"We're all afraid for his life," he said, cool as could be.

"Mitch and I were getting married, Mark. I may even be pregnant. I missed my period this week. Just think about it. Cassie doesn't exactly have his best interests at heart here. I'm worried that she wants him to kick off."

He shook his head, opening the door just a little to indicate his wish to leave.

"I'm dying here, Mark. Whose side are you on?" Mona cried.

"I'm not getting between you two on this, Mona. I'm his doctor. I'm doing the best I can for him."

"What if the best for him is not the best for her?"

"This is too much for me, Mona. I'm just a doctor. Please call me later for the results on your tests, I think you're going to be okay."

"Mark, could we have lunch and talk about it then?"

"I won't have results by lunchtime, Mona."

"And I bought a little something for-honey, we've always been so close…" What was his damn wife's name, Candy, Sandy?

"Mark, I'm all alone with this. There's only you."

Mark peered out the crack in the door, poised to bolt. Mona jumped off the table and went to him.

"Please don't get distant with me because of this Cassie thing. You know I love her with all my heart, and no one could be more sorry than I am about the way she's behaving. But we have to face this together. She's hurt him. She wants to kill him. And you know I don't want anything to happen to him because of me, Mark, and I don't want you dragged into a big legal thing."

She lowered her head to his shoulder. It wasn't that easy a trick since he was much shorter than she was. His white coat was starched and fresh. His closely shaved cheeks smelled delicious. Quickly he closed the door against spies from the outside.

"You're amazing," she breathed. "The greatest."

When she went downstairs a few minutes later, there was a little smile on her face. She was certain Mark was on her side.

CHAPTER 28

CHARLIE SCHWAB HAD CHOSEN the Sales warehouse in Syosset as the site for his aud it. It was an unusual move, since audits were typically held in the accountant's office or in the IRS branch office. He'd chosen the Long Island location because the juice he was looking for would not be in Ira Mandel's Manhattan office, and he didn't want to travel into the city every day for an indefinite period in any case. He was also strapped for time. Gayle was ruthless about keeping their cases quick and productive. Move fast and move on, was her motto.

A limited audit to clear up a teeny question about one detail of a transaction that had been recorded some years ago might require a stack of paper several feet deep and take a full day. To examine the books of a business like Sales Importers with a lot of product moving in from many countries and moving out to thousands of highly active monthly accounts in numerous states for even one year could take weeks. Full audits of big holding companies and conglomerates typically took months. It all depended on how much time was being covered, how much paperwork had to be examined, and how compulsive an investigator was. Charlie was very compulsive indeed, but he could also move as fast as the wind.

In the middle of traffic he mused that the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms would definitely want in on this case. It was a big one, and ATF got involved at the drop of a hat. Charlie worried about the risk he personally was taking. He hoped that he wouldn't be making too many enemies by following his boss's instructions to do the grunt work alone. He didn't want to upset himself thinking about office politics, so he contemplated the question of spies instead.

Because the possibility of finding uncollected revenues was ever present for the IRS, no one cared who informers were. The tax force relied on spies for tips. They also relied on newspaper articles about all sorts of events, both criminal and civil. Charlie himself had a large collection of obits of prominent and wealthy people who had died in the region. These obits helped them decide which estates to target with an audit. On the spy front, suffice it to say there were a lot them. Spurned spouses. Fired employees. The discriminated against, for one reason or another. The IRS was an equal opportunity tip taker.

In the Sales organization someone was holding a grudge, a big one, and stood to win a nice bonus if the assertions proved correct. Sooner or later he'd find out who it was, or maybe he wouldn't. Didn't matter to him. Charlie concluded his thoughts and pulled up in the Sales parking lot. The red Jaguar was there, and he felt a little glow with the intuitive feeling that Mona would be useful.

Inside, past the reception area, several banquet tables had been set up in an empty space near the bathrooms. Documents were stacked on the tables along with bottled water, sodas, a coffee urn, and bakery goods. Boxes filled with supporting documents were piled around and under the tables. One table had four folding chairs set up. The first thing Charlie noticed about the setup, aside from its lack of comfort, was that no one could possibly read there. It was dark as a cave.

Ira Mandel was sitting at the food table eating a bagel with cream cheese. Never one of Charlie's favorites, Ira was a short man with an easy smile and forgettable features. He looked a little sleazy this morning in his shiny blue Italian suit and silver tie. As soon as he saw Charlie, he put the bagel down and stood up, licking his fingertips one by one. When he finished licking the hand, he held it out to Charlie, who pretended not to see it.

"Ira," Charlie said neutrally.

Ira did not appear in the least put off by the snub. "Nice to see you, Charles. This is my associate, Ted Sales."

A young lug stepped out of the shadows.

"How do," Charles said pleasantly. The youngster looked like an overly large twelve-year-old, very nervous in a tan suit and red tie. Small eyes and mouth.

"Sir," he said formally, then bit down on his lower lip, losing it altogether.

"Any relationship?" Charlie asked him.

Ted seemed terrified by the question. "Sir?"

"Your name. Sales."

"Oh." Ted glanced at Ira before answering.

"Yes, yes, he's Mitchell Sales's son. Very bright young man, wants to be an accountant."

"Good for him," Charlie applauded. "Let's get going."

"Please. Be my guest. Have some breakfast, will you? I have something I want to go over with you before we start."

Just up the steel staircase a picture window showed where the main offices were. From where he stood, Charlie had a clear view of Mona Whitman leaning over the desk with her backside to him. Ira followed his gaze.

"What can I get you?" he asked.

"What?" Charlie blinked.

"Breakfast," Ira prompted.

"Oh yes. Thank you, I've already eaten." Charlie sat down at the table and took out his equipment. Calculator, laptop, pens. Pads. Altoids.

Over his head, Ira glanced at Ted. "Pull up a chair, Teddy."

Oh, now he was Teddy. Charlie ignored the scraping sound as Teddy pulled up his chair. He was minding his own business, paying no attention to anything but his own notes when quick steps on the cement floor let him know that the decorative Mona had arrived.

"Teddy! I didn't know you were here yet. Isn't this terrible? I tried and tried to call you. How are you holding up, darling?" She rushed over to him and threw herself into his arms.

Since Teddy didn't have the manners to rise for her, she ended up almost in his lap.

"Hi, Mona." Teddy's reaction was a mixture of confusion and alarm.

Ira lifted his eyes heavenward. Charlie wondered what the story there was. Mona regained her balance and stepped back to examine the young man's face.

"I feel so bad for you. How are you doing, honey?"