"Not at all. It's just that I know the people inside the club. They're harmless."

"The man behind this may not be a part of the club at all," Stride said. "But we don't know who's talking to whom. Secrets have a way of getting out."

"Yes, they do," Lassiter said.

She climbed off the bench, headed to the shoulder of the highway, and began jogging north.

36

Stride studied the nighttime street from inside the smoked windows of a Cadillac, borrowed from a lawyer who lived a few houses down on the Point. He used it sometimes when he wanted an upscale car that blended into the neighborhood during a stakeout. Teitscher sat ramrod straight in the seat next to him, and his buzzed gray hair tickled the roof of the car. He didn't blink. Every few minutes, he used his index finger like a comb and smoothed his mustache. That was the only sign that he was nervous.

Stride was nervous, too. It was one thing to plan surveillance on a map, with pushpins to flag the cars and colored markers inking the escape routes. It was another to be here, surrounded by shadows where someone could hide. You could throw a cordon around any piece of land, and someone could always sneak through. On the ground, you couldn't see everything and be everywhere.

An hour to go.

A cop would stay inside Kathy Lassiter's house while she was at the party, and another car would keep her in constant sight on the way to and from the club. For the next several days, an unmarked car with two detectives would be within fifty yards of Lassiter's house at all times. They had installed a downstairs alarm system that would send an intruder alert both to the station and directly to the surveillance car. If someone tried to break in, they could be inside her house in less than thirty seconds.

Here at the club, they had half a dozen cars on the surrounding streets and several detectives who would patrol the streets at intervals. If the rapist was an outsider, there was a chance he would be here, where he could keep an eye on his next alpha girl coming and going.

They were parked half a block from Sonia Bezac's house. Several homes still had their Christmas lights turned on, and multicolored strings twinkled in the trees and along the roof lines. Lumpy snowmen dotted the front yards. Looks were deceiving. There was nothing picture-postcard about this place, not with a dozen men and women about to have sex with a stranger, not with a rapist haunting the neighborhood. It made him think of driving on a lonely rural road at night and seeing lights inside a peaceful farmhouse, and envying the lives the people there must have. It was just an illusion. Whoever lived inside those places was no different than anyone else, with husbands who drank, and old people who died slow deaths, and kids who killed themselves over a broken love affair. The only romance about it was in his head.

He wanted a smoke, but he couldn't have one. His fingers twitched. He couldn't escape the feeling of dread. The feeling that they had all missed something.

"What else did the SEC tell you about this insider trading scheme?" Teitscher asked.

"They got an anonymous tip, but they haven't found a connection yet between Mitchell Brandt and anyone at Infloron Medical or the FDA. They don't know yet how he got advance word of the FDA approval."

"It's a long way from insider trading to rape."

Stride nodded.

His cell phone rang. I'm in a hurry and don't know why. He was in a hurry tonight, feeling as if he were running in place. He wanted to skip to the end.

It was Serena.

"I'm pulling up around the corner," she said.

"You can still back out," Stride told her.

"You need me inside, Jonny."

"I know."

"Maybe I'll sign up to be the next alpha girl."

"Sonia would like that. Be careful, okay?"

"I will."

She hung up. A minute later, he saw her in his rearview mirror as she turned the corner. Serena passed the Cadillac on the sidewalk but didn't look toward the smoked windows. She wore black jeans and heels and a sleeveless down vest. Her hands were in her vest pockets. She looked casual and unconcerned, but he knew her eyes were tracking the windows and the dark spaces between the houses.

She walked up to the doorway of the Bezac house and waited on the porch, surveying the neighborhood. The door opened, and light spilled out. He saw Sonia.

Serena disappeared inside.

Sonia greeted Serena with an uneasy smile. She let her inside and looked out into the night before closing the door behind them. The house was elegant, and the lights were dimmed. Sonia wore a Chinese silk gown tied at her slim waist. It was pink with flowers. Her feet were in heels. The two women were both tall, almost the same height.

"I don't like spies," Sonia told her.

"No one will know."

"I don't believe anyone in my club is a rapist."

"Tell that to Maggie and Katrina," Serena snapped. "Count yourself lucky that it wasn't you."

Sonia flushed. "I'll take you downstairs."

She led Serena through the upscale kitchen to a back stairway that led down to a laundry and storage room. The floor was cold cement. A musty smell came off the walls. Sonia unlocked a narrow door that looked like a gateway to a utility closet, but instead Serena found herself slipping inside a small but elegant bedroom. The wallpaper was gold with a burgundy pattern of interlaced squares. A queen-sized bed was decorated with shams and a ruffled fringe, as if it had been plucked from a showroom. There was a dressing table and mirror, a bureau, and a walk-in closet.

One wall of the bedroom was glass. It looked out on a large, plush open space, lit by candles. The temple.

Serena found her eyes drawn to the shadowy room. She felt exposed. "They can't see through the mirror, right? They won't know I'm here?"

"No, most members don't know about this space. It's kind of a VIP room."

"Is the other room wired for sound?"

Sonia nodded. "You'll hear everything."

Serena could see herself in the glass. "I hate this," she murmured.

"Give it a chance. You might be surprised."

"Not likely."

"You're a very attractive spy," Sonia said. "Jonathan has good taste."

Serena didn't reply.

"Did he tell you about him and me?"

"Yes, he did."

Serena tried to imagine Jonny as a teenager, drunk in a car with this woman thirty years ago. She herself would have been a child then, during the good days in Phoenix, before her mother became a slave to cocaine and her father walked out. Before Blue Dog.

"He's very intense," Sonia said.

"That's why he's good at what he does."

"I'm disbanding the club, you know. This will be our last party."

"Oh?"

"It's too risky now."

Serena knew she was talking about the risk to herself and Delmar and their reputations, not the risk to the alpha girls. The risk of being exposed.

"Do the members know?"

"No, I didn't think you'd want me to tell them."

"I don't."

Sonia eyed her figure. "It's a shame you won't be at the party. You could still join us on the other side."

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself. No one will know what you're doing in here. If it turns you on, there are vibrators in the bureau."

"This doesn't turn me on, Sonia."

"No? It's different when you put on the mask. It changes everything."

Sonia opened a dresser drawer and emerged with a gold mask, feminine and catlike. She slipped the band around her head and slid it down so that the elastic fell under her curly hair and nestled behind her ears. She reached around with both hands to adjust the mask gently.

Serena saw them both in the mirror, red hair next to black hair. Behind the mask, Sonia had become a stranger. Someone entirely different.