and closed his eyes again.

"So what's the deal?"

"Just keep him here for a while." She looked around the room, appraising the gleaming surfaces of furniture. The windowpanes were so clean that the glass had virtually disappeared. This was the trademark of a little cleaning woman from Brooklyn. "Put him in the bathroom. If Mrs. Ortega spots one cat hair, you'll never see her again." Mallory walked toward the door, saying, "I'll be back. I've got a litter box out in the car."

She had one hand on the doorknob, but Charles's larger hand pressed flat against the wood to delay her. He glanced back at the cat when he said, "Still taking hostages, I see."

Mallory glared at him, angry and biting down on her lower lip until sympathy pains forced him to step aside.

Johanna doubled over, as if the pain were sudden and not something that had been building for hours. Predictably, one of her bodyguards came on the run, defying the court order to keep his distance.

"My meds," said Johanna. "They're upstairs in my room."

"All right, Dr. Apollo, hold on." The agent pulled out his cell phone. "I'll get my partner. He's watching the rear exit."

"No need to bother him," she said. "I can walk." She rose from the couch. "Perhaps if you'd help me." She took his arm as they moved toward the elevator and rode up to her floor without exchanging another word until they entered her hotel suite.

"I have to take the pills on a full stomach," she said, "but I can't wait for room service. It takes too long. There's a restaurant across the street. I'll just get a warmer coat, if you don't mind waiting."

A minute later, she emerged from her bedroom wearing a hooded black poncho over her down jacket. While crossing the street with her escort following at the usual unobtrusive distance, she had a change of plans and led him instead to the subway. It was a simple matter to separate from him, hiding herself behind a staircase, but only for a few moments, time enough to hand off the poncho to an old woman bent with age, a fixture in this place. The elderly vagrant accepted the customary twenty-dollar bill. Johanna boarded a train and watched from a window as the agent spotted the black-hooded figure and followed the old beggar to the lower level and a southbound train. Johanna traveled north, unmolested.

The feds are watching her right now," said Mallory. "They won't screw up again." She carried the litter box into the bathroom where Riker was making a nest of towels for the cat.

He was wondering what Charles had meant by hostages. "So keeping the cat here – that was Jo's idea?"

"Yes." With that single word trailing off to a hiss, she managed to upbraid him for doubting her. And when that failed to work, she added, "The cat's sedative should wear off in another hour, and the doctor needs a good night's sleep." Unspoken were the words, And that's the truth.

There was a distinct ring of truth in there somewhere, though he was still planning to call Jo's hotel – but not just this minute. He could see that Mallory had something else in mind.

She shifted into attack posture, hands on hips – confrontation time. "I know Dr. Apollo was at the parking garage the night Zachary was ambushed. You lied to me about that."

"Mallory, don't get me started on the subject of lies."

"Did you know the doctor had a gun? A little twenty-two." She read his face and smiled. "You did know. You held out on me." She hunkered down beside him. Her voice was almost taunting. "And you never asked her what she was doing at the garage that night, did you?" Hands braced on the floor, as if set to spring, Mallory leaned over the body of the sleeping, helpless cat, saying, "I've got a fake blind man in custody." She pulled back. "You know the one I mean. And he's another little detail you forgot to mention."

Riker was staring at the bathroom tiles, wondering how she had managed that turnaround when she was the one who had -

"Time for the interview." Mallory rose to her feet and left the bathroom. He could hear her voice drifting down the hall. "Coming, Riker? Or don't you want to know what happened in that jury room?"

Johanna was admitted to a studio with the configuration of a large dark cave. Ian Zachary stood beside a tall Japanese folding screen that partially hid a console of light and dials. He waved her to a chair.

"Good to see you again, Doctor. It's been a long time since the trial. I can't talk you into waiting another hour?"

"It's now or never," she said.

"If you wish." He raised one hand to the young woman in the lighted window and spoke into the microphone of his headset. "Crazy Bitch? Rack it up." He turned back to his guest. "I can't change your mind?"

"No, I have other plans for later." She watched his eyes travel back and forth between herself and a square pane of glass, a dark twin to the brightly lit window of the sound engineer's booth. If this had been a police station in Chicago, there would be a watcher behind that glass.

When Ian Zachary sat down at his console, the Japanese screen cut off his view of the dark window, but the sound engineer's booth was still visible to him, and the girl held up one finger to indicate one more minute to go, though it was the middle finger.

Interesting.

"So, Doctor, what name are we using tonight? Johanna Apollo or the alias?"

"My own name." And now she was also captivated by the dark window, for the screen did not cut off her own line of sight; it only hid Ian Zachary from a watcher who might or might not be there. She tried to gauge his level of paranoia, a key element for every player in the game.

Chapter 20

THE SQUAD ROOM OF SPECIAL CRIMES UNIT WAS GHOSTY and quiet tonight. All the action would be in the back rooms used for interviews and lockup. By the dim lights burning at vacant desks, Riker could count three detectives working late, and another light burned in Lieutenant Coffey's office. Mallory switched on Riker's own lamp, then stood to one side so that he could see how ruthlessly she had taken advantage of his absence. The old desk gleamed like a brand-new one. Gone were the familiar landmarks of grimy smudges, fossilized coffee spills and the scorch marks of abandoned cigarettes. Riker was also suspicious of the chair and its unrecognizable upholstery, but when he flopped down on the cushion, he was happy to discover that it still conformed to the shape of his rear end, though it reeked of the chemicals used to restore the leather.

Raising his eyes to Mallory's, he picked up the threads of their interrupted conversation – more like a confession. "I thought I was being followed around by cops." He swiveled his chair to face the window and looked down on the dark SoHo street. "Everywhere I went, I could swear I saw a cop behind me. Nuts, huh?"

"No," said Mallory. "That was real. Some of them were Zachary's rent-a-cops, but the rest were from Internal Affairs."