"They can't charge you on something like that."

"It gets better. They found the murder weapon in the lilac bush behind Kate's house. No prints-it was wiped clean-but it turns out the gun was taken from the weapons locker over at vice. Naturally they like a cop for it."

"And because you and Kate have history..."

"You got it."

"Jesus, Quaid! What can I do to help?"

"Keep an eye on O'Riley," he said softly.

Gwen sat bolt upright. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I'm in holding now. They made the arrest late last night. I was arraigned in night court. Bail was set at two hundred thousand.""That's ridiculous!" she sputtered. "No cop has that kind of money. Not an honest one, anyway."

"Yeah. Kinda like the Monty Python witch hunt, isn't it? Throw the witch in water. If she floats, she's guilty. Burn her. If she drowns, she's innocent but dead."

The a.n.a.logy came too close for comfort. A convicted vice cop wouldn't be very popular with the other inmates.

"Have you tried a bond?"

"The union rep wouldn't even make the calls. He figures at this hour, on a Sat.u.r.day, there wasn't much point."

"If and when the lazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d calls, tell him your new lawyer and your bond money are on their way."

"Gellman-"

"Don't start with me. The lawyer and the bond agent owe me. And if you skip out, I'll hunt you down and take out your kneecaps with a crowbar."

"Jesus, you say that like you're hoping I'll skip. Who'd you have in mind for a lawyer?"

"Ryan Cody."

He whistled, long and low. "Talk about the devil's advocate. That'll get their attention."

"That's the idea."

"Problem is, with the clients Cody represents, hiring him is second cousin to an admission of guilt."

"Let's hope you stay alive long enough to worry about it."

Gwen hung up before he could embara.s.s them both by thanking her. She dialed Ryan Cody's home number, letting the phone ring until Cody picked up.

Gwen quickly described the situation. "I need you to call around right away and a.s.sure everyone that Quaid is your client and that he'll make bail."

"Will he?"

Amazing how the mention of money brought Cody wide awake. "Write a check on Simmons, Fletcher, and Rye. I'll meet you afterward at the breakfast place in Barrington-that little diner on Old Country?"

"I know where it is."

"Good. I'll bring enough cash to cover the bail and your fee."

A long silence followed. "You can put that kind of cash together in an hour?"

"Sure, but you might have to pick up breakfast."

She hung up and dialed Ian Forest. "I need a quarter of a million, in cash. How much do you think I could get on eBay for that big blue gem of mine?"

"That's nothing to joke about. When do you need the money?""Forty-five minutes?"

"I'll be there in thirty."

He made it in about twenty-five and handed her a small backpack of the sort middle-school kids carried.

Gwen unzipped the bag and peered inside. Fat stacks of twenties filled the backpack. She shook her head in astonishment and closed the bag. "I'll make sure you get it back."

"No need. The money is yours-or will be, as soon as Edmonson's estate is settled. Since that task has fallen to me, you can consider this an advance. Do with it as you like."

She shouldered the bag. What she'd like to do is shove it up the a.s.s of every pervert who put the money in Edmonson's pocket. Keeping Quaid out of jail was not quite as n.o.ble, but it'd have to do.

Later that morning, Gwen headed over to Jason's bungalow.

He met her at the door, grinning when he noted the size of the bakery box she carried.

"That should do for both of us. I've already made coffee. Give me a minute to put it in some travel cups.

We can take it out on the boat, if you want."

She nodded and followed him to the kitchen. While Jason fixed the coffee, she gazed over the backyard to the river. A light wind ruffled the water into a shimmering silver blue, and the boat anch.o.r.ed a few feet offsh.o.r.e bobbed invitingly. It was one of those spring mornings that made everything look bright and fresh. And speaking of which, Gwen noted that Jason had made some repairs to the small dock. As they approached, she was glad to note that Frank's old rowboat was rea.s.suringly unchanged.

She got into the backseat and took the oars. Jason deftly untied the mooring rope and hopped in.

"You want me to row?"

"Kind of hard to do from where you're sitting."

He shrugged and settled down in the front seat. Gwen rowed out to the fishing boat. She pulled up to the float that marked the second anchor line and tied the rowboat, then scrambled up into the boat.

To her surprise, the temperamental motor turned over for Jason at the first try. Most likely he had tinkered with that, as well.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

Gwen smoothed the frown from her face. "Caffeine deprivation. Hand me one of those cups."

Jason didn't look convinced, but he refrained from further questions. He steered the boat down the river and into the bay. The wind was brisk enough to entice early morning sailors, and he moved among the slower crafts with ease and skill.

"I forgot to ask you if you could drive this thing," Gwen said, "but you've sort of covered that. Where'd you learn?"

"My stepfather liked to fish. Hunting, too. He took me out quite a bit. Growing up in Florida, you can do both year round. In fact, I spent a lot of summers working as a guide down in Big Cypress, the Seminole reservation." He grinned. "You look appalled. Are you one of those people who frown on hunting?""h.e.l.l, no. I'd whack a cow any day, if that was the only way to get a burger. It seems to me that if you're going to eat meat, it's more honest to kill your own."

"So..."

"It's just that I've never met a real country boy before. Won't you miss all that, if you settle down here?"

He sent her a quizzical look. "If? I'm pretty settled already."

"You're really diving into the computer stuff. Thinking of changing careers?"

"What, and give up the lucrative lifestyle of a martial-arts instructor and occasional carpenter?"

Gwen grinned. "You don't seem to care much about lifestyle. Except for the car. That's a sweet little ride."

"It's a Miata," he told her. "They're about the same price as an econ.o.box, and a lot more fun. You can get some great deals on used cars. If you want, I'll help you look around."

"Why not? I've got nothing better to do than go car shopping."

Her sarcasm prompted a quick smile. "I can see that. You must have searched high and low for that heap of blue sc.r.a.p metal."

"It runs. Most of the time."

She helped herself to a cinnamon donut. "So, you still up for that self-defense cla.s.s Tuesday night?"

"I'll be there. I've been meaning to ask how you got started teaching."

She swallowed a sugary mouthful and chased it with a gulp of coffee. "It's a community school. Several cla.s.ses are held in a local church. A friend of mine goes there. She heard about the program and talked me into doing a self-defense cla.s.s."

"Do you like teaching?"

Gwen shrugged. "None of the women are all that serious about it. I'm guessing none of them have had to be."

"Not like you."

She sent him a quick, sidelong look. "I was a cop, for chrissakes."

"But you started learning martial arts when you were, what? Around twelve?"

"You've got a good memory. Yeah. I was small for my age and I got beat up a lot."

He shook his head. "Somehow I have a hard time seeing you as anyone's victim, no matter what your age and size."

"Who said I was a victim? I said I got beat up a lot. The other people didn't walk away without a scratch." And some of them, Gwen added silently, didn't walk away at all.

Jason throttled down and settled the boat into a more leisurely pace. "I've been meaning to ask how you're doing. You know, with Frank gone."Gwen's throat tightened. "I miss him. Other than that, I don't know what to tell you."

"So you're content to let the official version of his death stand?"

"Actually, I'm a long f.u.c.king ways away from 'content,' but it's out of my hands. The man who killed Frank-or at least, the guy who was responsible for it-is dead."

"The guy who ordered the Cody girl's kidnapping."

"That's right."

"Aren't the police still looking for the kidnappers?" he asked cautiously.

Gwen met his tentative gaze squarely. "They'll stop eventually."

He gave that some thought, then nodded slowly. "I can live with that."

It suddenly occurred to Gwen what he thought she was telling him. "You think I killed those guys!"

He studied her face for a moment before answering. "You never told the police Frank's laptop was missing. When you gave it to me, I figured that was your way of letting me know the score had been settled."

"And you were okay with that."

"It's one solution. In fact, I can't think of a better one."

"Some people could. Most of my former colleagues, for example."

"I'm not going to run to the police, Gwen," he told her. "You seem surprised by my att.i.tude. Keep in mind that I grew up as a citizen of the Seminole Nation. I never went out of my way to break American laws, but I didn't hold them in high regard, either. My mother's influence, in part."

"Cops' ex-spouses are seldom crazy about the system," she admitted.

"Add to that the fact that I'm a Southerner and a male. Our motto is 'Deal with it.' To be honest, I'm glad Edmonson is dead."

Gwen jolted in surprise, sending coffee sloshing onto the deck. Her hands were shaking as she put down the cup. "Edmonson?"

Something nickered in his eyes. "You mentioned him when you told me about Meredith Cody's kidnapping. I put the pieces together from what you said and figured he was the guy in charge. Was I wrong?"

She didn't remember mentioning Edmonson's name, but Jason's explanation was plausible. With all she'd had on her mind, it was no surprise she'd let something slip.

The conversation switched to general topics: movies, music, the Red Sox. Gwen liked football and couldn't give a rat's a.s.s about the Bambino and his curse, but it turned out that Jason was a lifelong Sox fan, and still d.a.m.n near giddy over the 2004 World Series. Morning ran into afternoon, and they docked at the Wharf Tavern in Warwick for a bowl of chowder.

Her first creamy spoonful triggered a memory, and a profound sense of loss. She swallowed hard, forcing the soup past the lump in her throat."You look sad," Jason observed.

She shrugged. "Frank used to make chowder about once a week. It was sort of a tradition."

"Sorry I missed it."

"Me, too."

She would have said more, but suddenly yawning seemed much more imperative.

She noticed Jason's stare and stopped in mid yawn. "Sorry."

"When was the last time you slept?" he demanded.

"What day is this?"