'Bullshit!' Mary shouted back. She plunged a hand into her briefcase and thrust the newspaper at him. 'A Roundhouse Divided,' read the headline. 'Did you see this morning's paper yet? Kovich and Brinkley having a fight in front of Colonial Hill Towers. Why do you think they were there?'

Jack grabbed the paper in handcuffed hands, his eyes scanning the article, his brow creasing as he read.

They were investigating Paige and Trevor. I figured it out and so did the cops. You can't keep the wheels on this thing, Jack. They're gonna come after her, so why don't you give it up?'

'You're destroying my daughter, is that what you want?' Jack threw down the paper and jumped to his feet, and Mary stood up, too. They stood eye-to-eye in the cell, an instant and volatile intimacy.

'Listen to me, Jack. I know why you're doing this. I know Paige is pregnant.'

'Stop it with Paige!' Jack erupted. 'Stay away from my daughter! Stay away from me. You and your law firm are fired!'

Trevor is already running around with another girl. Is that what you want to leave Paige with? How can you help her if you're in here? Or if you're dead? And don't you have your own life to think about? Aren't you entitled to that?'

That's it!' Jack yelled. Suddenly he turned and slammed his handcuffed hands into the red panic button in the cinderblock wall. The alarm went off instantly, reverberating in the tiny interview room.

'What are you doing?' Mary shouted, bewildered, but the din drowned out her voice.

That's it! I'll kill you!' Jack bellowed and reached for her throat, despite his handcuffs. His hands encircled her neck loosely and ersatz rage contorted his face. Mary realized instantly what he was doing. He was making it look like he was strangling her. Through the window she could see black-shirted guards sprinting from the security desk in alarm. 'I'll fucking kill you!' Jack shouted again, his touch harmless. Up close his eyes were filled with pain.

'Jack, no!' Mary yelled, pulling his hands from her, but all hell had broken loose. The guards were at the cell window with their guns drawn. A huge guard burst through the door and brought his gun butt down onto the back of Jack's head. The sound was sickening. The blow

stilled Jack's eyes. For a split second, he stared unseeing at Mary, unconscious on his feet. She caught him in her arms but he was too heavy and collapsed to the floor.

'Jack!' she screamed, but the sound was lost in the clamor of the alarm. Four armed guards swarmed over him and dragged him out the door, banging his cheekbone into the doorjamb on the way.

A young guard rushed to Mary and grabbed her arms, his eyes searching her face with concern. 'Are you okay?' he asked, anxious.

'Yes, of course.' Her eyes brimmed with tears of frustration. 'I'm fine. He didn't really -'

'That asshole's goin' straight to ad seg.'

'Ad seg, what's that?'

'Administrative segregation, isolation. Twenty-three hours in a cage. We'll call the cops for you. You can press charges for assault.'

'No, I don't want to press charges. He was just pretending,' she said, her voice thick, but the guard released her in disbelief.

'Lady, get real. He was trying to kill you.'

'No, he wasn't. It was an act. He didn't mean it.'

A look of disgust crossed the guard's features. 'I don't get what you broads see in these cons,' he said, but Mary didn't try to set him straight. She wiped her tears, straightened her clothes, and picked up her bag and briefcase.

She had to get going before it was too late.

36

Brinkley didn't touch the newspaper Captain Walsh threw across the desk at him and Kovich. He'd been shown it by the old man at his newsstand, the uniform at the desk downstairs, and the guys on the squad, who taped the photo to the wall in the coffee room. Somebody had drawn a mustache on him and had given Kovich a kielbasa dick.

'Explain this to me, you idiots!' Captain Walsh shouted, over the tabloid tenting his desk, where it had landed. The Cap was so pissed he could barely keep his seat. Dwight Davis, freshly shaved and suited, leaned against the credenza behind him. His expression was grave, and even though he was in the right, Brinkley still wished he could pop him one.

'I'm very sorry about this, Cap,' Brinkley said, and met his boss's eye. Captain Derrick Walsh was a big man with curly black hair. A merlot-colored birthmark crept across his right cheek and bled into his right eye, but Brinkley always figured the Cap owed his toughness to growing up with that birthmark. 'I take full responsibility for it, sir. It's my fault.'

'It's my fault, too,' Kovich added, but the Cap exploded.

'Goddamn right it's your fault! Who else's fault could it be? Mine?" The Cap's barrel chest heaved in his starchy white shirt, which bore the stripes of his rank and an ornate gold badge. It was the only decoration in the office, which was bare of the citations, awards, and honors the Cap had received on the job. Brinkley had always respected Walsh for not being a show-off, so his criticism landed hard. It didn't help that Brinkley was completely ashamed of his conduct.

'I lost control,' he admitted. 'It won't happen again.'

'Goddamn right it won't! You think we got the wrong guy, Reg? Article says so, somebody overheard you. But your girlfriend here thinks we got the right guy. Ain't that fuckin' terrific? First off, how can you be so stupid as to discuss an open case on the goddamn street?'

'Sorry, Cap.' Brinkley wanted to hang his head, but he'd be damned if he'd do that in front of Davis. It was police business, and the lawyer had no right being here anyway.

'And on this, of all cases? What are you, stupid?'

'It was my mistake. I started it. I'm sorry.'

'Not good enough, Reg. You know an investigation is completely confidential. Not only are you broadcasting it, you're fighting about it. In public!'

'It's my fault, Cap.'

'So then this scumjob of a reporter goes and talks to the security guard at the desk, and he finds out that you roughed him up over who signs the logbook at the daughter's apartment. Now they're callin' you -' The Cap grabbed the newspaper and flipped the pages madly.

'A hothead,' Davis supplied.

Brinkley sighed inwardly. He had to hear it from the Lone Ranger now. He could tell Walsh didn't like it either. He had embarrassed the department in front of the D.A.'s office. Half those lawyers thought cops were stupid anyway. Shit.

Kovich cleared his throat. 'Just for the record, the security guard wasn't roughed up, Cap.'

'I don't give a fuck!' Walsh arched a furry eyebrow that lay beside the birthmark like a wooded border. This never should have happened! None of it! We got elements of our investigation, whatever this logbook shit is, out in the open!'

Behind him, Davis crossed his arms. The reporter called me to verify. Of course I didn't give him anything, but I know this guy. He covers the Criminal Justice Center. He

told me off the record that he's got more than he reported, he just couldn't get the second source to confirm.' Davis hesitated before telling more, but Brinkley knew it was just for show. 'Said specifically that the two detectives were fighting about whether Trevor was involved, with the daughter.'

'Jesus H. Christ, Reg!' Walsh yelled. 'You're killin' me here! You're killin' me! What the fuck were you thinkin'

'It's me, too, Cap,' Kovich interrupted, but Brinkley waved him into silence. He had to defend himself. It was now or never and it couldn't get any worse.

'Cap, I'll tell you, I'm worried that Newlin's setting himself up. I think he's covering for the daughter or the boyfriend, or both.'

The Cap's eyebrows flew heavenward. 'What the fuck is goin' on here, Reg? I read this file, I saw the lab work! The prints, the blood work, the whole shebang. We charged the father. What are you talking about?'