'The one that says McCord died in jail? You think he was murdered in his cell to keep him quiet and didn't commit suicide?'

'Yes. So simple confinement may not be enough protection.'

'Then I'll make sure the Constant Global Surveillance employees have extra guards,' Isenberg said. 'But I also have other news for you. We have information on the sniper on the roof of the building across from CPD. The Feds did some fancy work with their facial recognition software. Her name is Alice Newman. Law degree from the University of Kentucky.'

'And she's a sni-?' Scarlett caught herself. 'Wow.'

'That was our reaction too. She still hasn't said anything besides that she wants a lawyer, but her cell phone had photos of the suspect she tried to shoot today. And of Marcus.'

Scarlett's breath rushed out in a shudder. She cleared her throat, kept her voice level. 'I understand.' She looked at Marcus talking to the two old people and felt a fear so intense that her knees threatened to buckle. Demetrius had tried to kill him nine months ago and then again. yesterday. This woman had obviously taken up the challenge since Demetrius had failed.

There was a woman, she stood in the hall. Told him someone was coming.

Scarlett assumed that the woman who'd warned Demetrius that day in the hospital had been the same woman who'd accompanied him when he'd transported the Bautistas. A woman the Bautistas had called Alice.

'Do you have any recordings of this woman's voice?' she asked her boss. 'Even if it's only saying that she wants a lawyer?'

'Yes. We've been recording her since we brought her in. Why?'

Because even if she refuses to say another word, I can have Marcus listen to her to see if she's the one he remembers being in the hospital when Demetrius came after him. 'Like I said, I can't speak freely here, but I'll tell you as soon as I leave. I'll call back in a few.' Scarlett hung up as Marcus walked away from Tommy and Edna, his expression one of pained amusement that changed to concern as soon as he met her eyes.

'What?'

'Nothing bad, but we need to get back to CPD now.'

Minutes later they were in Scarlett's department car and headed toward CPD. 'What happened?' he asked.

She told him everything Isenberg had shared. 'The woman in your memory, the one who warned Demetrius when he had the pillow on your face . . . Do you think you'd recognize her voice if you heard it again?'

'I don't know,' he said honestly. 'Does it matter? She had my photo on her phone. I was probably going to be her next target.'

'Remembering her voice would allow us to connect her to Demetrius, which involves her in the conspiracy to traffic humans. Otherwise she can claim to be a third party hit-person.'

He lifted his brows. 'Murder for hire is no chump charge.'

'No, but I want justice for Tala. I want every single person who profited from her three years of misery to pay. I want them to die. In the absence of that, I want them to rot in prison forever and know exactly what it means to have someone else control your destiny.' Her eyes stung, her voice trembling. 'I want to be able to look in Malaya's face someday and know that I did everything humanly possible to ensure that her mother's sacrifice was not in vain.'

He let out a slow breath, then reached over and wiped the tears from her cheeks. 'All right. I'll do my best.'

'That's all I can ask,' she whispered.

She drove for a few minutes in silence, gathering her composure. She hadn't intended to get so emotional. She seemed to do that a lot around Marcus O'Bannion. Hell, maybe it was good for her to vent it off. She certainly felt better right now, and he didn't seem to mind.

'You okay now, Miss Scarlett?' he asked lightly, mimicking Tommy's endearment.

'Yeah. I am.' She glanced at him curiously. 'What did Tommy say to you?'

Marcus snorted a laugh. 'All the things that your dad and brothers will say when I finally get to meet them. I'd better not break your heart or he'll break me in half, tear off my arms and beat me with them. That kind of thing.'

'Tommy? Really? Awww, that is so sweet.'

'Sweet? He threatened my life and you call him sweet? You really are bloodthirsty,' he teased.

'Well you don't have to worry. I doubt Tommy's got any follow-through left in him.'

'I don't know about that. The old guy's still got strong hands, and he says he knows how to use them. I'm inclined to believe him. Did you know he has a Purple Heart?'

Scarlett blinked. 'No. I had no idea. Vietnam?'

'Yep. He carries it around in his pocket.'

'He showed you his Purple Heart, just like that? He never showed it to me.'

'He asked me what I'd done with my life. I told him I'd served. That had him backing off just a little to only a partial disemboweling if I hurt you.' He smiled when she laughed, but then he sighed. 'I hate the fact that so many vets are on the streets. Makes me want to fix that.'

'You can't fix everything, Marcus.'

'I know. But I still try. And so do you.' He was quiet for a moment. 'He told me all the things you've done for him and Edna and some of the other street folks.'

Scarlett's cheeks began to heat. 'Tommy exaggerates.'

'I don't think so. He told me about the water you make sure he drinks and the food you just happen to have with you. About how you nag him to go the shelter and make sure he gets appointments at the clinic.'

Scarlett rolled her eyes, her face now hotter than a flame. 'I don't nag. I remind.'

'Hm. He told me about the blankets and the shoes and the gloves you "happened to have with you" last winter when it was so cold. About how you never forget his birthday or Edna's. And he told me that when his sister died, it was you who came to sit with him in the hospital. That was how long ago, Scarlett?'

'Twelve years this fall,' she murmured.

'You were only eighteen then. Not a cop yet.'

'No, not yet, but I knew I'd be one. I miss Tommy's sister. She kept him stable for so long. Tommy didn't use to live on the stoop all the time, you know. He had a shoeshine stand downtown. On Saturday afternoons when my dad was off duty, he'd drive me to dance lessons and take the long way home so he could get Tommy to shine his shoes. This was way out of our way. We lived in Bridgetown and my dance studio was there.'

'Wow. So basically he'd drive all the way from the west side into the city.'

'Exactly. He would park near Tommy's corner and pick me up and carry me on his shoulders, then I'd sit on his lap and listen while he and Tommy talked about nothing at all while Tommy shined his shoes. But it wasn't really nothing. It was my dad getting the pulse of the neighborhood. Creating some trust. I get that now, but I didn't understand when I was a kid. One day when I was a little older, maybe nine or so, I asked Dad why he paid Tommy to shine his shoes when I could do it cheaper, plus he'd save gas money and time. I was a bargain.'

Marcus's lips curved. 'Enterprising. What did your dad say?'

'That Tommy needed the money and I didn't. I told him that I did so need it, that I was saving for a girl bicycle with tassels on the handlebars, that I was tired of boy-bike hand-me-downs. That I was his kid and Tommy was some man on the street. Then Dad said he helped Tommy because "but for the grace of God, there go I".'

'Your dad's a vet too?'

'Yeah. He was in Vietnam at the tail end of the war, only for a few months. I didn't understand when I was nine, but hearing that Tommy was a vet, it makes sense now. Anyway, Tommy would go home every few days or so and sleep in a real bed and eat a real meal. Then it became every few weeks, then months, and then when Sondra died, he had no place to go. It was like his only tie to the world snapped. I never really thought about taking care of him. It was just something that you did.'

'You do. How many cops do you know who do the same?' Marcus had twisted in his seat and now stared at her profile. She could feel his stare and it was making her uncomfortable.

'I don't know. I don't talk about it.' She frowned. 'Tommy wasn't supposed to either.'

'Because you have a reputation as a ball-buster.'

'Yeah, and I worked damn hard for that reputation,' she said indignantly, making him laugh. 'You think I'm kidding. People like Tommy start breaking radio silence all over the damn place and everyone will start thinking I'm a sap.'

'Your secrets are safe with me, Miss Scarlett.'

She smiled. 'He's called me Miss Scarlett since I was sitting on Dad's knee in a pink tutu eating an ice cream cone. The truth is, I do what I do because I'm selfish. There are times when I am so angry that I want to walk up to some meth-head who's beaten his girlfriend's child to death and put my hands around his neck and squeeze so hard that his head pops like a zit. And there are the times I get rough with a suspect and I have to yank myself back. That's when I drive through the neighborhoods and do something . . .'

'Kind?' Marcus supplied.

'I guess.' She shrugged, feeling awkward. 'It keeps me tethered to the light. So I'm really getting more out of it than Tommy is. Ergo, selfish.'

'You keep on saying that if it makes you feel better,' he said, shaking his head. 'You know, you haven't said much about your father. I assumed he was a . . . distant man.'

Scarlett had to swallow hard. 'No. My dad is pretty wonderful, actually. He worries about me. Mom does too. I used to be their little girl and now I'm this angry, resentful person.'

'You keep saying so. I don't see it.'

She thought about that. 'Maybe when I'm around you I don't feel so angry.'

He smiled. 'I like that explanation.'

'Dad never wanted me to be a cop. He said I had too soft a heart, that I'd be chewed up and spit out. But it's all I ever wanted to be. And when Michelle died and Trent Bracken walked . . . I made a promise to Michelle's memory that I'd be a cop and I wouldn't have a soft heart. That I'd do my job so well that future Trent Brackens wouldn't go free.'

'But your dad is right. You do have a soft heart, and cases like Tala's tear it open. So you do that long-blink thing and shove it all down. How long will you be able to keep that up?'

'For as long as I can. For as long as it takes.'

He sighed. 'I figured you'd say that. I also don't figure I'm in any position to tell you any different.'

'Pot meet kettle,' she said in resignation. She pulled into the CPD parking garage, started to take the keys out and stopped cold as her mind snapped back to the case. 'Wait just a minute. The Feds brought that suspect in from Constant Global Surveillance yesterday. They could have brought him in this way, through a protected parking garage, but they took him in through the front, where he became a target.'

'You're right.' Marcus folded his arms over his chest. 'When we asked how they knew the shooter was on the roof, Coppola said they got a tip.'

'They set it up,' Scarlett said. 'Made the tracker guy bait. Not that I'm complaining, but it was risky.'

'They must have really trusted that tip,' Marcus said, watching her carefully.

Scarlett considered what she was about to say and decided he had a right to know. 'They have a man inside.'

'The Feds?'

'Yeah. I don't know who. Don't know where. Don't know how they contact him. All I know is that I wasn't supposed to tell you that.'

His expression went carefully blank. 'I would have guessed eventually. But thanks for telling me now.'

He said it so stiffly that she was certain 'thank you' was not what he was really thinking. 'I didn't ask you about Diesel.'

'True, but this is different. This impacts my life.'

'I didn't know for sure that it would, not until just now. They were watching more than one trafficking group which is what they do. They're the human trafficking task force. That's not news to anyone. I didn't know that the undercover Fed was watching the same people who want you dead. I know now. And so do you.'

He relaxed. 'I'm sorry. You're right.'

'Damn straight I'm right. But now you have to act surprised if someone tells you.'

He feigned a shocked look. 'How's this?'

She snickered. 'Don't give up your day job. Come on. Let's go meet Alice Newman.'

Thirty-three.

Cincinnati, Ohio

Wednesday 5 August, 6.00 P.M.

Ken found Decker sweating and shirtless in the bedroom where Demetrius had died. The younger man had a circular saw in his hand and was cutting up the last of the bloody mattress into strips. The room was stifling hot, largely because Decker had opened the window to air the place out. The air conditioning simply wasn't keeping up.

Decker turned the saw off when he saw Ken standing there. 'Almost done, sir,' he said, pulling a hand towel from the back pocket of his jeans and wiping the sweat from his face. 'I'll haul it out and burn it.'

'No. The smoke will attract attention. Just bury it.' Ken was glad to see the mattress go. Killing his oldest friend had been far harder than he'd thought it would be, even though Demetrius had betrayed him.

'Will do.' Decker started to turn the saw back on, but hesitated. 'Anything else?'

'Where are Burton and the Anders girl? I just checked the basement and it's empty.'

'I did what you said. They've been taken care of.'

'Already?'

'Like I said, I like working the woodchipper.' Decker frowned. 'Please don't tell me you changed your mind.'

Ken laughed grimly. 'No. I thought I'd have a last chat with Miss Anders. She was . . .'

'A bitch,' Decker muttered. He turned to show four deep claw marks down his shoulder.