“Or she,” says Kaiser.

“Or she,” Baxter concedes.

“Gaines will ogle me a little?” I echo. “He looks like he’d walk up, lick my face, and dare me to slap him.”

“If he does,” says Bill Granger, the violent crimes supervisor, “kick him in the balls.”

Baxter frowns. “If Gaines does do something like that, don’t overreact. We have no idea what could happen when you walk into these situations. The painter could be the killer – if the women are being killed – and he could decide the game is up the moment he sees you. He could do something totally crazy. For this reason, John will be armed going in.” Baxter looks hard at his former protege. “Use your best judgment about force.”

This part of the plan clearly makes Lenz nervous. Even I see a mental image of Kaiser leaping over a metal prison table and trying to strangle the death-row inmate he told me about. But Baxter is showing clear support for Kaiser, and Lenz doesn’t question it. Not in front of him, anyway.

“If either of you comes out and says somebody’s dirty,” says Baxter, “we bring them in for interrogation before the police get in on the act.” He looks around the table. “Okay. We’ll have another strategy meeting tomorrow morning, here, seven a.m. From eight o’clock on, we’ll have police observers with us. Everybody good to go?”

Lenz sniffs and gives Baxter an ironic smile. I try to catch Kaiser’s eye, but he gives me nothing.

“I need a bite to eat and some sleep,” I tell them, rising from my chair.

“Take Agent Travis with you,” Baxter says, meaning Wendy.

“I will.”

“The Camellia Grill is still open,” Kaiser says in an offhand voice. “You know it?”

“I probably ate there a hundred times in my younger days.”

“What do you keep in that waist pack?” asks Lenz.

“It’s my genie’s lamp. I rub it, and whatever I need comes out.”

“It must weigh a lot,” SAC Bowles says dryly.

“It does. But aren’t you glad I had a camera in there during the gallery fire?”

“Yes, we are,” says Baxter. “Get some sleep, Jordan. Tomorrow’s a very big day.”

“I’ll see you here at seven.”

Kaiser gives me a wave as I depart, but Dr. Lenz only watches, his wise eyes missing nothing.

12

The Camellia Grill stands at the intersection of Carrollton and St. Charles, with the river rolling past just beyond the levee. Like many New Orleans institutions, it’s a modest place, an old-time grill with pink walls, aproned employees, and stools at the bar. Agent Wendy and I have been here long enough to get menus when John Kaiser walks through the door and scans the room. He comes straight to us and looks down at Wendy, whose expression quickly morphs from surprise to discomfort.

“Could I see you alone for a minute?” he asks.

She gets up without a word and follows him outside. Through the window, I see Kaiser speaking, Wendy listening attentively. When they come back in, Wendy goes to the far end of the bar while Kaiser takes her stool beside me.

“That didn’t look very smooth,” I tell him. “What did you say to her?”

“That I needed to talk to you without Lenz hearing.”

“I see. She’s got a terrible crush on you.”

“I never encouraged it.”

“You think that makes it any better for her?”

Kaiser picks up a menu. “She’s a good girl, and she’s tough. She can handle it.” He glances up at me, and his eyes seem to hold more understanding than his words. The skin around his eyes is dark with fatigue.

“Okay,” I say, looking at my own menu. “What are we doing here?”

“This is our first date, isn’t it?” He says it deadpan, and I laugh in spite of myself.

“Come on. What’s going on?”

“Just what I told Wendy. I want to talk to you without Lenz around. Or Baxter, for that matter. I have a certain amount of anxiety that we’re behind the curve. That whoever’s running this thing is ahead of us. Maybe way ahead.”

I sense the disquiet in him, in the way he holds himself. “Okay. Tell me about it.”

“I can’t explain it. It’s a feeling. I want to do something about it, though.”

“What?”

“We’ll get to it. Let’s order.”

Kaiser signals a waiter, and he comes almost immediately. We order omelets and orange juice, and I ask for cafe au lait as well. It’s nice to be in a place where they’d look at you like an idiot if you asked for some fancy latte or exotic extras. Glancing to my left, I catch Wendy watching us over her shoulder.

“What will Baxter say about you talking to me alone?”

“I don’t think Wendy will tell him. She’ll give us the benefit of the doubt this time.”

“But he wouldn’t like it, would he?”

“He trusts me, to a point. He wouldn’t like what I’m going to say.”

“Which is?”

Kaiser puts his elbows on the counter and rotates his stool so that he faces me more directly. “Have you ever fired a handgun?”

“Yes.”

“An automatic or a revolver?”

“Both.”

“If I got you one, would you carry it?”

“What would Baxter think about that?”

“He wouldn’t like it. And the Office of Professional Responsibility would probably fire me.”

“So why are you suggesting it?”

“Because I think you’re in danger. If the UNSUB wants you, he could shoot Wendy before either of you knew he was there. Then it would just be you and him. If you’re armed, you might have a chance to react in time.”

“You mean kill him?”

“Could you do it?”

“If he shot Wendy in front of me? You’re damn straight.”

“What if he just knocked her out and tried to pull you into a car? Would you shoot him then?”

A wave of discomfort rolls through me, flashes of memory that I thrust back into the dark. “I’ll do what I have to do to save myself.”

Kaiser’s eyes never leave my face. “Have you ever shot anybody before?”

“I’ve been shot before. Let’s leave it at that.”

“I get the feeling your life has been exciting even by the standard of war correspondents.”

“It hasn’t been dull.”

“Has it taken a lot out of you?”

I look away and focus on Wendy’s straight back. The more I watch her, the more I like her. The path she chose is much more regimented than mine, but she brings to it the passion I brought to mine when I was younger. “Yes, it has.”

“That’s why you took time out to do this book you were doing?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been wanting to do that for a long time?”

“Yes.” I look back at Kaiser, into the hazel eyes that appear to hold genuine curiosity. “But once I really started, I wasn’t sure it was going to give me what I wanted out of it.”

“What was that?”

“I’m not sure.”

Our omelets and juice arrive, but neither of us lifts a fork.

“May I ask you a personal question?” he says.

“You can ask.”

“You’ve never been married?”

“That’s right. Does that shock you?”

“It surprises me. Not many heterosexual women who look like you make it to forty without getting married at least once.”

“Is that a nice way of asking what’s wrong with me?”

Kaiser laughs. “It’s a nice way of being nosy.”

“You’d think I’d be a prize catch, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I would.”

“A lot of guys think that. From a distance.”

“What’s wrong up close?”

“I’m not like most women.”

“How so?”

“Well, it goes like this. I meet a guy. Good-looking, successful, independent. Doctor, journalist, investment banker, A-list actor. Whatever. He can’t wait to go out with me. I’m a not-so-ugly woman in what a lot of people see as a glamour job. The first few dates, he shows me off to his friends. We like each other. We get intimate. Then, in a week or a month, I get a new assignment. Afghanistan. Brazil. Bosnia. Egypt. And not a fly-in-and-out Dan Rather junket. A month on the ground schlepping cameras. Maybe this particular guy is making international partner the next week and wants me at his celebration party. Maybe the Oscars are next week. But I take the assignment. I won’t even discuss turning it down. And by the time I get back, he’s decided maybe the relationship isn’t working out after all.”