GRAND CAYMAN TRUST ACCOUNT.

"That's got nothing to do with Del Payton," Livy says over my shoulder.

Maybe not. But it could probably put Leo Marston in jail for a few years, and cost him a considerable portion of his fortune. Reluctantly I set these envelopes aside and continue searching. There are more offshore accounts, records of hidden shares in oil fields, a dozen other ventures. I am about to abandon the files for the computer disks when a label jumps out at me as though written in neon. It says only: edgar.

Inside this folder is a thick sheaf of personal letters, all signed Yours, Edgar. The first begins, Dear Leo, In the matter of the Nixon funds, please be assured that I consider your work in this area to be exemplary, and also a direct favor to me. He has his idiosyncrasies, yes, but he is a sound man, and we understand each other. The possibility of a Muskie or McGovern in the White House cannot be contemplated for one moment-

The woodwind oomph of a wine bottle being uncorked draws my gaze away from the safe. Livy has taken a bottle of red from Leo's cherrywood bar and opened it with a silver corkscrew.

"Pretend it's our lost bottle," she says in a cynical voice.

She takes two Waterford goblets from the bar and fills them to the rim, then lifts one to her lips. She drinks a long swallow and passes it to me. Her upper lip is stained red, but she doesn't wipe it. She simply watches me drink. I can't read anything in her expression. The wine is tart on my tongue, acidic. She takes back the glass, drains it, then sets it beside the bottle and lifts the second glass to her lips. Half the wine disappears in three swallows.

She is more upset than I thought.

I turn back to the safe and flip quickly through the Hoover letters, searching for any mention of Del Payton, John Portman, or Dwight Stone. Most of the letters date from the seventies, after the secret relationship was well established, and deal with political matters.

"Is there a computer in here?" I ask, glancing at the 3.5-inch floppies.

"There's a PowerBook in the bottom drawer of the desk."

I'm reaching for the disks when Livy's wineglass shatters on the floor beside me.

"Someone's coming!"

As quickly as I can, I slide the manila envelopes back into the safe-all but the Edgar file-and shut the steel door.

"The rug!" she hisses.

While I unroll the rug, Livy shuts the trapdoor and jumps clear. I slide the rug into place just as someone begins jerking at the doorknob.

"Who's in there?" says a muffled voice.

It's Leo.

Livy thumps the envelope in my hands. "If you want that file, you'd better do something with it. Quick."

Leo bangs on the door. "Who's in there?"

"It's me, Daddy. I'm coming."

Unbuckling my belt, I shove the envelope down the back of my pants, retuck my shirt over it, then zip up and rebuckle the belt. As I do this, Livy unbuttons the top three buttons of her blouse and musses her hair.

"Let's make it look real," she says, and pulls my face to hers. Her kiss is passionate, desperate even, fueled by anger and wine and God knows what else. In the few seconds that it lasts, it flushes my face and brings sweat to my skin. My senses are still buzzing when she walks to the door and unlocks it.

"What are you doing in here with the door locked?" Leo asks.

"I'm not alone."

He pushes his six-foot-four-inch frame through the door and swings his head around to me. His hard features go slack with amazement.

"What the hell's going on here?"

"Penn and I were talking."

"Talking." Leo is still wearing a suit, though he has untied his necktie. "Button that blouse, Olivia."

Livy does not button the blouse. She steps away from her father, leaving no obstacle between him and me.

"I can't believe you brought this bastard into our house," he says, his eyes locked on mine. "I want an explanation."

"Make one up. Anything you like."

Her defiant tone draws Leo's gaze away from me for a moment. "Don't take that tone of voice with me, young lady."

"I'll take whatever tone I please."

Leo looks off balance. Livy is not playing the role of favorite daughter. "What's going on here?" he asks. "What's Cage been telling you?"

"What could he tell me? Have you been keeping things from me?"

"Of course not."

"No?" She reaches into her blouse and brings out the scrap of legal paper, which she unfolds and hands to him without a word.

Leo stares at it for several seconds, then looks up blankly. "What's this?"

"Think about it," she says, her arms folded over her chest.

His face shows only confusion. He looks like he might have had a couple of drinks since receiving the warning about Presley. "Why don't you save me the trouble?"

"The adoption," Livy says in a dead voice.

"Your adoption?"

"Yes."

"What about it?"

"You took money for it?"

Leo shrugs. "So?"

"Thirty-five thousand dollars?"

"That paid a full year of your tuition at UVA."

Her mouth falls open. "Paid… you sold my baby to pay my college tuition?"

" 'My' baby?" Leo's face softens as he senses the hurt in his daughter. "Honey, you didn't want that child. I tried to get you to terminate the pregnancy, but you were against it. Given that adoption was your choice, I don't see what's wrong with-"

"Selling your own flesh and blood?" Her eyes are blazing now. "Like you needed the fucking money?"

"Profanity doesn't become you, Olivia."

"Profanity? Try obscenity. Selling my misery for money. That's about as obscene as it gets. I was just another profit-loss entry, I guess. Offset the liability of college tuition with the asset of unwanted babies. What the hell, right?"

Leo reaches out to her. "Honey-"

"Don't even try to justify it," she says coldly, backing away.

His look of sympathy evaporates. "I don't have to justify anything. You made a mess, I cleaned it up. It was the only big one you ever made, but it damn sure ruined most of what came after." He swings back to me. "Thanks to this punk."

"Leave me out of this," I tell him. "You've had the wrong idea about me for twenty years."

"How so?"

Livy looks at me and shakes her head.

"Ask her."

"Livy?"

"I don't know what he's talking about."

Leo's eyes roam over the study, taking in the wine bottle on the bar, his bookshelves, and finally the desk, where his gaze settles on the Sig-Sauer lying beside Livy's purse. He is nearer the gun than I, and he knows I'm thinking that.

"It was you who said Ray Presley was coming here to kill me, wasn't it, Cage?"

"That's right. I was doing you a favor."

"I think you were lying." He stabs a finger in my direction. "I think you broke in here looking for some kind of evidence. And I think I'd be within my rights to blow your goddamn head off."

He picks up the Sig-Sauer, cycles the slide, and walks around the desk.

"Presley killed Ike Ransom tonight," I say quickly. "He tried to kill me, but I got clear by sending him after you. I told him you gave him up to the FBI as part of your deal with Hoover."

Something twitches in Leo's cheek. "You're still lying. You're using my daughter to try and get at me." He turns to Livy. "The trial's tomorrow, and he's desperate. He's using you."

A dark light shines in Livy's eyes. "The way you used me against him?"

Leo isn't much of an actor; his feigned surprise is almost comical.

"Once I got here," she says, "I realized why you'd asked me to come. What you wanted me to do. The sad thing is, I wanted to do it. I thought Penn could wipe away all the mistakes I'd made. I thought his wife's death was fate. That we were being given a second chance."

"That's only natural," Leo says in a soothing voice. "But he took advantage of you, honey. What did he ask you to do for him?"