“They were gifts,” he said. “It’s our position they were gifts.”

“Well, it’s our position that your client lied on a federal form,” Gabe said. “And we plan to charge her with that.”

Tess rolled her eyes. Jenkins, who had been letting Gabe run the interview, caught her exasperated expression, but it didn’t seem to bother him. The three men were like proud hens sitting on some monstrous egg.

“The penalty for what you’ve done,” Gabe said, “is thirty years in federal prison.”

“Oh, get out,” Tess said. But even as she spoke, she saw Tyner nodding unhappily.

“And your dad has done the same thing. Lie in this notarized statement.” Jenkins held up the letter for Tess’s edification. “So we can go after him, too. And we will, unless you tell us the name of your source. Give it to us and all this will be forgotten. We’ll cut an immunity deal for you and your dad, and this will never come up again.”

Tess felt dizzy, weak-and almost bizarrely grateful. It was going to end now. This had gone too far. Her dad was already unnerved by their inquiries into his business. This would drive him over the edge. But even as she readied herself to break her promise to Lloyd, her brain clicked along, hearing the false note, the sour chirp of illogic, but not being able to pounce on it.

Tyner could, however.

“You’re saying this is an official plea bargain, something Gail Schulian has approved?”

“Well…” Gabe glanced at Jenkins, lost for just a second. It was a fatal mistake. Tyner’s instinct for weakness and ineptness was as sharp and astute as that of anyone Tess had known. She sometimes felt that Tyner had learned to compensate for his physical limitation, the paralysis caused in a car accident almost fifty years ago, by developing a sixth sense that allowed him to discern the tiniest frailty on a cellular level. If you were going to go up against Tyner, not a single mitochondrion could be having an off day.

“Does Gail know about this?” Tyner pressed.

“Gail?”

“Your boss. Gail Schulian. Has she signed off on making an official plea agreement, in which the government agrees never to prosecute Tess for what we’ve yet to affirm is a violation of this federal statute, in return for naming the confidential source in the Youssef case?”

“We don’t take everything to the boss,” Gabe countered, but his optic muscles seemed to have snapped, so his gaze went everywhere around the room, avoiding Tyner’s. “I have the authority to offer this plea.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Tyner said, in a tone that indicated he had no faith in the young man whatsoever. “But given that your boss is an interim U.S. attorney, I think it’s important we involve her in these discussions from the beginning. It would make me feel more comfortable, especially since her replacement could be named at any time. Also-should Tess tell you what you want to know, are you going to share the information with the Howard County detectives? It is their case, after all. Seems odd, the feds expending so many resources on a case they didn’t even want to investigate. Let’s get everyone in the room-this suspiciously bare-bones, under-decorated room-and do this just once.”

Why was Tyner talking about interior decorating now?

“Gregory Youssef was my colleague,” Gabe said. “Of course I care what happened to him.”

“Yes, now that you believe he wasn’t killed by a male prostitute. But when that was the going scenario, this office couldn’t get far away enough from Youssef.”

Gabe gathered up the papers he had spread so lovingly across the desk, straightening and bouncing them ostentatiously in an obvious delaying tactic.

“Your client is guilty of a felony,” he said. “We’re offering you a deal. Take it or leave it.”

“Are you prepared to charge my client?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then do it. Enter the charge and let me get her in front of a federal magistrate, so bond can be set and she can be released. We don’t have to work out a plea today. You think she broke the law? You think you can prove it? Go ahead.”

“There’s no need to be all official-” Jenkins put in.

“Really? I guess that would explain why we keep meeting in an office that the U.S. attorney vacated back in January of this year. Are you that paranoid about your colleagues looking over your shoulder, Mr. Dalesio-or that nervous about the boss finding out about this little freelance investigation?”

“Look, this is just beginning.” Gabe Dalesio’s olive-skinned complexion was now more of an eggplant shade, his forehead perspiring. “I’ve got the paperwork to seize her car today. And to start the process on seizing her house.”

“On what grounds?”

“She told the Howard County police that her source feared for his life because his contact has been killed. Our office has been able to establish that the dead man was Le’andro Watkins, killed last Monday night in a drive-by shooting.”

“I don’t know the contact’s name,” Tess put in. She had gone to great lengths not to know it. “It was never revealed to me, so I can’t verify it one way or another.”

But she did know when he had died, and the timing was right. How had they pinpointed this? How could they be so sure? They must have assumed the murder was subsequent to the newspaper story and examined only those homicides that occurred in that five-day window, from when the story first appeared to her interview with the Howard County cops.

“Le’andro Watkins is a drug dealer,” Jenkins said. “He was part of Bennie Tep’s organization over on the East Side. Low-level, but he was rising up. So if he trusted your friend to do something for him, your friend was probably involved with drug dealing, too.”

“Not my ‘friend,’” Tess said sharply. “And your logic sucks. If Androcles took the thorn from the lion’s paw and the lion turned out to be a drug dealer, would he be vulnerable to these seizure laws?”

“It’s up to a federal grand jury to evaluate our logic,” Jenkins said, long past pretending to play second chair behind the young prosecutor. “We’re going to link you to a dead drug dealer. We’re going to figure out if anyone ever connected with drugs worked out of your house or used your car. We’re going to look into your father and your aunt, see if their businesses are used as fronts for drug money. And all because you insist on protecting someone who’s almost certainly a criminal.”

Tess was speechless, her mouth shut tight in order to combat the instinct that was dying to scream “Lloyd Jupiter” over and over again. She had every right to break the promise. They were probably on the verge of figuring it out themselves. They had identified the dead kid, Le’andro Watkins, with no help from her. With that lead they could definitely flush out the secret to Lloyd’s identity. So why didn’t they do it? Why was it so important for them to get her to tell what she knew? It was childish to think of this as a battle of wills, but this had gotten personal in a way that Tess couldn’t fathom.

“Bring Gail in,” Tyner said, “and we’ll do this properly. Tess is not telling you anything until we have her promise that all of this goes away. Forever. And we’re going to want some assurances about the rest of her family as well.”

“Your wife,” Mike Collins said, making the commonplace word sound uncommonly rude, and Tess knew that Tyner longed to strike him for insulting Kitty.

Instead he said, “Everyone. Tess, her father, her aunt, her boyfriend, her friend Whitney.”

“We don’t offer blanket immunity for life-” Gabe began, but Jenkins’s voice rose over his. “We’ll get back to you.”

“Is she free to go?”

“Sure.” Jenkins paused in the doorway. “We never have any problem finding her, do we?”

The trio left them alone in the room. It was only then that Tess noticed how odd she felt. Her face was flushed, feverish, as if she were a kid with a guilty conscience called to the principal’s office. Her hands and feet were ice cold, as if no blood were getting to them, yet her palms were sweating, too.