"And what about Paul?"

"We won't talk about Paul. In fact, there is nothing more to say." Her eyes went to the gun in her hand.

"But there is." He was staring at the gun's barrel. If it moved, he would try to jump her, and probably die trying. But maybe they weren't quite to that point yet. "I don't understand what happened," he said. "You had a life together. You were going to get married."

Shaking her head as though to ward off the thought, she snapped out the words. "I loved him." Then, matter-of-fact. "I loved him."

"But you killed him?"

"I killed him. That's what I do. I betray people and then kill them. Or someone else does."

Glitsky risked unlinking his hands, lowering them slowly onto his lap. "Why?"

"Because I have no choice. He gave me no choice. I begged him please."

"Please what?"

"Please not to let them… how do you say? It's not exactly the right word. Investigate him." "For what?" "For the nomination."

Glitsky's every nerve pulsed with urgency. He knew that if he was to have a chance at life, he would have a split second to recognize his moment and seize it. But part of him settled to a stillness with this information. "You mean the cabinet post?"

"With the government, yes."

"And they needed a background check?"

"The FBI, yes. But don't you see? He didn't need it, the post. He had position and power and money and love. He didn't need it. I begged him not to let them even start."

"Because once they started on him, they'd get to you."

She nodded. "They would have to. I was his fiancee, soon his wife. They would have to background me, too."

"You could have left him. Wouldn't that have been better?"

"Of course, if it would have been possible. You think I would not have done that? But it wouldn't have done any good. I was too close to Paul. They would still have needed to check me."

"But the FBI already knew about you. You were in witness protection."

"Yes? So? The people checking me and Paul were a different department." She hacked in disgust. "They could do nothing. I asked them. They would not. They said they could contain it."

"Did you try to tell them it was life and death?"

"Ha! Of course. The CIA in Algeria knew that, but the FBI didn't believe it, or didn't care. I didn't matter. It's government, don't you understand? Where-how do you say?-the left doesn't know what the right hand is doing, and doesn't wash the other even if they could. And the FBI doesn't answer to the CIA."

"So they would have found out who you were and gone public with it?"

"That's what they do. Not on purpose, certainly. Very discreetly, of course. Need to know, high security. Like every junior congressman and tabloid journalist in Washington. And their wives. And their whores. And anyone who would trade the information for something they wanted."

"And you believe that word would have gotten back to Algeria that you were still alive?"

"Don't you understand? There is no way that it wouldn't have. It was too valuable a secret to keep. Who could have a million dollars and not spend any of it?"

Suddenly her expression changed. Glitsky tensed on the couch, focused on the gun, ready to spring. But she didn't move the gun. Canting her head to one side, she went still, eyed him inquisitively. "How do you know about that?"

"Because I know who you are, Missy. Or Monique."

She stared at him, hung her head for a heartbeat, but not long enough to give him an opening. When she looked back up, her face had set into a mask of conviction. "Then that is your death warrant," she said, and started to move the gun.

Glitsky put his hands up in front of his face, but didn't make another move. "It's too late," he said. "I've told the police here. It's already public."

"You're lying! If you worked with the police here, they'd be with you now."

"Call your bank then. Ask them if I was there this morning with your police chief."

She rested the gun on her knee. "You've been to the bank?"

"To your box, Missy. Three hundred thousand dollars and Paul's ring. I told your story to the district attorney in San Francisco and got a warrant. The affidavit's under seal, but it's only a matter of time. Everyone will know it by tomorrow. If you kill me, they may know it by tonight."

Outside, they heard the rain suddenly falling with a vengeance.

Monique, Michelle, Monica, Missy put a hand up to her forehead and pulled nervously at the stud over her left eye. "They will murder my family. Don't you understand that?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it. "But it can't be undone."

The two of them sat about eight feet apart. The one light by the front window flickered with the freshening wind, the power of the deluge. The gun was on her leg, but she was no longer pointing it at him. "What is your name again?" she asked.

"Abraham."

"My parents. I cannot let…" She choked on the rest.

"Maybe we can contact the CIA…"

"And what? What do they do in Algeria? Ask their Muslim brothers for mercy for someone who betrayed them? Don't you see? There is no mercy so long as I am alive."

Glitsky had come to the front of the couch and was now sitting slightly forward, in a relaxed posture, with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. "Missy," he said. "I'm going to stand up now."

She immediately gripped the gun in both of her hands and pointed it at the center of his chest.

His eyes locked on hers. "You've had enough of killing to protect your secret. That's over now. The secret is out."

"It isn't. You're lying."

His voice was calm and reasonable. "I'm not lying. You know that."

A long pause. Then a longer pause. "You said you were tired of killing, but that you had to do it. But killing me now will accomplish nothing. So I'm giving you another minute to think it over, then I'm leaving. Shoot me or not, run or stay, it's over. You know that."

He gave her the promised moment to think. Then he stood.

"Don't come any closer!"

"Now I'm going to walk around you."

"No! Don't you move! I'll kill you, I swear to God

I will."

"I don't think you will," he said. "It wouldn't accomplish anything."

He was moving up to where she sat, giving her a wide berth. She stood up, too, and took a step back. Going slowly and smoothly, never stopping, he leaned over to pick up his jacket; then putting it on, he continued past her, feeling the gun trained on him at every step, until his back was to her now and there was nothing to do but reach for the doorknob and pray that he was right.

Never looking over his shoulder, he closed his hand around the metallic orb and gave a yank, then stepped out into the downpour and pulled the door closed behind him.

Half an hour later, eight Davis city police cars were parked in the streets surrounding and in the parking lot in front of the apartment building. The rain had resumed its regular steady drifting. The police switchboard had received three calls from the immediate neighborhood in the past twenty minutes reporting what sounded like a gunshot.

But no one was disposed to take unnecessary chances. The policemen had gone door-to-door in the apartment building, rousting the six students who lived there, getting them out of harm's way. Matt Wessin used the bullhorn and informed Missy that she was surrounded by police and had sixty seconds to throw out her weapons and give herself up.

When the minute was up and there had been no response, Abe Glitsky held up a hand to Wessin and his men and, all alone, walked across the few open feet of parking lot to the front door. He stopped for an instant, drew a breath and gathered himself before he pushed.

Slumped over to her right, the terrorist, the killer, the lover, the martyr was on the couch where he'd been sitting not so long before. Glitsky took a step into the room. His chin fell down over his chest. Always professional, still and always an exception to the rule, Missy D'Amiens had shot herself in the head.