“Attorney-client privilege?”

“Well, technically—”

“Let’s try again.” He slid the Colt from his waistband. “What did Hayes say when he called you?”

She hesitated a moment, then said. “He was drunk. Crying. He sounded terrible.”

“I would imagine. What did he say?”

“Nothing that made any sense.” For the first time, she broke eye contact. “That he was sorry.”

“He say what for”

“No. Just that it was his fault, he was so sorry. He was slurring a lot, not making any sense.”

“Who does he know in Maine?”

“What?”

“Daniel. Maine. Who does he know?”

“I—I don’t know. No one.”

“Where is he hiding?”

“I don’t know. What do you want with him anyway?”

“Do you watch a lot of movies, Sophie?”

“What?”

“I know you represent actors, directors, so you must. You know the scenes where the hero is trying not to tell the bad guys something? Mel Gibson kind of shit? Everyone likes to think that if it was them, they’d hold out. Dig deep, clench their jaw, not say a word. But here’s the thing.” Bennett leaned forward. “Pain sucks. It sucks worse than you can imagine. It becomes your whole world.” He tapped the pistol against his thigh. “I don’t enjoy it. But believe me, when pain is involved, real pain? No one holds out.”

An effective performance, judging by her reaction. He could see her wondering how he would hurt her, whether it would be rape or something worse. Wondering what she would be afterward, if there was an afterward; all those years of independence wiped away, her freedom caged, loves tainted, triumphs turned to ash. Sixty-one years old and abruptly broken. A victim.

Remember, sister. This isn’t the boardroom.

“I-I don’t know anyone in Maine.”

“Think hard.”

“I am. I don’t know anyone. I don’t think Daniel does either.”

“Family, friends?”

“No.”

“Then why is he there?”

“I— Is he?”

Try something new. “What about the necklace?”

“What necklace?”

“I know you have it. Where is it?” Chances were she didn’t, of course, but no need for her to know that.

“What?” The panic was back. “I don’t—I swear—I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

Damn. She was telling the truth. There were all kinds of tics when someone was lying. But her blinking was controlled, the emotions in her eyes and mouth matched, she was using contractions. She’d been thrown by the changes in subject, when liars usually embraced them. He’d bet on it: Sophie didn’t know where Bennett’s payment was, or where he could find Daniel Hayes.

Damn it.

He could always ask more aggressively. But it was risky after the mess in Chicago. That had been a dangerous play from the beginning, but no one could have anticipated the way it would fall apart, the four fucking amateurs getting in the middle of what should have been a clean job. Worse, given the nature of the product, he’d found himself burned completely. A lifetime of staying off the radar wiped away in a week. And not just cops. Homeland Security. They’d have fingerprints, DNA, brass from his old Smith and Wesson, who knew what else.

Which meant that any screwup, any screwup at all, and he was done. Not maximum security done. Not even federal prison done. Twenty-three hours in solitary done. SuperMax done. Hell, maybe Guantánamo Bay done.

Does she know anything worth taking that risk?

His gut told him no. Still, no harm in pushing a little. “You’re not helping me,” he said, soft and low.

Her hands fluttered at her side. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“What can you tell me?”

“The same thing I told the sheriffs. That I love Daniel, but that I don’t know why he left or where he is. He called me, I told him I’d be right over, but when I got there, he was gone. Since then I’ve dialed his cell phone a million times. I’ve e-mailed him. I’ve called all our friends. I’ve talked to the cops. No one knows where he is. You say he’s in Maine? That’s news to me. I believe you when you say that you’ll hurt me,” her voice catching for just a second, “but it won’t make any difference. Because I don’t fucking know where he fucking is.”

Bennett was coming to like her. Not many people had the stones to talk that way in a situation like this. “Did you tell the police about the phone call?”

“I told them that he called.”

“But not what he said.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She opened her mouth, closed it. “Because he’s my friend.”

Hm. “Last question, Counselor.” He kept her pinned with his eyes. “If you did know where he was, would you tell me?”

She paused a long moment before answering. “Yes.” Sophie pushed her shoulders back. “But not until I couldn’t not.”

Well, well. We have an honest-to-god human being here. He was almost glad she didn’t know anything. Always a shame to break something lovely. “Tough girl.” He straightened, tucked the gun back into his pants. “Smart one, too. Since you’re so smart, I don’t need the speech about not calling the police, right, sister?”

“No. I won’t. I promise.”

“Good.” He started for the door, then stopped, unable to help himself. “And, Sophie?”

Her breath caught in her throat. Her hair was wet, and the outline of her body marked the towel. She was trembling. Wondering, he could see, if he had changed his mind. If he was going to shoot her, or worse.

“I like your style. I ever need a lawyer, can I give you a call?”

She stared at him, and he laughed, then walked out, back through her house and into bright morning sunshine. He was maybe ten steps out the door when he heard a faint snap behind him, the sound of her locking the deadbolt.

Fifty bucks says she’s dialing 911 right now.

Good for her. He did love predictable people.

D

aniel was in a concrete canyon.

Water trickled. The bleeding sun stained everything crimson. Ahead was a tunnel, tall and broad. The mouth of it was perfect black shadow, but he knew that something waited there. Waited and watched.