A block to the north, Paul was approaching with the DC cops close behind. When he reached the traffic I'd just backed up, he drove the Jaguar up on the sidewalk. No hesitation. A hot dog cart and newspaper box sailed off the Jaguar's grill before Paul bulleted into the intersection.

I jumped to the left of my Taurus, filling the only space that might fit Paul's car. The bus driver screamed as the Jag sped toward me. I was the only thing standing between Paul and the bridge.

I stood there transfixed.

Paul would stop.

He wouldn't run me down.

He couldn't kill me.

The car kept coming, though. Really fast.

At the last second, I dove to the right.

The Jag blew past me like a hunter green guided missile. Twisting around on my back, I watched Paul slalom around my car and back onto the bridge road. Son of a bitch was going to make it. He would have run me down – no problem at all.

But then his right back wheel caught the curb with a savage pop, and the car went airborne.

An amazing sight.

There was a deafening crunch, a sound like a giant plastic bottle being fed into a recycling machine, as the Jaguar collided with a concrete bridge abutment.

Glass hung in the air like dust motes as the Jag accordioned. Then the ruined car flipped end over end, snapping through riverside trees before exploding into the muddy green water of the Potomac.

Chapter 114

THE JAGUAR HAD DISAPPEARED – and Paul with it.

I tripped on a partially buried shopping cart as I half ran, half fell down the embankment. Now what? Well, I did an awkward triple lutz before I belly flopped painfully into the river. Then I kicked my way straight down, scanning the murky water for the Jag and Paul.

I don't know why I was being so brave, foolish – whatever this ought to be called. Maybe because it was the right thing to do.

I was about to go back up for more air when I spotted a shard of twisted metal. I swam toward it.

No!

It was the Jag. Paul was still belted into his seat behind the deployed air bag.

His eyes were closed, his face stitched with bleeding cuts. How long had he been in the water? When did brain damage start? I thought, yanking open the car door.

I leaned across Paul, struggling desperately against the air bag to undo his shoulder belt. The damn thing wouldn't open.

Then I felt his hands bite into my neck.

What was he doing?

My throat was already burning. I couldn't believe this. I guess I was the one with the brain damage! Here I was, trying to save him – and he wanted to kill me at the bottom of the Potomac. Paul really was crazy.

River water burned my nasal cavity as I struggled. Very soon I would be out of strength and oxygen. Then what? That was simple – I would drown.

I kept fighting against him, but that wasn't working. Paul was too big, too strong. I had to go another way. And fast!

I pushed hard against the windshield. Then I shot my elbow back, catching Paul in the throat. Then I did it again!

The pressure on my neck let up as an air bubble the size of Rhode Island blobbed out of Paul's mouth. I ducked from beneath his arms. I felt myself starting to pass out, though.

Paul grabbed my foot as I struggled to turn away from him. He was still stuck in the car, his open eyes bulging. He was going to take me with him, if it was the last thing he did, which it would be.

I kicked forward against the water, then straight back into his nose. I broke it for sure. Blood blossomed around his face. Then his grip let free, and I kicked myself away from the car, up toward the light.

I looked back and could see Paul's face below. He was bleeding, and he seemed to be screaming. Then he was gone.

I broke the surface and gorged myself on blessed air as the strong river current pulled me along. Up on a bridge I floated under, there were spinning police lights and dozens of staring faces. The riverside trees swayed in a police helicopter's rotor wash.

A fireman shouted and tossed me a life preserver. I grabbed it and held on for dear life.

Chapter 115

THE DC COPS TOOK real good care of me after that. They had checked our flight list, assumed Paul and I were on vacation and that he had simply snapped.

I didn't say anything to change their mind. In fact, after I ID'd the body, I didn't say anything at all.

An hour later, my buddy Detective Zampella himself arrived at the scene and managed to squash the story with the local media. Then Zampella got me the hell out of there.

I needed to chill somewhere. But not in DC.

I didn't want to fly, so I got in my rental and drove all the way to Baltimore before the urge to rest came over me again.

I remembered staying at a nice Sheraton near the inner harbor one time, and I found the hotel on Charles Street.

The Sheraton Inner Harbor Hotel. Never has any hotel looked better to me.

I got a room with a water view, instead of one overlooking Oriole Park at Camden Yards. Not that I really cared right now.

The room was all blues and creams and it was definitely what I needed, because I was the ultimate frazzled traveler.

The bed was sweet, just terrific, and I spent the rest of the evening motionless, almost comatose, staring up at the ceiling. As the numbness started to wear off, I felt sad, angry, anxious, ashamed, and helpless all at once. Finally, I slept.

The next time I looked up, it was still dark. I stared at the walls of the strange room, not remembering where I was at first. It all came back to me as I glanced out the window and saw the lit-up harbor. A big boat called The Chesapeake. Baltimore – the Sheraton Inner Harbor.

Then other images came.

Paul. Veronica. Little blonde Caroline.

The Jaguar in the Potomac.

I lay in the dark and thought it all through from the beginning. What I had done. How I felt about it now. How I felt about myself. I pinched my eyes shut. Vivid sensations and memories flashed through me periodically. The smell of Scott's cologne. The taste of rain in his kiss. The feel of the rain on my shins as I stared at his battered body. Paul in the Jaguar at the end.

My breath caught at what I remembered next.

I saw silver-white light streaming through the windows of the church where Paul and I were married. My left hand twitched as I felt the slide of a gold ring.

The despair that overtook me then was like a seizure. I felt like it was something that had always been in me. Some dark blossom that had been waiting to bloom since the day I was married.

For the next two hours I did nothing but cry.

Eventually I found a phone and ordered a sandwich and beer from the Orioles Grille in the hotel. I turned on the TV. On the eleven o'clock news there was a lurid shot of the bridge in DC where the accident occurred, and of Paul's car being lifted from the river.

I was about to cry again, but I stopped myself with deep, hard breaths. Enough of that for now. I shook my head at the screen as the news anchor called it a tragic accident.

"You don't know the half of it," I said. "You have no idea what you're talking about, mister. No idea."