So she'd started fining Dawn—twenty-five cents for every time she misused "like." It had worked, making her conscious of it, and her use trailed off. Christy had just instituted a similar program to wipe out "totally" when that man came along.

Did he care about Dawnie—at all?

She couldn't believe that, and so she needed something on this cradle-robbing bastard.

She hoped tonight would be the night he'd make a mistake. She'd follow—

There he was, sauntering out of the bar, talking on his cell phone as if he didn't have a care in the world—and all the while making a wreck of Dawnie's.

And yet, watching the sinuous way he moved, the swing of his shoulders, the twist of his narrow waist, she couldn't help feel a pull. She understood why Dawn was so gaga over him. He was sexy—no other word for it. He could have just about any woman he wanted.

So why on Earth did he want Dawn?

Unlike so many other mothers, Christy had never kidded herself about her daughter's looks. Dawnie was plain. Those words would never leave her lips. In fact she'd always told Dawn she was beautiful. And inside she was. But the girl wasn't stupid. She had a mirror. And knowing she wasn't pretty had had its effect, pushing her into academics instead of boys. Which was wonderful. Plenty of time for guys later.

All of which made her a sitting duck for a magnetic guy like Jerry Bethlehem.

Again the question: Why Dawn?

Not knowing the answer made Christy's skin crawl.

She watched him hop on his Harley. He had a sporty little Miata too, but tonight he was using the bike. She watched him adjust his helmet and wished he didn't wear one. Then she could pray he got hit by a car and wound up brain dead. Or maybe she'd run him off the road and—

The thought shocked her. Where had that come from?

From deep in her gut. If push came to shove, she'd do anything to keep Dawnie safe from him. A mother protected her own.

She remembered her pregnancy. She'd been single and scared, with her mother royally pissed that she was knocked up. She'd planned to give up the baby, but the instant she'd held her little girl in her arms she felt herself change. She was going to find a direction, make a life for herself and this baby. It was the beginning of a new day, a new life for her, and so she'd named the baby Dawn.

Trite, yes. But she'd been Dawn's age at the time and it had seemed like the right thing to do.

Up ahead, Bethlehem revved his engine and took off with a roar. Christy followed and cursed as she saw him head toward Queens Boulevard.

She followed him to Rego Park and, sure enough, he was heading for the Tower. She slowed as he pulled into a narrow spot at the curb. Dawn ran out to meet him and give him a big hug and a long kiss. Christy's stomach turned as she watched him fondle her buttocks.

She had to get something on this son of a bitch.

God, she wished she could follow him some night to a house where he visited a wife and kids. Wouldn't that be great? Threaten him with exposure if he didn't leave Dawn alone. Show her proof if he didn't heed the warning.

Yes, the truth would hurt her little girl, but the truth was the truth, and shouldn't be hidden.

Except in my case, she thought.

That was the danger in hiring a detective. He might broaden the investigation, uncover things better left hidden, start asking questions she didn't want to answer.

7

Jack sat in his idling car, cell phone in one hand, Dr. Levy's number in the other.

To call or not to call.

He'd just come from the scene of a torture-murder. It might not have anything to do with what he'd been hired for. In fact, odds were high against it, but not in the sure-thing range.

Did he want to get involved in this? Did he want to touch anything the late Michael Gerhard had touched?

Not really. But he'd accepted a fee to find out what Gerhard had learned about Jerry Bethlehem, and since Gerhard wasn't talking, Jack felt obligated to speak to at least one person the PI had contacted.

What the hell.

He punched in the number. After three rings, a man answered.

"Yes?" His voice sounded a little strange… tentative.

"Is this Doctor Aaron Levy?"

"Who's calling?"

"I'd like to ask the doctor a few questions about a man named Jerry Bethlehem."

"Who?"

"Jerry Bethlehem. I—"

"Never heard of him!" he said, but his tone said otherwise.

"Are you sure? I was given to understand—"

"Who is this?" A sharp jump in pitch and volume. "Are you the one who just called and hung up?"

"No, I—"

"You are, aren't you. I don't know what your problem is, but I want you to stop it."

"But I'm not—"

"Are you listening? Stop this or I'll have you found out and stopped. And

I'm not talking about calling the police. I'll be going much higher up. So stop this if you know what's good for you."

And then he hung up.

Whoa. That was one rattled man. He'd mistaken Jack for someone making harassing phone calls. Gerhard? Unlikely if Levy'd had a hang-up tonight.

Looked like he was going to have to arrange a face-to-face with Dr. Levy.

He put the car in gear, powered up his officialdom phone, and dialed 911. He told the operator he was a neighbor of Gerhard's and that water was leaking out his front door. He said he'd knocked but no one answered and he was afraid something was wrong inside. He broke the connection without leaving a name.

Not the sort of message to spark EMTs to race to the scene, but eventually someone would get around to checking it out.

He turned off the phone. He reserved it exclusively for calls that had the remotest chance of being traced. Those were the only times he powered it up.

He had no sources in officialdom and no way of knowing what kind of tracking capabilities the emergency services center had. Even though the number was untraceable to him, they might be able to pick up some sort of identifier code from his phone and track it. And they might not. But he did know they couldn't trace a powered-down phone. So he kept it off.

Was this any way to live?

Yeah. A major pain in the ass at times. A constant battle of wits. But he found it hard to imagine life any other way.

THURSDAY

1

"You're going to buy a map?" Abe said. "What for a map when you've got Mapquest?" He turned to his computer. "I'll look it up for you right now."

An hour after a simple breakfast of plain old Entenmann's crumb cake and newspaper skimming at Abe's rear counter—no story on finding Gerhard's body yet—Jack was readying to wander off in search of a New York state map. The one he had was falling apart.

"Don't bother. I've already got driving directions from Mapquest, but I like a map I can fold and unfold. I like to see the big picture."

"You want a big picture, I can get you a satellite photo of where you're going."

"No thanks. But you can do a reverse look-up on Doctor Levy's phone number for me."

"I thought you had an address already."

"I do, but I just want to check."

"You mean you want me to check."

"Okay, I want you to check. Please?"

Jack had been into computers from his early teens through his college years. But after he'd dropped out—of everything—he lost touch with the cyber world. His early years in the city had been a catch-as-catch-can existence, with no permanency, no way to stay wired in. Only in the past few years had he begun exploring the World Wide Web. A lot had changed in the years he'd been disconnected. He was still in an acclimation stage.

Abe, on the other hand, with his international connections and dealings, was a whiz—or as he'd say, a maven.