He was barely aware of the cop pausing behind him, could feel the tingling in the back of his neck. Then he banished all thought and concentrated on believing in the kiss.

The footfalls began again, softer on the carpeted hallway, one rough voice saying, "Goddamn, you remember what it felt like to kiss a woman that way?" A beat later, the other cop deadpanning, "Sure. Your wife, Saturday night," then both of them laughing, the sound of it receding as they turned the corner.

Jason couldn't say for sure, but he felt like she held the kiss the same slightly unnecessary extra half-second that he did.

He glanced down the hall to make sure they were gone, then stepped back, feeling suddenly naked now that he no longer touched the heat of her body, and she said, "Come on."

Through the doors to the dry heat and wet stink of the loading dock. He cracked the outside door a finger's breadth, risked a glance. The police cruiser was empty. He pushed the door open, and then they were walking down LaSalle, the 22 bus rumbling by, smell of exhaust and blinking tears against the brightness.

"That was close," he finally managed.

"Yeah," she said, and then laughed, not the good laugh from before, but one tinged with something thin and hollow. "I know one of those cops. I recognized his voice."

"Makes sense. Galway probably recruited from your team."

She shook her head. "He's not from my team. He's not even from my district." Her voice had a manic intensity to it. "The city is divided into five separate areas, and he works in a different one."

"But… that means-" He paused. "So other cops are coming after us, too?"

"Yeah," she said, and then said the exact words he was thinking. "How big is this?"

CHAPTER 29

Jason was thinking about the way blood looked as it soaked into dust.

They were back in the car, heading east, just after noon but the sun already slanting down the backside of the sky. Chicago was far enough north that the sun never seemed to really peak, just sort of slid around the lip of heaven, even in the summer. That didn't cool it down any, though. The heat shimmers that rose off the Caddy's hood blurred sweating sidewalks: A churro vendor listlessly ringing his bell, white light ricocheting off glass storefronts, Tex-Mex music coming from the speakers of a Western-wear shop.

Over there, the dust'd been everywhere. Dust on the streets, dust in the air. Devil-dogging the heels of their boots, whoomping out where a 95-pound shell slammed the horizon. When an ajaja settled on Baghdad, the sky would turn yellow with haze. Dust in the crack of their ass, dust in the cuff of their eyelids.

The broken street where Martinez died was powdered with ocher dust.

"Donlan," Cruz said.

"The head of detectives?"

"Yeah." Her voice sounded flat, and she spoke to the passenger window, not to him. "I don't want to believe he's involved, but if he is, that could explain the other cops. Even from a different area."

"You're saying he's got dirty cops all over the city?"

"Not necessarily. He's a powerful guy. If he gave the order, clean cops would try to get it done, too."

Jason nodded. Swallowed, his mouth dry with a memory of desert. "We should assume he's involved."

She seemed to wince, but said nothing.

"I guess we should get off the street," he said. "Any ideas?"

"It's up to me to come up with all the ideas?"

He glanced over, glanced away. A man was hosing down the sidewalk, the water sparkles of cascading sunlight. The light changed, and he turned north at random.

What now? A bar? Another motel?

Nothing sounded right. Besides, every time they tried to help themselves, they just dug deeper. The day Michael had died, Jason had been overwhelmed at the thought of facing just the gangs. Now that seemed parochial, their enemies had multiplied so many times. First, dirty cops with plenty of juice. All the clean cops, too. Galway, and the mercenary with the scarred face. And worst of all, the man with the heavy muscles and the cold eyes. Anthony DiRisio. An evil spirit in a cheap suit.

Anthony DiRisio, who had murdered his brother.

His fingers went white on the wheel. So much had happened in the last days that he'd hardly had a chance to think about Michael. To mourn him. Life had intervened most fucking spectacularly. He should have had days to think, to drink, to cry and punch holes in the drywall. To comfort Billy.

He heard Michael's voice in his head, saying, Bang up job you're doing with that last one, bro. Thanks so much for taking care of my son.

Jason glanced in the rearview, saw it was clear, pulled a clean U-turn.

"Where are you going?" Cruz asked. Saying you, not we.

"I need to see my nephew."

"Why?"

He looked over. "Because he's my nephew." He held it for a moment, then spoke again, lighter. "Anyway, he's staying with a friend of mine. We can hide the car, figure our next move."

She just wrinkled her mouth and looked back out the window. She'd been like that since they'd left her apartment, sort of crumpled and inward-facing.

"Are you okay?"

"Gangbangers have a contract on us, my boss is in league with them, and I don't have a clue what to do about either of those things." She turned to him, stared a long time. "Am I okay?"

He shook his head. "There's something else."

"What do you mean?"

"That was all true before, but you weren't like this. You didn't get like this until you realized Donlan was involved. Is he that scary?"

She turned away.

A thought struck him. "Wait a second. Was it him?"

Cruz didn't ask who?, didn't say anything at all, which should've told him all he needed. But he dug anyway, like an idiot. "Donlan was the cop that you… the one you – you know."

She leaned forward, turned on the radio with a snap. The CD in the changer started where it'd been left, Pearl Jam's "Riot Act," that spoken-word song with Vedder saying how the haves have not a clue. She scowled, switched to FM, started spinning the dial.

"Look, I didn't mean to…" Jason trailed off. "I just didn't know, that's all."

"Yeah, well, now you do. Congratulations."

"You're pissed at me?" Paused. "You're pissed at me?"

"Oh for Christ's sake." Her voice loud. She turned to the window, said, "Pull over here."

"Why?"

She shot him a look, and he shook his head, eased the car to the side.

Cruz got out without a word, left the door standing open. Stalked down the street. Was she leaving? He watched her throw open the door to a convenience store. The sun off the glass made it hard to see, but it looked like she was buying something. Jason glanced around, checked the rearview, uncomfortable to be just sitting here exposed. When he looked back at the storefront, she was already outside, hitting something against her palm, then stripping the wrapping off. Cigarettes.

She put one between her lips and cupped her hands around it in a practiced pose, the lighter flaring in one hand, the pack shielding the other side. She inhaled like she wanted to finish the smoke in one hit.

Her shoulders drooped, and she rocked her head back softly. Blew a long stream of gray. Smiled, and took another drag as she walked. He watched her hips swing. She looked good, relaxed, like after a day at the spa.

Cruz stopped by a trash bin, took a last inhale, then stubbed out the cigarette and tossed it in. Started for the car, made one step before something came over her face, her lips clenching, little frown wrinkles popping. She sighed, then turned and chucked the pack and lighter as well.

"Better?" he asked when she settled into the passenger seat.