Juliet was fidgety and jumpy from too much bad coffee and her prolonged high state of tension. She knew Hector Sanchez. Most people in the district office did. Rob had reeled him in as an informant three months ago. He’d provided good information that had led to several high-profile arrests, ones the news conference yesterday had underscored. There’d been rumors Rob had tried to get Hector into the witness protection program, but Hector had balked. He didn’t want to leave behind his neighborhood. Someone had told Juliet that Hector was a peripheral figure who was too chicken to be a real criminal and too stupid to be a real player.

And he was a drug addict who always vowed he was going to stay clean.

The idea of Sanchez figuring out that Nate and Rob were at the news conference, where it was being held, where he should hide to get a couple of shots off-the idea of him even owning a rifle that could do the job-

None of it washed.

Juliet cleaned up the beverage area and found herself staring into a half-filled mug of cold coffee, gray and filmed over, seeing a dead Hector Sanchez, an AR-15 and a stash of cocaine next to his body. The cocaine she could believe. A drug overdose. Hector dead at twenty-nine. All that made sense. But the AR-15? The silencer? Executing the difficult shots to hit Rob in the gut and even Nate in the arm?

She dumped the coffee into the trash.

Not a chance.

Eleven

Rob looked better and sounded more alert, less hoarse and confused, but he was still tethered to various tubes and monitors. He gave Nate a weak grin. “I can’t believe Sarah followed you. Holy shit. What was she thinking?”

“She wasn’t thinking.” Nate hadn’t ratted Sarah out to his younger colleague-she’d done it herself before Nate got in there. But if he were in Rob’s position, he’d want to know what was going on. Even if he were at death’s door, he wouldn’t tolerate anyone coddling him. He expected Rob was of a similar mind. “We can get her a counselor if you’d think that’d help.”

“Nah. She’s just like this. Where did you go?”

“I checked in with someone I know in Spanish Harlem.”

It was all he could give Rob. Nate had already talked to Joe Collins about his visit with Maria Rodriguez, a Puerto Rican ex-nun who’d moved to New York three years ago. Within a month of her arrival, she contacted Nate with information that had exonerated a man the USMS was looking for. She’d become a regular informant, but only on her terms, only when she could save someone.

She knew Hector Sanchez, not as a street thug or the confidential informant who’d helped Rob Dunnemore take down a USMS Top Fifteen Most Wanted fugitive-Rob’s biggest coup as a deputy-but as a young man who was trying to put his life back together. Sister Maria, as she was known on the street, had encouraged him to listen to Rob and talk to the U.S. attorney, pursue entry into WITSEC. But Hector couldn’t bring himself to fully give up the life he’d known since he was thirteen.

Now he was dead.

Sister Maria insisted he hadn’t tried to murder Rob and Nate in Central Park. That he couldn’t have. She was adamant, and her certainty had nothing to do with her faith in him as a person. She was a realist-she knew Hector would have setbacks, would lie, would disappoint her. He’d done it before. But she was convinced he hadn’t committed the sniper attack two days ago because he couldn’t. He’d cut a tendon in his right hand a year ago and couldn’t pull a trigger, much less manage a sniper rifle.

Hector Sanchez was physically unable to fire an AR-15.

Nate had suggested Joe Collins make sure the autopsy on Sanchez included a check of his right hand. Not that Collins needed any advice-and he sure as hell wasn’t thrilled when Nate refused to tell him his source.

But that was the way it was-he wasn’t putting Sister Maria through an FBI interrogation. She worked in her neighborhood and believed in its people, and no matter how many times one or another of them betrayed her trust, she would never betray theirs.

The FBI had the wrong man. In her mind, it was that simple.

Except Joe Collins wasn’t yet convinced. He had solid witnesses who put Hector in Central Park with an AR-15 at the time of the shooting.

He had the weapon.

He had the silencer.

Collins, in his mild-mannered way, had reminded Nate that he was supposed to be recuperating, not meddling in an FBI investigation.

Rob tried to sit up. “I’m supposed to be blowing in that air thing more. For my lungs. Keeps me from getting pneumonia. It wears me out.” He sank back against the bed. “Christ. I’m a mess.”

“Give it time.”

“Hector was my guy. Is this going to come back and bite me in the ass?”

“I don’t know.” Nate didn’t bother with niceties, but there was no point in Rob dwelling on what he couldn’t change. “I think you were right about getting your sister out of here.”

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

She was pretty. Very pretty. Nate had come in contact with her three times in less than twenty-four hours, and he wasn’t immune to the feel of that slim body. But talk about a mustn’t touch. A seriously wounded marshal’s twin sister, the president’s surrogate daughter-an attractive academic who wanted answers to the shooting as much as any of them.

“I’m lowering the boom on her before she does something stupid,” Nate said. “She’s upset about you. It’s making her reckless.”

“Send her back to Tennessee.”

Rob obviously hadn’t changed his mind now that he was more lucid. “Why do you want her out of here?”

“Because she does things like follow senior deputies.”

“Rob, if there’s something else, now’s the time-”

“My parents,” Rob said weakly. “They’re coming?”

“That’s what I understand. I don’t have the specifics. Rob-”

“They can take over family duty. Get Sarah out of here. Wes Poe-that’s out, right? That he and my family are friends?”

“It’s out.”

“Sarah can’t stay here. At home…” His eyes were half-closed, and he was fading fast, sinking into the bed. “Tell her I’ll be there soon. Tell her she can make me a prune cake.”

A nurse came over and checked Rob’s IV line, glancing meaningfully at Nate. He took the hint. “Take care of yourself, Rob. Don’t worry about anything else. I’ll look after your sister myself.”

He managed a wry smile. “Why am I not reassured?”

Nate found Sarah chatting with Juliet Longstreet in the waiting room. He thought he heard his name mentioned, and when he walked in, even Juliet went red. “Looks like I should have eavesdropped,” he said. “What did I miss?”

“Don’t mind him,” Juliet said to Sarah. “You have to pass a jackass test to become a senior deputy.”

Nate pointed at her. “One day, Longstreet, someone’s going to take exception to that mouth of yours.”

She gave him a big, phony smile. “Just kidding, Deputy Winter.” She shifted her attention back to Sarah. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Sarah made a move to go after her-to escape, Nate thought-then gave it up and cleared her throat, fixing her gray eyes on him. “I apologize for following you.”

“Apology accepted.” He decided not to waste any time on niceties. “Here’s the deal. I’ve talked to Rob. You’re going home to Tennessee. I’m putting you on a plane myself.”

She didn’t seem surprised and just shook her head at him. “I’m staying here until Rob’s better.”

Nate could feel himself responding to her obstinacy with a touch of his own. If they were going to get into a power struggle, he planned to win. Plus, he knew he was right. Rob was right. The woman needed to get out of the thick of things.

“I told him that,” she added.

“Your brother wants you out of here. I want you out of here. So guess what? I can pack your bags, or you can. Make up your mind.”