Ryder answered the door himself, in neatly pleated trousers and a casual sweater that made him look even more the rich, handsome, perfect young senator. They’d be begging him to run for president before long. Matthew wasn’t fooled-or impressed. He knew what Sam Ryder was, and he wouldn’t be getting his vote come election day.

Stark took no pleasure when Ryder went pale at seeing him on his doorstep. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk.”

“I can’t, I haven’t the time-I’m going out.”

“It’ll just take a minute.”

Matthew pushed past him into the foyer, elegantly simple with its cream walls and Queen Anne furnishings. Such perfection. Ryder left the door open, and a chilly breeze floated into the warm house.

“I don’t want you here,” the senator said, his tone an unconvincing mix of arrogance and fright. “Get out before I-”

“Before you what? You’re not going to do anything, Ryder. You couldn’t risk it, not with Phil Bloch on your ass.”

The baby blue eyes widened, and Stark could feel his former platoon leader’s tension. But then Ryder gave a small supercilious laugh, as if he’d found relief in Stark’s words, as if to say, oh, so that was what all this was about. Just Phil Bloch.

“Bloch? I hate to disappoint you, Matthew, but I haven’t heard that name in years. I can’t believe you two are still at it. What’s he up to these days?”

Stark’s gaze was relentless. “You tell me.”

“Look, Matthew, honestly, I don’t have time to talk. I’m due at a dinner in half an hour-”

“I don’t care if you’re due at the White House.”

Matthew spoke in a level, deadly voice. “I want to know what you’re in with Bloch for, what you’re doing about it. And I want to know where he is.”

As he straightened up, Ryder made the mistake of looking into Stark’s black-brown eyes, and Matthew watched the air go out of him. “I-dammit, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Matthew clenched and unclenched his scarred fists. He wanted to choke the bastard-not that it’d do any good. Some people you could count on never to change. “Weasel’s been snitching to me,” he said. “The dumb bastard thinks he’s helping you. Bloch knows what’s been going on. I want to get to him before he gets to the Weaze.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“You owe him.”

“I don’t. He was just doing his job.”

“And you weren’t.”

“Look, I didn’t ask for his help.”

“I know. Weasel still thinks you’re worth more than he is. I don’t, Ryder. If Otis Raymond gets himself killed because he was trying to help you, I won’t forgive and I won’t forget. And I won’t keep my mouth shut. Not this time. Count on it.”

“If he gets himself killed, it’ll be because he trusted you!”

“Talk, Ryder.”

Matthew could see the sweat pouring down the senator’s face; he took no pleasure in it. “Otis Raymond is a drug addict and a loser,” Ryder said. “Whatever he told you about me I’ll deny. You have no proof, and you’ll get none.”

“Where you’re concerned,” Stark said, “I don’t need proof.”

Ryder licked his lips. “Don’t threaten me, damn you!”

“Tell me about the Minstrel’s Rough, Sam.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, then let me give you an idea of what I know. Rachel Stein, the woman you were with the other night at Lincoln Center, said something that made you decide you could get your hands on the Minstrel, give it to Bloch, and solve all your problems. The Dutchman, de Geer, is your connection to the diamond. He went to Johannes Peperkamp in Antwerp, who took him to Amsterdam to get the stone-only it was a wild-goose chase, wasn’t it?” Matthew had no sympathy for Ryder’s white, stricken face, graying slightly around the mouth as he realized how much the former helicopter pilot already knew. Stark kept his voice steady, unemotional. “You’re not going to collapse, Ryder, so don’t pretend you are. The old man didn’t have the stone, did he?”

“Matthew…” Ryder’s voice was little more than a pathetic whisper. “Matthew, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Did he, goddamn you?”

Shit, Stark thought. Shit, damn, hell. The old man didn’t have the stone. Did that mean one of the Peperkamp women did? Is that what Ryder thought-de Geer, Bloch? With Phil Bloch, thinking something was so made it so. Matthew focused again on Ryder, barely able to control the impulse to back the senator up against the wall and make him talk. But he’d never operated that way, and he wasn’t going to start now.

“If anything happens to the Weaze or to the Peperkamps, Sam, I’m coming after you.” He didn’t raise his voice. “I don’t care what shitpile you’re hiding under. I’ll keep digging until I find you.”

“You’re a has-been, Stark.” But Ryder’s voice squeaked, undermining his words. “You’re grasping. You want a story so badly you’ll listen to nonsense. I don’t know what Otis Raymond told you, and I don’t care: I’m not involved. I’m not afraid of you, Matthew. Now get out.”

With the knuckles of one hand, Ryder brushed at the drops of sweat on his upper lip. Stark knew he had him scared, but not scared enough to talk-or at least not scared enough of him. Ryder had Phillip Bloch to worry about; the sergeant didn’t have any of Stark’s scruples getting in his way.

“I should have tossed your stupid butt out of my ship in Vietnam after the stunt you pulled then.”

“Get out, Matthew,” Ryder said hoarsely. “Damn you, get out!”

Stark’s dark eyes never wavered. “Make sure I don’t get a second chance at you, Sam. I might not resist.”

Shuji’s mouth was a grim, thin line, and his black eyes were two tiny pits of fury. He looked just as she’d envisioned he would at this moment-as if he was going to go after someone with one of his authentic short swords-namely, his sole student, one Juliana Fall, aka J.J. Pepper.

“Hello, Shuji,” Juliana said, surprised at how relaxed she sounded.

He looked at her. “A turban,” he said. “For Christ’s sake, a rhinestone-studded turban.”

“Usually I leave my hair down.”

“And no one recognizes you?”

“No, because it’s never blond. It’s pink or lavender. Sometimes blue.”

“Goddamnit,” Shuji said.

“How did you find out?”

“I have friends who frequent SoHo clubs and Lincoln Center and Carnegie Hall. One thought he recognized you, but he believed he had to be seeing things. I…my God, you look ridiculous.”

Juliana tried to smile. “I know. Fun, isn’t it?”

“It is not fun, Juliana.”

“It is for me. Why are you here?”

“I had to know if this black rumor were true.” He drank some of his martini, too much. “My God. Jazz, pop, blues.”

“Don’t be so damned sanctimonious. I happen to like jazz, pop, and blues.”

He sighed. “Do you have any idea what this will do to your reputation?”

“I’ve only been in this business since I was eleven years old. Since I’m so damned dumb, why don’t you tell me?”

“Juliana-”

“I know what I’m doing, dammit. I don’t care what this does to my precious reputation. That’s right, I don’t care. I enjoy playing the Aquarian, and if people don’t like it, well then to hell with them. Being J.J. Pepper gets me out of myself, out from under the pressures of being Juliana Fall all the time. It’s important to me, Shuji. And if I’m in a funk, this is helping me, not hurting. I need an outlet. And musically, playing here is enriching me, not ruining me.”

Shuji was unimpressed. “Your work in the practice room should be your outlet.”

“My work is my work. I don’t want to give that up-I can’t. But I need this, too.”

“Let me hear the Chopin,” he said, tight-lipped.

“Now?”

“Yes, why not?” He nodded to the baby grand. “There’s a piano.”

“I’m J.J. Pepper here.”

“Play the Chopin, Juliana, or I walk out of here.”

His gaze was hard and direct. Shuji wasn’t one to pussyfoot around, and she knew he meant what he said. “And then what?”