“But no contract entitles me to shield criminals, right?”

“True.”

“And Lloyd has broken the law. In fact, on just the first ATM withdrawal, I think he might be in felony territory. Or some kind of fraud.”

“Yes, it’s a serious charge. Why don’t you introduce me to Lloyd, let me take him on as a client? I can’t make your deal with him privileged after the fact, but I can help him.”

“I made a promise-” she began.

“Yes, but you didn’t know you could face jail time for it. Crow will understand, Tess. Lloyd has to speak to the police. I’ll get him immunity, if possible, protect him every way I can. But this can’t go on.”

“I guess not.” Tess pulled out her cell phone again. “Crow and the dogs will be glad to have me home. You know, it’s not that I gave my word to Lloyd so much. It’s the promise to Crow that I would keep my promise to Lloyd. That’s the one I can’t break.”

“I’m sure the Howard County detectives will be very moved by that sentiment,” Tyner said, but Tess hardly heeded his sarcasm. The phone was ringing unanswered at home, kicking into voice mail after the usual five rings. She tried Crow’s cell. It went straight to voice mail, which indicated it was off. Should she try the Point? No, he didn’t work Tuesdays. She felt a little clutch of panic, silly, she knew. But he was usually so accessible. If not at her beck and call, at least at her call. She was the one who forgot to check in, neglected to say where she was going to be. They had spoken-when had they spoken? Last night. A sweet, easy call. He said he missed her but he understood why she couldn’t say where she was. She assured him that she didn’t think he would ever tell anyone where she was. She just wanted him to be able to claim ignorance of her whereabouts with a clear and sunny conscience.

Privately, she thought Crow a rotten liar. But she hadn’t told him that. No, their last encounter had been nothing but pleasant.

“Tyner, you have my permission to set up the meeting with Howard County for tomorrow. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to throw some money down and run home.”

Jenkins knew he should just leave the Howard County cops alone, let them do their jobs. But they were such incompetent mopes. Nice but ineffectual. When were they going to find the broad and drag her in? He couldn’t keep from calling just one more time, checking to see if they had made any progress.

“So,” he said, knowing that small talk was neither expected nor welcome. “You got the name yet? You got the broad?”

“No,” admitted the detective, a feeb named Howard Johnson, poor guy. Worse yet, he had hair as orange as the old restaurants and eyes the same blue color as the trim. It was like his parents had peeped into the bassinet and said, Let’s make his life hell! “The PI has dropped out of sight. Not at home, not in her office, not answering her phones.”

“You sitting on her house?”

“Not yet.”

Rubes.

“But her lawyer just called. She’s willing to meet.”

Really. But then he had expected as much. Still, he gave an impressed whistle, as if he chalked all this up to Johnson’s formidable skills. “Huh. Look, Howard, I know I promised to keep the fed’s collective nose out of this, but can I come to the interview? Not participate,” he added hastily, sensing even over the phone line that he had pushed a little too hard. “Just watch, through the glass.”

“Sure, but…why do you want to watch some stupid woman PI stonewall her way to the grand jury?”

“Just got a feeling about this one.”

“Me, too. But my feeling is that it’s the kind of red ball that’s going to sink me. I almost wish you guys had taken over this one.”

Jenkins hung up. He did have a feeling, a literal one in his gut, which was cramping from nerves. He poured himself a tumbler of Jameson and forced it down, reasoning that his stomach and his throat would just have to get over it and live with the burning reflux, because the rest of his body needed it bad. Take one for the team, esophagus. Take one for the team.

It was dusk when Tess came home to two strangely exhausted dogs. Still, they were never so tired that they couldn’t greet her properly-Esskay doing the little vertical jumps that Crow called leaping and posturing, Miata circling Tess’s shins.

“Where’s Crow?” she asked, but the dogs just kept up their welcome-home dance.

The house had a too-neat look, as if it had been picked up in anticipation of something. Newspapers were in the recycling bin. Crow’s breakfast dishes had been rinsed and placed on the drain board. Her heart clutched a little, for the scene reminded her of the other times Crow had left. But no, when he left her left her, he did it with more obvious ceremony. Crow had a weakness for the grand gesture. Besides, his cell was on the kitchen counter, plugged into its charger.

She checked the cell phone she used for incoming calls. The technology was still quirky; calls were received and dropped into her voice mail without the phone ringing. Wait, she had placed it on vibrate while working from a coffeehouse in South Baltimore that afternoon. Still, there were no familiar numbers on the log and only one message, which had came from the home number.

“Lloyd’s in danger,” Crow said, his tone as light and uninflected as if he were telling her to pick up milk at the store. “The guy who gave him the ATM card was killed, and Lloyd is sure it’s because of the story. Yeah, he lied about being the only one involved. So I’ve taken him somewhere he’ll feel safe-and I’m not telling you where we are, so you’ll be able to claim ignorance without lying. We’ll keep in touch via disposable cell phones, changing every few days so we can’t be tracked. You should get your first one tomorrow or Thursday.”

Lord, he sounded cheerful, as if this were some Hardy Boy adventure. Crow and Lloyd, a Frank and Joe for the new millennium, a postmodern variation on all those black-white buddy movies of the 1980s: 48 Hours, Lethal Weapon.

Weapon-shit. Tess went to check the gun safe in her bedroom. She had her Beretta with her, as always, but she still owned the Smith amp; Wesson that she’d used before trading up last summer. The safe was empty, which almost made her weep in frustration and anger.

But it was the handwritten note on her pillow-I love you! Trust me on this!-that did the trick. She sat on the neatly made bed and cried. In frustration, in anger, but more in loneliness and fear.

If Lloyd was in danger, then it followed that anyone with him was, too. Crow had thrown himself on a very live grenade. Didn’t he realize that? Now she was in an impossible position. If she gave up Lloyd’s name without knowing where he and Crow were, how could she protect either of them?

If she didn’t, then how could she protect herself?