"Very good points," Jack conceded.

"I'm glad they arrested Najah," Laurie said. "If he's the one, he'll think twice about any more shenanigans while Lou is breathing down his neck, which means I'm going to sleep a little better tonight. In the meantime, I'm going to go over Roger's lists very carefully, in case he doesn't pan out."

Jack nodded several times that he agreed with Laurie's plan. There was a brief pause until Jack said, "I know it's a bit off-topic, but can we pick up where we left off last night?"

Laurie eyed Jack warily. As they had been talking, she'd noticed that his typical sardonic expression had gradually reappeared, which she couldn't help but feel was a bad sign now that he was suggesting turning the conversation to personal issues. Deep down, a combination of frustration and irritation begin to brew. With everything else going on, from guilt about Roger's death to the pressure in her lower abdomen, she was uninterested in weathering any more disappointment.

"What's the matter?" Jack asked, in response to Laurie's silence. Misinterpreting her hesitancy, he raised his eyebrows questioningly and superciliously added, "Is this still not the time or the place?"

"You got that right!" Laurie blurted, struggling for control in the face of Jack's tone. "The city morgue is hardly the place to discuss starting a family. And furthermore, to be honest with you, I suddenly realize I'm finished discussing it. The facts are pretty damn plain. I've made it clear how I feel, up to and including the new development of my pregnancy. What I don't know is how you feel, and I've got to know whether you're interested and capable of abandoning your self-absorbed grieving role. If that is what you want to tell me, then fine! Tell me! I'm sick and tired of discussing it, and I'm sick and tired of waiting for you to make up your mind."

"I can see this is definitely not the time or the place," Jack said with equal irritation. He stood up. "I think I'll wait until a more opportune circumstance."

"You do that," Laurie snapped.

"We'll be in touch," Jack said before walking out the door.

Laurie turned to her desk, cradled her head in her hands, and sighed. For a brief second she considered running after Jack, but even if she did, she wouldn't know what to say when she caught him. It was obvious he wasn't about to tell her what she wanted to hear. At the same time, Laurie questioned if she was being too pushy and demanding, especially since she'd not told him about her latest symptoms and the fear that she had yet to voice even to herself: the fear of a miscarriage, which would change everything all over again.

It was a little after four in the afternoon when David Rosenkrantz turned his car into the parking lot of the small commercial building where Robert Hawthorne had his office. In its previous life, the building had been a warehouse, but like much of the renovation in downtown St. Louis, it had been recycled. It now had an upscale restaurant on the first floor and boutique offices on the second. When Robert Hawthorne-or Mr. Bob, as he was known to his operatives-came to town, first to found a company called Adverse Outcomes and subsequently to set up Operation Winnow, he had found the space and thought it convenient, since it was close to the law offices of Davidson and Faber. David didn't know what the relationship was with the law firm, and he knew he wasn't supposed to ask. What he did know was that Robert was called over there on a fairly regular basis.

It wasn't often that David was in town, since it was his job to travel around to the various cities and check in on the field operatives and deal with them as necessary. This was not an easy job, considering the oddball characters they had functioning as independent contractors. At first David just put out fires, but now that he'd worked for Robert for more than five years, he'd been entrusted with recruitment as well. The recruitment was more fun and challenging. Robert would come up with the names from an old Army buddy who still worked in the Pentagon. They were mostly people who had worked in some sort of medical capacity in the military and who had been discharged less than honorably. David hadn't been in the military himself but could appreciate how the experience could affect people who were trying to return to civilian life, especially those who had seen any sort of combat. With Iraq grinding on, they had plenty of potential recruits. Of course, they also looked for people fired from civilian hospitals. Most of those tips came from people who were already embedded.

The door to the office was unmarked. David rapped on it with his knuckle in case Yvonne, the secretary, who was also Robert's live-in girlfriend, was in the back office. It wasn't a big operation. Robert, Yvonne, and David were the only employees, and for quite a few years, it had been just Robert and Yvonne.

There was a loud click of the locking mechanism as big-busted Yvonne opened the door. With her syrupy, southern-accented voice, she coquettishly invited David to step inside. Her syntax was interspersed with a lot of "honeys" and "dears," but David wasn't fooled. Despite the bleach-blond hair and the floozy affectations like spike heels and a short skirt, he knew that she worked out regularly with Robert and was proficient in tae kwon do. David felt sorry for anyone who might mistakenly decide after a few drinks to take advantage of her flirtatious behavior.

The office was simple. There were two desks, one in the front room and one in Robert's inner office, two computers, a couple of small tables, a few chairs, a file cabinet, and two couches. It was all rented.

"The ugly old boss is in the back room, honey," Yvonne whispered. "Now don't you go off and upset him, you hear?"

David had no intention of upsetting Robert. He knew something was up when Robert called him in. David had arrived back in town the night before, after a number of days on the West Coast, and was supposed to be enjoying some downtime.

"Sit down!" Robert said when David entered. Robert was at his desk with his legs crossed and his feet perched on the corner, hands behind his head. His Brioni jacket was tossed over the arm of the couch.

"You want any coffee, dear?" Yvonne questioned. There was an Italian espresso machine on the table in the front room.

David smiled and thanked Yvonne but declined. He looked at Robert, who had his lips pressed together in an expression of frustration. "I got some bad news a little while ago," Robert said. "It seems that our little Hungarian number in the Big Apple just can't control herself."

"Another shooting?" David asked.

"I'm afraid so," Robert said. "This time, it was one of the doctor administrators. The woman is a menace. She's good, but she's jeopardizing the whole operation."

"Are you sure she did it?"

"A hundred percent sure? No! Ninety-nine percent sure? Absolutely. Shootings follow her around like flies on a hunk of smelly cheese. Obviously, this kind of thing can't go on, so I'm afraid your little vacation has to be put on hold. Yvonne got you a reservation on a flight that gets in around ten-thirty."

"It's short notice. What about a gun?"

"Yvonne's taken care of that as well. You'll just have to make a detour on your way into the city."

"I don't remember her address."

"Yvonne's got that, too. Don't worry, we've thought of everything."

David got to his feet.

"You don't mind, do you?" Robert asked.

"No, I don't mind. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later."

"Yeah, I guess I did, too."

Outside of Laurie's rather dirty office window the gray day had faded into night as she'd pored over the charts yet another time, hoping to find some hidden piece of critical information. As had been the case on her previous readings, nothing jumped out at her. She had her Post-it notes to show the short strip of EKG to a cardiologist and to get the forensic investigators to clarify the nature of the MASNP test. Other than that, she didn't know what else to do.