Her anxiety level surged as he bent his head to hers, but she didn't pull away.

It's all right… it's going to be all right…

Their lips met and his were soft and warm, and the wine was warm within her, and yes, it was going to be all right…

But then his arms encircled her and suddenly she couldn't breathe. She felt trapped, and she had to get away, get free, get some air.

She tore her lips from him, got her hands between them, and pushed.

"Let me go!"

Will released her and backed away, his expression stunned. "Alicia—what's—?"

"Get away!"

He held up his hands and backed up another step. "I am away. Look."

Panic—wild, formless, constricting, suffocating, unyielding to reason—choked her, and she wanted to run, but she couldn't, she lived here, so he had to get out. Part of her cried, No, let him stay! but a larger, fiercer, stronger part was in control.

"I'm sorry, Will," she said, forcing her voice to stay calm. Still, the words seemed to rattle in her throat. "I just can't… I can't do this right now. Okay?"

He looked so confused. "Okay. Sure. I just thought… is it me?"

"No… yes…" I'm babbling. "I just can't explain it now." Not now, not ever. "Would you mind if we just call it a night? Please?"

She was so embarrassed she wanted to cry.

"Yeah. Sure." He reached out to touch her arm but withdrew it before contact. "I'll call you," he said, retreating into the hall. "To see if you're all right."

Alicia nodded. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

And then she closed the door. Finally,' the panic faded. She leaned against the door and sobbed.

I'm out of control, she thought.

She'd almost lost it in Haffner's conference room this morning, and now she'd done the same with Will.

She'd never done too well with men, but this was over the top.

What's happening to me?

The house… it had to be the house. Nothing had been right since that man and his house had forced their way back into her life. She'd tried to burn it, and tomorrow night she was going to have to go back there… inside…

That was the problem: Going back…

The house was the whole problem. She had to conquer that house, because by doing so, she'd conquer him. And then she'd be free of both of them.

Or would she? Would she ever be free?

TUESDAY

1.

"It's going to be okay," Jack said as they drove east on Twenty-third in his rented white Chevy. He glanced over at Alicia sitting straight and silent in the passenger seat. "Don't worry. We won't get caught."

"What makes you think I'm worried about getting caught?" she said.

"Because you look like you're ready to jump out the window."

She'd been like an overwound spring since he'd picked her up.

She's afraid of that house, he thought. That empty house.

As he reached Broadway, the traffic light went amber. Good. He'd been waiting for this opportunity. Instead of speeding up, he held back until the light turned red, then he gunned it and yanked the wheel to the right, turning downtown.

"Maybe it's your driving," Alicia said, and made a poor try at a smile, as if to let him know she was kidding—maybe. "And if we're going to Thirty-eighth Street, this is the wrong direction."

"I know," he said, pulling over and studying his rearview mirror.

"And how come we're not taking a cab?"

"Because I wanted to make sure we weren't followed."

He watched the street behind them, waiting to see if anyone ran the red to keep up with them. Since leaving Alicia's place, he'd had this vague feeling of being watched, usually a good indicator that somebody was following him. Or maybe someone was following Alicia.

But nobody else turned off Twenty-third.

"Well?" Alicia said. "Are we?"

"Not that I can see." Or if we are, whoever's dogging us is damn good. "I also figured the car's a good idea because we don't know what we'll find in the house. Maybe it'll be something we can't carry out and load into a taxi. And besides, I needed a place to store a few props."

"Props? For what?"

"All in good time, my dear. All in good time."

He made a couple of lefts to put them on Third Avenue, and took that uptown. In Murray Hill, they cruised past the house and saw the security car out front.

"We'll never get past them," Alicia said.

Jack got the distinct impression she didn't want to get past them.

He checked out the exhaust pipe on the guard car as he passed and saw it smoking. No surprise. The temperature had dropped to about 40 degrees, and they had the heater running.

He smiled. Good.

"Let me worry about that," he told her.

He pulled around the corner and found a barely legal spot near a fire hydrant on Thirty-ninth.

"There's not going to be any fighting is there?" Alicia said.

"I definitely want to avoid that. And with the right kind of help, I figure I can."

He stepped out of the car and looked around at the mix of office buildings and town houses. Not many people out on this cold night. He shrugged into a shapeless old stadium coat he pulled from the backseat; next a pair of ratty leather gloves; then he yanked a knitted cap over his head, fitting it over his ears and down to his eyebrows. The final touch was a bucket containing two inches of soapy water and some other goodies.

Alicia leaned forward, staring at him through the open door. "What on earth…?"

"Meet the scourge of the streets: the sight of him can cause even the toughest New York City driver to quail. Meet… Squeegeeman!"

"I don't believe this."

"Wait five minutes, then walk around the block and meet me in front of the house."

"But what—?"

"Be there. See you."

He closed the door and trotted around to Thirty-eighth. He stopped twice along the way to scan the passersby and the streets for a tail, but could spot no one suspicious.

Damn. Why did he feel he was being watched?

2.

That was close, Yoshio thought as he turned onto Thirty-ninth Street.

For a moment there he had been sure the ronin helping Alicia Clayton had spotted him, but he'd managed to drive past without arousing suspicion. The man seemed to have a sixth sense, almost a counterpoint talent to the one that allowed Yoshio to tail without being seen. Yoshio would have to be very careful with this one.

He had chosen to watch Alicia Clayton for the early part of the evening, then move on to Kemel. Yoshio had been glad to see the arrival of her ronin. This man seemed to be popping up everywhere. Yoshio had followed Kemel and Thomas Clayton to their attorney's office yesterday; while waiting outside, wishing he had a bug in the meeting room, Yoshio had seen this man emerge from the building in the company of a tall black man, both in suits. It could not be a coincidence.

So tonight, when they had driven off in a rented car, Yoshio had followed. Along the way, the ronin had lost Yoshio with a sudden, last-second turn off Twenty-third Street. Yoshio had been stuck, two cars behind. But he had suspected that they might show up at the Clayton house, so he headed in that direction. He had taken his time, munching on a bucket of extra crispy Kentucky Fried Chicken along the way, and had been pleasantly surprised to see their car pass him on Third Avenue.

And now the ronin, shabbily dressed and with a bucket in his hand, was walking toward the Clayton house.

Very curious.

Yoshio wondered what he had in mind. He decided to follow him on foot and find out. He'd been so bored with the recent lull in events, but things had become interesting since this man arrived on the scene. Yoshio had a feeling something very interesting might happen tonight.