Regina left the meeting at that point and Thomas took over. He reviewed the cases coming to trial, the pending indictments, and the list of possible new cases.

Stephano turned to Thomas. "And where do we stand with our man Leo Vasilich?"

The men around the table gave a collective sigh.

"The judge is supposed to have her decision tomorrow on the motion to suppress, but Manny and I went by the book and there's no way they're going to get that surveillance tape thrown out. I'm afraid our friend Leo is fucked."

"The man was just not using his head," Manny said.

"Sure he was-the smaller one," Chick said.

"There but for the grace of God go I," Paulie sighed.

Thomas laughed at that. "Oh, yeah? You're a self-made multimillionaire immigrant who married a beauty pageant queen turned con artist, too?"

Paulie blew out air. "You know what I mean, man. You just never know with women-none of us ever really know."

"My wife wouldn't embezzle from me and give it to her lover. I trust her completely," Manny said.

"You have nothing to embezzle, my friend," Chick pointed out.

"Still, I trust her."

"Leo trusted his wife and she cleaned him out," Chick said. "I don't blame him for wanting to kill her."

Thomas shook his head. "See, Chick, it's all right to be so angry that you want to kill someone. The crime is when you decide to go ahead and do it-or in Leo's case, hire someone to do it. That's kind of the whole gist of our line of work."

Chick smiled. "Oh. Now you tell me."

At Stephano's urging, Thomas wrapped up the meeting by making assignments for the weeks to come. He divided up the background research, assigned undercover backup positions, and reviewed electronic surveillance equipment needs for each new campaign. It was going to be a busy couple of weeks.

Driving home, Thomas realized he had a deposition on Monday and needed to stop at the dry cleaners to pick up his suits. It sometimes amused him that he had to plan his wardrobe ahead of time. There were days he'd appear in court in the morning and have to show up at a biker bar to meet a guy for a beer after work-and that required black leather. Other nights called for his cheap sports jacket and polyester slacks, and still others called for jeans, a flannel shirt, and a Jeff Gordon ball cap.

He never went overboard with his undercover wardrobe, but he was aware that a man his size needed to do whatever he could to blend in.

Thomas sighed as he pulled out of the dry cleaners. He couldn't put it off any longer. What choice did he have, seeing that Hairy had peed all over his car that morning?

He took a stabilizing breath and grabbed a parking spot in front of the CYS drugstore. He told himself he could do this. He was an adult, an officer of the court who worked with violent criminals on a daily basis. He could certainly summon the courage to purchase maxi pads.

He entered the front door like any normal customer and began scanning the aisles. He saw the sign hanging there as big as anything-Feminine Hygiene and Family Planning. Bingo. He'd hit the motherlode. Two, three minutes tops and he'd have those pups in a plastic bag and be outs there.

Thomas strode down the aisle-and stopped. He stood before the shelves in a state of awe. Just how many different types of pads and tampons did the female race require? Dear God. Then his eye strayed toward the array of products apparently necessary for the proper functioning of the female reproductive system-douches, yeast infection creams, anti-itching ointments, personal lubricants, pregnancy tests, spermicides. His heart began to race. He struggled to keep his focus.

Thomas scanned row after row. What should he buy? Wings or no wings? Heavy flow or light days? Curved edges or straight? He tried to imagine which of these pads would work best inside a tube sock tied around the tiny waist of a six-pound neutered male mutant dog, but was drawing a blank.

He felt like he might need a hit off the oxygen canister he'd spied in the front window.

"Is there something I can help you find, dude?"

Thomas turned around to see a teenage stock boy staring at him with a smirk. He was leaning one elbow on a doily full of even more feminine hygiene products-cartons and cartons of them!

"Your girlfriend send you on an errand?"

Thomas gave the kid a smile that positively dripped with courtesy, then said, "At least I got a girlfriend, punk ass." He turned back to the wall of paper products and removed the first thing he saw. At the cash register, he realized he'd selected a forty-eight-count box of extra long pads for nighttime flow.

They'd be perfect. They'd have to be. Because he was never going to do that again.

Ever.

Chapter 5 Macho Man

She would come through for him one last time, he just knew it. Emma wasn't the kind of woman to let a piece of paper stand in the way of basic decency. When she brought up divorce for the first time, she said she would always love him. He remembered how her statement made him laugh at the time, considering the context.

Well, he wasn't laughing today. It better be true, because this was the end of the road for him-and maybe for Emma. The truth was, he was running out of options.

Aaron pushed up on the bridge of his Ralph Lauren shades and checked his gas gauge. He hoped to God she had some cash on her because he needed to fill the tank before heading back to Annapolis, and as they both knew, his credit cards-the ones that hadn't already been confiscated-weren't worth shit these days.

He sighed and cranked up the volume on his CD player. How long had it been since he'd been out to Beckett's farm? God-he couldn't remember, but he didn't think there were this many houses around the last time. The new developments were sprouting out of the ground like fields of giant McMansion mushrooms.

Aaron wondered how long it would be before some developer approached the old guy with a big wad of cash for his land. He wondered how he might be able to get his hands on a piece of that wad.

It would be nice to see Beck today if he was around. He could be a pretty amusing geezer-when he wasn't jumping on Aaron's ass about how he treated Emma.

Aaron caught a glimpse of the farmhouse down the hill off to the left. True, it was a pretty place, surrounded by green and gold waves of farmland, but he'd almost fallen off his chair when Emma informed him she was leaving their Columbia townhouse to live out here with her dad.

He supposed she could live wherever she wanted, but damn-this place was in the middle of nowhere and a good half-hour from the clinic.

So what? It was her life now-hers and Leelee's. Aaron smiled and shook his head. He couldn't get over how that crazy Becca just went and got herself killed and dumped her kid in Emma's lap. Unbelievable.

But there were a lot of unbelievable things about Becca, if he recalled correctly. Emma would croak if she ever found out what had happened the first summer they went out to visit Becca in L.A. But it would always stay his and Becca's dirty little secret, wouldn't it?

Aaron smiled to himself. Oh, yes, he knew firsthand that Becca never put much stock in the whole concept of "safe sex," so it came as no surprise that she'd died giving some sitcom actor such a great blow-job that he infarcted and drove his Jaguar into a canyon. He'd noted the poetic justice of that to Emma at the time, but she didn't laugh.

He turned into the lane and immediately winced. The loose gravel was pinging off the sides of the car, which he'd spent six hundred to repaint and detail only four months ago. Shit!

It hardly mattered, he supposed. If Emma didn't come through for him today, he wouldn't need the car where he was headed. He didn't think you were allowed to bring personal belongings to hell, anyway.