“Why should I?”

“He paid the bills, if nothing else.”

“Ill-gotten gains.”

“He gave you a love of sociology.”

“His love of it is a fake! It’s as fake as the rest of him. It’s a field that studies human society, relationships, mores-what does he know about any of those things?”

“Enough to win the esteem of his colleagues. Enough to give you a big boost in your own career.”

“You defend him again!”

I thought back to the conversation I’d had with Keene not an hour before. I looked out of the window, to the sky and sea. Muted gray. Not this.

“No, I do not defend him. I could use your help. I just don’t want you to give it thoughtlessly. I couldn’t forgive myself for taking advantage of your anger toward him, no matter how easy it would make my job. You mean too much to me, Lisa.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “I believe you. I swear to you, Irene, this isn’t something I take lightly. I want you to know that. This is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.”

I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. I still didn’t feel right about allowing her to help me bring down her own father, but I was pretty sure my apprehensions went back to treating Lisa as a child. Her relationship with her father wasn’t typical. I had to keep that in mind.

“Then I’ll say yes, I could use your help,” I told her. “Any papers you can get to me-without endangering yourself-will help. And I’ll admit that I was just thinking that I need a stats expert to help me understand what I’m looking at.”

“Great! I was hoping you’d trust me. I’ll keep looking for those missing pages.”

“They may be right here,” I admitted.

“What?”

“You asked why I’m here. I’m looking for the missing pages.”

She looked around the room. “Here?”

“Lucas left a message of sorts for me. This bar supposedly has some kind of secret panel in it. Something left over from Prohibition days.”

Her eyes lit up. “I love it! Secret panels! Can I help you try to find it?”

“Be my guest.”

We went to work on the bar. We examined it from every angle we could get to. We pushed, we prodded. It started to get dark. I wanted to leave, Lisa was determined to find the panel.

“Frank will be worried about me,” I said, turning on the flashlight. “I’ve got to go.”

“Shhh!” she said. “Did you just hear something?”

I stood stock-still.

We listened.

“I guess not,” she said.

Very clearly, at that moment, came the sound of the stairwell door slamming shut.

“I know you’re in there!” boomed the voice of a man sometimes known as Holler, sometimes known as John Jones.

Two Toes knew we were in there.

36

I TURNED OFF THE FLASHLIGHT, reached for the top of Lisa’s head, and forced her to duck behind the bar with me. We were in the space behind the bar, where a bartender would stand. There was enough light for me to see Lisa’s face, pale and worried. What had possessed me to tell her anything about the panel, to put her in this kind of danger?

“I know you’re in heee-re,” he sang, as a child does when about to win a round of hide-and-seek. “I’m going to count to ten, and then I’m going to come and get yoooo-u!”

I handed the flashlight to Lisa. I reached for my purse and opened it.

“One.”

I found a piece of paper.

“Two.”

A pen.

“Three.”

Wrote, “I’ll distract him.”

“Four.”

Wrote, “Get help.”

“Five.”

Reached for the keys to the gate, holding them together to keep them quiet.

“Six.”

Put them in her hand.

“Seven.”

Looked into her faced, saw her nod.

“Eight.”

Mouthed the word “Ready?”

“Nine.”

The fucking beeper went off.

I stood up like I had been shot out of a cannon.

“It’s my guardian angel!” I shouted, running from the bar, veering toward him, beeper beeping.

HE COVERED HIS EARSwith his hands and ran from me, heading for the other side of the room. Laughing.

I heard the glass door open, but didn’t turn toward it, not wanting his attention on Lisa. The beeper stopped beeping. I whooped and hollered and gave the best imitation of a Tarzan cry I could, trying to cover any other sounds she might make. He loved it. He repeated them, laughing, then turned and ran toward me.

What the hell was I going to do now?

I started running again. We were running in big circles over the buckled floor. He was enjoying the hell out of himself. I was terrified, but I didn’t dare head for the door yet-I had to give her time. I dodged and weaved in the darkening room.

And tripped over Lisa’s backpack, then the crate, landing flat on my face.

It knocked the wind out of me, sent the beeper skittering in front of me. He caught up to me in one stride. I felt his big hands grab my shoulders, lift me. He set me on my feet, turned me toward him-all as if I didn’t weight more than a doll.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Sure? You fell down.”

No kidding, I thought, my knees, shins, palms, and chin smarting. “I’m okay,” I said.

“I’m going to let go now,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t fall down again.”

“I won’t.”

He took two steps away from me and pointed at me. “That’s what you get for roughhousing!”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

He stared at me. I thought of Joshua Burrows, ribs kicked in, face bruised. I looked at the hulking figure in front of me. Two Toes could do that much damage to someone in about thirty seconds flat. Had he hurt Roberta, too?

I swallowed hard.

How long would it take Lisa to get out of the building?

I was near the windows. I took my gaze from him just long enough to glance down at the street. The Porsche was still parked at the curb.

“She’s still here,” he said.

I looked back to see him calmly picking up my beeper from the floor. Shit. He knew I wasn’t alone.

“You were looking for the treasure,” he said, pushing on the buttons of the beeper.

I didn’t answer.

He looked up at me. “Yes, you were,” he chided, as if I had denied it aloud. “You were looking in the altar for the treasure. Come here.”

I didn’t move. He grabbed my hand and yanked me along toward the bar. He stopped in front of it, but he kept hold of my hand.

“As your guardian angel, I will lead you in the ways of righteousness. I know all the secrets of the altar.”

Right at that moment, I really didn’t care about what was hidden in the bar. But he pulled me over to it, back into the bartender’s working space. He saw my purse and stuffed the beeper inside it, freeing his hand. He grabbed the purse and put it on his shoulder. His now, I supposed. I glanced around, but couldn’t see the manila envelope. Lisa must have taken it with her. I prayed she’d figure out who to give the papers to if I ended up with my skull bashed in or worse.

He looked up at the back of the bar, its intricate carvings and mirrored panels, and smiled. “You have to rub them,” he said. “I watched him all the time.”

He took my other hand, guided both hands toward a panel on our left. He placed each hand on one of the wings of two cherubs which graced the sides of one panel of the mirror. I tried not to think about the smell of his breath over my shoulder. It was one of several sharp, distinctive fragrances emanating from him. The man was a riot of olfactory stimulants.

Our darkened reflections stared back at me from a mirror. Mine, scared. His, pleased.

“Both at the same time or it won’t work,” he said. He gently curved his fingers over mine, moved our hands over the wings simultaneously. I felt the wings move backward. They rolled on some sort of ball-and-socket joint. I heard a creaking noise.

“Now forward, and back again,” he said.