"Oh, God, Jensen, please, you've got to believe me! Please! I don't know the number, I swear, I swear, I swear I don't!"

He looked at her. "You know, the sad thing is, I believe you."

And then he swung the cleaver.

12

Gemini (May 21-June 21): You see what you want, and you know what to do to get it—give a fair dose of your winning attention, and then confidently walk away! Being too enthusiastic about a new prospect could scare him or her off or weaken your position.

Richie Cordova's office chair groaned as he leaned back, and screeched when he jerked forward. He'd rested the back of his head against the chair and his sutured scalp had let him know it wasn't too happy with that.

Goddamn, that still hurt.

He resettled his weight and looked over the Gemini reading again. He liked the part that said, You see what you want, and you know what to do to get it. Damn right about that.

Except about whoever had sent him that fucking virus. And who had split open his scalp. He knew what he wanted to do to those guys, but didn't have no way to track them down.

He lifted the paper off the mound of his belly and checked the other side of the astrological cusp.

Cancer (June 22-July 22): A small but satisfying victory is the beginning of a lucky streak. Do what you must to get a good deal—a little financial wrangling won't make you look bad. Tonight, lots of action with you at the center is your idea of a good time.

Well, well, well. This was looking better all the time. He had a good day ahead of him. And why not take advantage of that? He'd been thinking about that nun and how the prospect of hitting a decent payday from her was looking dimmer and dimmer. She was tapped out and wasn't going to get much from that building fund—if anything.

But her boyfriend, Metcalf… why not hit him up for the difference? He owed the nun. Owed her big time.

He told Eddy he was going for a walk and headed for the street.

He traveled away from the park this time, searching for a phone he hadn't used in a while. He'd thought of getting one of those prepaid cell phones, but he'd still have to leave the office. Couldn't risk Eddy overhearing him putting the teat squeeze on one of his cows.

He found a phone in a shady spot. The air was still humid after last night's downpour and Richie had worked up a sweat during the walk. Had to lose some of this weight, get back into shape.

Yeah, right. Mariana.

He tapped in his prepaid calling card numbers, then Metcalf's office number. He wasn't in, so Richie tried his home and caught up to him there.

"You know who this is?" Richie said when Metcalf picked up the phone.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Good. Then listen up. I—"

Metcalf's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "No! You listen, scumbag. I'm through playing your game. Do what you want. I'm not paying another cent."

For a few seconds Richie found himself speechless. Had this jerk called him a scumbag?

"I guess you musta forgot about the photos. They'll—"

"I don't care. Let the chips fall where they may. And don't try harassing me with more calls because I'll report you to the police and have them trace your calls. This ends it. I'm leaving town today, taking my family away on a vacation, and putting this whole thing behind me."

Richie couldn't believe what he was hearing. Had Metcalf gone bug-fuck nuts?

He forced a growl to his voice. "Vacation, ay? Well, enjoy it, because married life ain't gonna be so hot when your wife and kids come home and find the neighborhood plastered with bare-assed pictures of you and your little fuck-buddy nun."

"I guess that's just a risk I'll have to take." And then Metcalf laughed—laughed!—and said, "Outfoxed by a nun. Some criminal mastermind you are. Good-bye, loser."

He hung up, leaving Richie staring at the handset in slack-jawed stupefaction.

Had Metcalf said what Richie thought he'd said?

Outfoxed by a nun…

What the hell did that mean?

And then he saw it all. Everything clicked into place. The virus hitting his computer not once but twice… and then the little nun giving him the runaround on payments… and finally Metcalf stiffing him, all but daring him to expose the photos of him and Sister Mary Margaret.

Why? Because he knew the photos were gone!

Outfoxed by a nun…

They'd hired someone to wipe his computer clean and—

Goddamn! It must have been the same guy who mugged him and stole his backup disk! Blindsided from two different directions.

He rammed the handset against the face of the pay phone, slamming it against the switch hook again and again until the receiver end shattered. He dropped it and turned away, ignoring the frightened look from an old woman who shied away as she passed.

Somehow they'd found out who he was. That made twice in the past few months—September and now. Where was he slipping up? The kid in the mail drop? Had he ratted him out? Richie'd look into that later.

He knew neither Metcalf nor the nun had the stones or the know-how to break into his operation. So who'd they hire? Another PI like himself? Richie wanted the name so he could even the score and—

Wait a minute… why was he assuming Metcalf knew who he was? Maybe he didn't know. Metcalf had just warned him he'd have the police trace his calls. Why would he say that if he knew who Richie was? Obviously he didn't.

But the PI they'd hired did. Had to. And who else? Sister Maggie?

Outfoxed by a nun …

Metcalf was giving Sister Maggie the credit. That could mean only one thing: It was the nun who'd found someone to track him down and ruin his operation—and do it in such a way that Richie wouldn't know he'd been sabotaged. Pretty smooth. It had almost worked.

This guy knew who Richie was. Now Richie needed to know who he was. That would level the playing field. Then he could take action. Metcalf probably knew the guy's name, but he was on his way out of town—or so he said. Richie would check on that. But if true, that left the nun. He needed a little face time with her.

What had his Cancer horoscope said?

Tonight, lots of action with you at the center is your idea of a good time.

Oh, yeah. Tonight… if he could work it. If not, tomorrow for sure. Get some answers, and maybe grab a little payback along the way.

No, not a little. She and her boyfriend and whoever they'd hired had screwed up his entire operation. Richie was going to need a lot of payback.

13

Jack was having no luck on the phone today. Repeated calls to Jamie's house and office had left him no wiser as to her well-being or whereabouts.

Same with Maria Roselli. After two calls this morning, and two more this afternoon, all unanswered, Jack had decided to visit Beekman Place in person.

He wore a blue sweater this time, but looked pretty much the same as before. One difference was the small shopping bag he carried. Anya's map was folded within. He'd started thinking of it as Anya's "map," preferring that to Anya's "skin."

A woman with a dog had sent him on a mission into the Dormentalist temple, which housed a replica to the skin map from the back of another woman with a dog.

He'd been told that there would be no more coincidences in his life; but even if he hadn't, he'd have known this was no coincidence. Maria Roselli had more on her agenda than finding her son, and now Jack had to know what. He also wanted to know her connection to Anya.

The only one who could fill in those blanks lived in the brick and granite building he was approaching.

He found the uniformed Esteban in the white marble atrium.

'I'm a little concerned about Mrs. Roselli," Jack told him. "I've been calling her all day and she doesn't answer."