IT WAS TEMPTING. I'd held back so much for so long. Had lied to my friends and colleagues. The desire to justify myself, to relieve myself of my burden, was almost unbearable. I wanted to explain how, at first, I was just afraid, and how everything had happened so fast. How I'd only wanted to protect my husband, Paul. How I did it all for him. Now I knew how so many of the suspects I'd put away over the years felt right before they folded, purged themselves, gave it up. Confession was the last step to forgiveness, wasn't that the con? But then I remembered. I didn't need forgiveness. I had a pretty good Plan B. I did something then that I suspected Jeff Buslik didn't see too often in his high-powered corner office. I leaned back in the hot seat across from him, folded my hands on my tight skirt-clad lap, and smiled. Then I swung for the fences! "I see you have a lot of paper evidence here, Jeff," I said. "But I'm wondering, do you have any video evidence?" "What?" the chief deputy DA said. There was a look on his face that I'd never witnessed before. Complete befuddlement. "Lauren, please. Now isn't the time for nonsense, okay? I have a job to do here, and if you don't want to try to informally take a step in the right direction, I guess we'll have to -"" Video evidence, Jeff," I continued. "Video evidence is incontrovertible, isn't it? The only reason I keep harping on it is that, in the course of my investigation, I came across a . . . well . . ."I took my laptop out of my bag, turned it on, and hit "play." "Maybe you ought to see this for yourself," I said. "You really should, Jeff."

Chapter 79.

I LET HIM WATCH from the beginning of the surveillance to the end, uninterrupted. I sat staring out his window at the stands in the stadium. My dad had taken me to my first game there when I was eight. I didn't catch a home run, but I did taste my first beer when a drunk behind us dropped one on my head. I wondered what my dad would think of all this, of me. Would he be ashamed? Or proud that I was capable of getting bare-knuckle down and dirty to fight for my survival? I listened for some sign from my father as I waited. But all I heard was the number 4 train rattling by. When he was finished watching the DVD, Jeff Buslik snapped the laptop closed and took a good long look out the window himself. We listened to the heavy silence together for a while. The video was of Jeff's boss, John Meade, but in a way, that was even better than if it had been of Jeff. Jeff was going to run for the DA's office next November when Meade stepped down, and word was, he was a shoo-in to win. And that wasn't the only office he would be seeking, it was rumored. Diamond- bright, black, and with real star presence, he was already being called the Barack Obama of the Bronx by the press. But the political fact of life was, Jeff needed his boss's blessing. John Meade was a Bronx inst.i.tution, and Jeff was his right-hand man. Until Election Day, at least, they were inextricably connected. Until Election Day, if John Meade crashed, Jeff would burn along with him. Jeff seemed to realize this as much as I did. He looked like he had an upset stomach all of a sudden. A bad one. Finally, he moved his sour gaze onto me. "Evidence," I repeated. "You have it. I have it. Listen, I have no hard feelings, Jeff. I understand coming after me would be huge for you. National coverage, maybe celebrity status. I think it's great for somebody to want to get ahead. But if you take me on, I swear to G.o.d, the next time you see this footage, it'll be on the Fox News channel." Jeff thought about that one for a little while. "Did you kill him, Lauren?" he finally said. "Did you actually kill Scott Thayer?" "No," I said. "Don't you read the papers? Victor Ordonez did. Anyway, I am resigning. I just can't take this crazy c.r.a.p anymore. I think it's best to go out on a high note. Kind of like your boss. Don't you think that's best?" I stood and popped the DVD out of the laptop. "We're done here, right?" I said. "Our friendly little chat?" Jeff sat there silent for another minute. Then he turned, and the shredder behind his desk screamed twice, almost with glee, as he fed Scott's phone records and the parking ticket into it. "We're done, Lauren," Jeff said quietly to the far wall. There was a sadness in his voice. He didn't turn around again until I was gone. "I didn't kill him," I finally said - but only after I was outside the building, walking to my car.Part ThreeTHE WASHINGTON AFFAIR

Chapter 80.

"MORE SPARKLING WATER, signora? More Chianti, signore?""Si," Paul and I said in unison. Let the good times roll, right?The stubbled young waiter beamed with elation as he topped off our gla.s.ses, almost as if we'd just granted him his life's wish. Behind him, the pale stone walls of Monticiano, the newest and most expensive Italian restaurant in Greenridge, Connecticut, glowed like a Tuscan sunset. Paul's surprise dinner trip north to Litchfield County's only four-star Italian had been more than welcome after my draining morning at the courthouse. After what I'd managed to pull off with Jeff Buslik, I thought, as I took another mind-blowing bite of my fettuccine with truffles, I deserved a trip to the real Tuscany. "Signora, the signore would like to propose a toast," Paul said. "To the future," he said. "To the future." We clinked gla.s.ses. And to us being safe and together once and for all, I thought, taking a cool, clear sip of my San Pellegrino. Paul drank his wine and leaned back, smiling. It was like he somehow sensed everything was okay, now that the craziness was over, and that our new life - our real life - was about to start. In the flickering candlelight, I stared at Paul, almost as if for the first time. His sandy hair, his intense blue eyes, his strong hands - hands that had fought for me. "Honey? Honey, listen," Paul said, and he leaned across the table toward me. "Can you believe it?" From the speakers, Frank Sinatra was singing "The Way You Look Tonight." Our wedding song. Could it have gotten any more disgustingly perfect? My heart floated like the bubbles in my gla.s.s. That confirmed it, I decided. Paul and I would be together now. Finally happy, finally free. With the child we'd always wanted. "Well, what do you think?" Paul asked after the song ended."The pasta?" I said. "Bellissima.""No," Paul said. "The new neighborhood."Greenridge might have been just another quaint New England small town, except for the pricey art galleries, the pricey wine shops, and the pricey day spas up and down Main Street. Norman Rockwell meets SoHo. Monticiano itself was housed in a repurposed nineteenth-century firehouse. I'd read in New York magazine that a lot of New York City fashion designers and artists had country homes here. With the second-lowest crime rate in the entire Northeast, why wouldn't they?"It's mind boggling that we're going to move anywhere," I said. "But to here?" "And you haven't even seen the house yet," Paul said. "The tour starts after dessert." A new house, I thought. I mean, a roof that didn't leak? Doors that closed and stayed closed? I shook my head with amazement. I think it was still spinning when the waiter came back ten minutes later. "Some cappuccino, signora? Tonight's dessert special is cannoli with a lemon cream.""Si," I said, leaning back on my banquette, basking in my relief, the golden glow of the night, our insanely good luck. "Si, si, si."

Chapter 81.

HALF AN HOUR LATER, Paul was driving faster than he ought to have been in his Camry. My shoulder belt and stomach tensed simultaneously as he suddenly braked, and we swerved off the ridiculously bucolic road we'd been winding our way along over hill and dale. The sign outside my window, placed at the base of a stone fence, no doubt by kind woodland creatures or perhaps Robert Frost himself, read "Evergreens." In the fading light, the shadows of softly swaying pine trees along the drive printed a golden barcode across the fresh asphalt. "What do you think?" Paul said, stopping the car. "So far," I said, looking around, "so awesome." "You hear that?" Paul said, rolling down his window. I listened. All I could hear was the wind rustling the leaves. "Hear what?" Paul smiled. "Exactly," he said. "This is what it sounds like when there are no jackhammers or bus engines or raving homeless people. I've read about this somewhere. It's called peace and quiet, I think." "What are those grayish-looking things alongside the road - with that green stuff on top?" I said, squinting out my window. "Those are called trees," Paul said. "They talk about them in the brochure. They come with the house - if you upgrade the cabinets." Paul restarted the car and continued on to the top of the hill, where he stopped again so I could see all the houses in our neighborhood. They were beautiful, what else? New England-style colonials, maybe a half dozen of them, well s.p.a.ced and landscaped down a rolling valley. "Okay," I said, "what's the downside? Where's the catch? We're right in the landing path of an airport?" "Sorry," Paul said as we began making our way back down the hill. "Greenridge has an ordinance against downsides. Besides, we've had enough downsides to last a couple of lifetimes."Paul didn't know the half of it.

Chapter 82.

WE Pa.s.sED AN ENORMOUS PLAYGROUND, tennis courts, a manicured baseball field. I looked out at the precisely laid, brand-new white lines. Yep, it looked like a real neighborhood. Leave It to Beaver 's maybe. My head continued to spin.The sun was almost completely gone when we stopped in front of a large house beside a park with a stream. "What's this? The sales office?" I said. Paul shook his head. He took out a key. "It's the clubhouse," he said. "C'mon, I'll show you the lay of the land." Inside were conference rooms, several flat-screen TVs, a well-stocked weight room. Fliers on the bulletin board touted babysitting and block parties. There was a sign-up sheet for something called a progressive dinner at one-fifty a head. "And they're putting in a pool in the spring," Paul said, plopping down on a leather couch in the vaulted lobby s.p.a.ce. "How can . . . ," I started. "Even with your raise, this seems . . .""The houses are expensive, but it's pretty far from the city, so it's less than you think. My new salary will cover us and then some. You want to see our house? At least it will be ours - if you love it as much as I do."I put up my hand. "Just give me a second to pick up my jaw first." There was a halo of last light over the western hills as we pulled off the paved drive onto a dirt road that was still under construction. We crawled slowly past mounds of broken rock and heavy machinery. "I need to take it slow," Paul said. "There are nails and bolts scattered around from the construction. Don't want to get a flat. Wait, we're here." The dove-gray house Paul pulled in front of was . . . well, perfect. I took in the front porch, the soaring brick chimney, the graceful dormers on the third floor. Wait a second - there was a third floor? Everything looked done except the landscaping, which I was quite certain would be wonder-ful, too. "C'mon," Paul said. "I'll show you the master suite." "Are we allowed to be here? Don't we have to wait until the closing? Are you sure?" "Sure, I'm sure," Paul said with a laugh. "I'll leave the headlights on so we can see where we're going." We walked over the mounded dirt, and Paul opened the unlocked front door. Suddenly he threw me over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and pretended to trip as he brought me across the threshold. Our laughter and footsteps echoed off the gleaming hardwood floors. "I love it already," I whispered. "I really love it, Paul." Paul showed me where everything would be. I could hardly take in the airplane hangar-size kitchen, my eyes darting from maple to granite to stainless steel. Even in the dark, the tree-covered hills out the windows were breathtaking. "And this is where the nursery could go," Paul said, hugging me in one of the upstairs rooms. Outside the "nursery" window, stars were twinkling like diamond dust in the midnight-blue sky just above the dark treetops. My tears started flowing then. It was suddenly real. Our baby would grow up in this room. I saw myself holding a sweet-smelling, cooing bundle and pointing out the constellations, the rising moon. Paul wiped away the tears on my face and kissed the ones on my throat. "That bad, huh?" he whispered. Then, as suddenly as I'd started, I stopped crying. Because at that moment, the headlights of Paul's car, which had been lighting the house, suddenly went out. The tears went cold on my cheeks as the house turned as black as the s.p.a.ces between the stars.

Chapter 83.

"WHAT THE -?" Paul said in the dark. "Is it the battery? You have any idea, Lauren?"I stared at him. What the h.e.l.l was going on? Whatever it was, I didn't like it."Hey, wait. I know," Paul said. "My fault. I saw the tank was low yesterday, and I forgot to fill it. All this driving, we must have run out of gas." "Are you sure?" I said. I felt a little panicked actually. Guess I wasn't really used to the country yet. "Calm down, Lauren. This isn't the South Bronx, Detective," Paul said and laughed. "I'm positive that's it. There has to be a gas can floating around here with all this construction equipment. You stay here. I'll grab the flashlight and pooch around." "I'll come with you," I said. The unlit house had gone from cozy to creepy in no seconds flat. "In those heels?" Paul said. "Hey," I thought, regaining my senses. "Instead of foraging for fuel, why don't you just call Triple A with your cell phone?" Or better yet, I thought, glancing down the stairs into the darkness, 911. Paul laughed after a minute. "That's my Lauren," he said, going into his pocket. "Always have to spoil a little fun with that pesky logic." His hand came out empty. "I left my cell charging in the car," he said. "We'll have to use yours." "It's in my bag on my seat of the car." "Wait here. I'll go and grab it." "Be careful," I called to Paul. "Don't worry about me. This is Connecticut, sweetheart."

Chapter 84.

THE NEXT FEW MINUTES went by slowly. A cold wind suddenly blew into the house from the window cut-out. I stared out at the swaying trees that now looked like they belonged on the set of The Blair Witch Project. Ghosts couldn't haunt a new construction, could they?I checked my watch again. Shouldn't Paul be back by now? How long did it take to get a cell phone out of the car? I stepped toward the stairs with relief when I finally heard Paul's footsteps. He was standing on the open front-door threshold, holding a powerful flashlight. Had he gotten it from the trunk? "You get through?" I called down. The flashlight swung toward my face, blinding me. Then heavy footfalls pounded up the stairs. "Quit it, Paul," I said. "Not funny." "Wrong, b.i.t.c.h," a strange voice said. Then a rough hand struck my chest, and I was thrown backward to the floor.Not funny. And not Paul.For the next half minute, I was unable to do anything. See, breathe, think, speak, make my heart beat. When I was able to concentrate again, I lifted my hand up and squinted at the face of the shadowed figure who was standing with an unnerving stillness behind the blinding flashlight. "Who are you?" I said. "You don't know?" the voice said with disgust. "You actually have to rack your brain to come up with a name? You are one amazing b.i.t.c.h."The flashlight suddenly shifted up to the man's face. Oh, Jesus.I m.u.f.fled a scream - which came out as a groan instead. My lips began trembling as I recalled his mug shot. Dark, soulless eyes above high, pockmarked cheeks. I was looking at Mark Ordonez. The recently deceased Victor's brother!Where was my gun? was my next thought.A soft, metallic click sounded beside the light. "You left it in the car, dumba.s.s," the drug dealer said, reading my mind. "Listen, this isn't the way to handle this," I said quickly. "Trust me, it isn't." Ordonez answered me by cuffing my arms behind my back. "Get up!" he snarled. I stood, feeling strange and powerless. I felt like I was weightless as the drug dealer forced me down the stairs, holding the back of my collar. "Check this out," Ordonez said as we stepped outside onto the loose dirt of the front yard. He flashed his light on a form lying beside our car. The image came to me spottily, as if through TV white snow. It was Paul, faceup, his body almost completely under our car. Blood pooled on the ground beneath his head. He wasn't moving at all. "Oh, G.o.d!" I said, dropping on my knees. "Oh, no! No! Paul!" My mouth dried instantly as Ordonez yanked me up and dragged me around one of the mounds of earth, and I saw the van. Its side door was slid open wide, an open doorway leading to blackness. The only sound now was from our feet crunching gravel. I lost one of my shoes. After I hobbled for a moment, Ordonez stopped, stooped, and yanked off my other one. He heaved it away into the darkness. "You won't need it," he said. "Trust me on that." Down the hill behind the van, I watched a window light go on in one of the distant houses. I pictured a family sitting down at a dining room table, kids laying out plates and silverware, Dad loosening his tie. The countless stars above the houses twinkled. Not for you, I thought, as I was thrown into the van's open doorway.The cold metal floor slapped against my cheek, and then there was just blackness and the slide-bang of the door shutting. The metallic noise echoed in my ears.It was the sound of the world slamming its door in my face for good.

Chapter 85.

I COULDN'T STOP PICTURING Paul's body lying in the dirt beside his car. It took me a full ten minutes to stop shivering and to finally recover my ability to speak. "Where are you taking me?" I said, turning toward the front of the van. Mark Ordonez was fiddling with a silver gadget on the van's dashboard as he drove. Music suddenly filled the van. Old music with a lot of horns. It sounded absurd under the circ.u.mstances. "You like XM?" he called back to me. "This oldie's 'Fly Me to the Moon.' Frank's Place s.h.i.t is the mack daddy." He rolled his neck. With his military-style flattop, he looked like an understated, more disciplined version of his brother, Victor. The only flashy object he wore was his watch, a steel Rolex. Why did he scare me even more than his brother? He had a travel mug in the drink holder by his elbow. He lifted it out and took a sip. "Where are we going?" I asked again. "Oh, nowhere," he said. "Got a Piper in an airport across the Connecticut border in Rhode Island. I thought I'd take you on a little night flight. You up for it?" What was left of my heart sank. I wanted to cry, but to cry was to care too much about myself. The last thing I should do at this point, after all the pain and destruction I had brought to every person I was close to, was worry about myself. A searing numbness possessed me as I thought about Paul. Dear G.o.d, I prayed. Let Paul be okay. I really must have been in shock - like G.o.d was taking requests from me at this point. I lay there, silent, as we rattled along. "Ah, screw it," Ordonez said, lowering the radio. "I'll tell you where we're going if you let me in on something." I watched as his cold gray eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. "So, tell me, why did you and your partner kill my brother, then frame him for murder? He didn't kill that cop. You know it, and so do I. I mean, what the h.e.l.l? Why?" I felt a stab of hope as we rolled along. Ordonez thought I had something he wanted. Information about his brother. I had to use that to stall him, get him off balance, create a chance to save myself. "We got a tip from an informant," I finally said. "An informant?" he said. "How convenient for you. Snitch have a name?" "I'm sure they do, only I don't know it," I said. "The tip came through Scott's task force team. Somebody in your organization, I can tell you that for a fact. Give me a chance, and I'll help you find him." "Wow," Ordonez said. "You're almost as good a liar as Scotty was. He always liked sharp-minded pieces of a.s.s like you, even back in high school." I craned my neck and stared, wide-eyed, at the rearview mirror.What did he just say?"You knew Scott?" I blurted out. "Scott was my homeboy," the drug dealer said, rolling his eyes. "Back in the day when me and Vic was moving nickel bags, we used to plan fake busts with Scotso. Split our boss's money. I used to tip him off about our compet.i.tion, money couriers. He used to tip me off about heat coming in my direction." Ordonez laughed at my shocked expression. "The night Scott ended up dead, I was supposed to meet him. Only he postponed. Told me he had a booty call from this hot little Homicide detective. Up in Yonkers. You know who that hottie was?" I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth. I couldn't believe what an idiot I was."Yeah, Scott was one slick cat," Ordonez said. "Only, I guess he ran out of lives that night with you. You ever ask yourself what angle he was playing on you? Besides getting in your pants, of course. Because he never did nothing without some twisted reason, believe me. My boy Scotty, he was Freddy Krueger with a badge, more twisted than a pretzel."We drove in silence after that little bit of wonderfulness. "You still want me to tell you where we're headed?" Ordonez said after a minute. I nodded. "Yeah, I do." "We're going to fly due east of Providence for an hour or so. You know where that will put us?" I shook my head. "I don't." Ordonez winked at me in the mirror. "The Atlantic Ocean," he said. "About a hundred and fifty miles from land. Then - pay attention now, this is good - I'm going to slice open the palms of your hands and the soles of your feet." My breath started to come in sobbing bursts. "Don't worry, lady. Nothing life-threatening," Ordonez said. "But then I'm going to slow air speed, lower alt.i.tude, and plonk you out the door of the Piper into the deep blue sea. You getting the picture now? You feeling me?" I suddenly couldn't get enough oxygen. If my hands hadn't been cuffed, I would have covered my ears."From that point, you have exactly two choices," he continued as I experienced my first-ever asthma attack. "Drown yourself, or try to survive. You seem like the s.p.u.n.ky type. I'm guessing you'll think you're going to get lucky - a pa.s.sing boat or plane will spot you, pick you up. Only that's not going to happen. "Ordonez took a sip of his drink and adjusted his rearview mirror. He cold-eyed me. Then he winked at me again, horribly."While you tread water, your blood will seep. Then the sharks will come, Lauren," he said. "Not one, not two. I'm talking hundreds of sharks. Every hammerhead, blue, sandtiger, maybe even a great white or two, will be all over you like a b.u.m on a bologna sandwich. And then, Lauren - I'm not kidding here, I want you to be fully informed - you're going to experience the worst death imaginable. Alone, in the middle of the ocean, you're going to be eaten alive. In case you've been wondering, I loved my brother, well, like a brother."Ordonez suddenly turned up the radio, I guess to show his total disdain for me. What I heard couldn't be, I thought. But it was. Frank Sinatra. Oblivious to the irony, Ordonez checked his Rolex and took another sip from his mug. " 'Just the way you look . . . ,' " he sang along with ol' Blue Eyes, with a jaunty snap of his fingers, " 'tonight.' "

Chapter 86.

FOR THE NEXT TEN MINUTES or so, a kind of terror seizure overtook me. I lay facedown on the floor of the van, as still as a corpse in the back of a hea.r.s.e. Mark Ordonez drove smoothly, keeping it at a steady fifty-five in order not to attract any attention. From the occasional rumble of pa.s.sing trucks, I a.s.sumed we were on I-84 heading east toward Rhode Island. How much more time until we arrived at the airport? Another hour? Slowly, I began to come out of my fit. Just in time to realize who, in all of this, I'd hurt most of all. I turned on my side and brought my knees up until my thighs were almost touching my stomach. Whoever you are, I told the baby in my womb as I shook with sorrow, I'm so sorry. So sorry, so sorry for you, my little one. There was a hard shake as the van suddenly jogged sharply to the right."Hey!" Ordonez shouted, staring into his driver's side mirror as we swerved back again."This guy's gotta be drunk. Pick a lane, buddy." A second jarring shift flipped me over onto my stomach. Immediately after that, there was a loud, crunching bang, and the driver's side wall of the van bent inward. Jesus! What now? A steady rumbling noise along with a violent vibration suddenly filled the van. I realized that we had driven over the grooved shoulders that are there to keep drivers from falling asleep. The sound was like a bizarre alarm clock going off inside my skull as my forehead did a drumroll on the van floor. "Son of a b.i.t.c.h!" Ordonez yelled, gunning the accelerator. The van's engine roared, and the rumbling vibration stopped as we whipped to the left, back onto the road. I slid in the opposite direction and hit the pa.s.senger side wall like a forgotten pizza box. "Hey! It's not a drunk," Ordonez called back to me. "The driver's covered in blood. I don't believe it! How do you like this s.h.i.t? It's your husband!" He gunned the accelerator even more then. The engine whined, and the van began to wobble dangerously from too much speed. "White boy thinks he's a bada.s.s, huh? Want to play b.u.mper cars?" the dealer sneered into the driver's side mirror as he floored it. My stomach dropped when I saw him reach over and click on his shoulder belt. I didn't even have a lap belt to restrain me. "That's right, you dumb son of a b.i.t.c.h. Catch up, four-eyes! That's it. Now, how do you like . . ." There was a sudden shriek of metal and rubber as Ordonez slammed on the brakes. ". . . them apples!" he screamed. For a moment, the only sound was the whisper of me sliding forward toward the pa.s.senger seats. Then the back of the van blew in with an eardrum-ripping bang. I did a headstand as the van sprang forward, then a belly flop as it dropped back down with a hard bounce. Through my shock and the gap of the now-bent rear double doors, I saw the smoking front of what had been Paul's Camry. At the very top of the accordioned hood, through the shattered windshield, I could see Paul. He was covered with blood, but blinking at least, as he pawed at the deployed airbag in his lap.I turned toward Ordonez when I heard a loud, metal clack. He showed me my own Glock as he opened the door."Don't worry, Lauren," he said. "Our departure is still right on schedule. Be back in a jiff, honey." As he stepped out of the van, one thought pounded through me like a sledgehammer.He's going to kill Paul! After all this, Paul is going to die!

Chapter 87.

I SCREAMED THEN. One of those wordless, guttural roars that singed my own ears as I scrambled up with my hands still cuffed behind my back. Headfirst, reckless, without thinking, I propelled myself toward the open driver's side door. I missed the open door by a mile, but I did manage to bang my head a nice lick off the steering wheel before I landed upside down in the driver's footwell. Unbelievable. The idling engine raced as I thrashed against the gas pedal somewhere behind me. I kicked my legs, trying to get some leverage to push myself outside. My foot was stuck between the steering wheel and the gear shift. I kept kicking, trying to free myself.Uh-oh.The gear slid free with my foot, and suddenly the van was rolling. The van was picking up speed! Based solely on the sudden sound of car horns and the elongated blast from a semi, I guessed that I was rolling into traffic. I'd managed to sit sideways in the footwell by the time Ordonez arrived in the open doorway at a run and jumped in. "Where do you think you're going, you crazy b.i.t.c.h?" he yelled. He slapped me across the face before he lifted me up and threw me into the pa.s.senger seat, then steered the van back onto the shoulder. He shut the engine, pulled the emergency brake, and put the keys in his pocket before he stepped outside again. Then Ordonez raised a finger at me and smiled wickedly. "Okay, let's try this again," he said. "You stay ri -" I never got to hear him finish his sentence. Or his word, for that matter. The truck that removed him and the van door was a car carrier. Loaded to full capacity with Chevy Tahoes and creaking like a trailer park in a tornado. It must have been doing a good seventy-five or eighty. One second Mark Ordonez was standing there, and the next he was simply gone. Erased, like in a magic trick. The best one I'd ever seen.

Chapter 88.

I SAT THERE, blinking at the van's windshield. The car carrier didn't stop. Didn't even hit its brakes. It was as if the driver hadn't even noticed. A hundred feet or so up the highway, I caught the movement of something sailing end-over-end into the thick roadside brush. Van door or drug dealer, I wasn't sure. Maybe G.o.d had heard my prayers after all. Or heard somebody's prayer for me. Paul was lying on the ground behind his totaled car. I saw his body as I managed to exit the van. My heart was back in my throat again. "Paul, I'm here," I said as I ran and knelt down next to him. I prayed he was okay. CPR was going to be a stretch with my hands cuffed behind my back. "Lauren," he said. His teeth started chattering. "I saw the taillights leaving, and I -" "Don't talk," I said.The blood seemed to be coming mostly from the back of Paul's head, where the drug creep had hit him, probably several times. My breath caught as the words subdural hematoma flashed from my mental Homicide detective Rolodex. I usually saw it on coroner's reports under cause of death. It seemed like a miracle that Paul was conscious, that either one of us was alive, really."Stay still," I whispered in his ear. "Don't move." Cars whipped past us on the highway as I sat down in the broken gla.s.s beside my husband. Blue and red lights started to bubble in the distance. Paul's blood was warm on my legs. "You saved me, Paul," I whispered as two state troopers' cars zipped out of the traffic and screeched to a stop in front of us.Again, I thought, but didn't say. You saved me again.

Chapter 89.

"MILK AND SUGAR OKAY?" Trooper Harrington said as she came toward me across the UConn Health Center ER waiting room. Ever since she and the other statie, Trooper Walker, had seen my badge, they had gone above and beyond. Instead of waiting for an ambulance, they laid Paul down in the back of Harrington's cruiser and only asked questions as we headed for the nearest hospital at about 110. Trooper Harrington even loaned me a pair of sneakers from her workout bag in the trunk to put on over my bare and cut-up feet. "How's your baby and your husband?" she wanted to know. "The ultrasound showed everything was fine," I said. "But Paul has a concussion and needed st.i.tches. They want to keep him overnight for observation. The doctor thinks he's going to be okay, thank G.o.d. Thanks to you and your partner." "Can't say the same about that Ordonez fella," the female trooper said with a shake of her head. "I radioed back to the scene. They found him in the weeds a couple of hundred feet up the road. It was a car carrier that hit him. They said he looks like one of those pennies after you leave it on a railroad track. That's the downside of looking for trouble, isn't it? Sometimes you manage to find a little more than you bargained for. "Hey, important thing is, you came out on top. You and your husband and your baby. Your family is safe. What else is there?" I looked into the state trooper's caring face. Her pulled-back blonde hair, her scrubbed cheeks, her alert blue-gray eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with competence. She was maybe one or two years out of the academy. Had I been that earnest once upon a time? I guess I had been. A million years ago, it felt like. And on another planet. I envied her, admired her, too."So, what's NYC Homicide like?" she said. There was a starstruck glow in her eyes. "What's it really like? Not like Law and Order, I hope.""Don't listen to a word she says" came a booming voice from behind us. "She lies like a rug." I turned around toward a smiling face I hadn't seen in a while. In way too long, I decided. It was my partner, Mike. "What are you doing here?" I said. "One of these Connecticut Chip wannabes called Keane, and he called me," Mike said as he squeezed my hand. "I came straightaway. The brother came for you, huh? Unbelievable. What a trip. Guess he shoulda stuck to the friendly skies instead of our nation's highways, huh? They pulled him out from underneath a semi or something like that? Nice work, Lauren. That's the best news I've heard all day." I nodded my head. Then I finally started crying. I had treated Mike like the enemy, and now here he was, holding my hand, supporting me as always. "I'm sorry, Mike," I said. "I'm . . ." "Going to buy me a late dinner?" Mike said, linking our elbows as he stood me up. "Okay, if you insist." We found an all-night diner just up the street from the hospital. "So, what's new, Lauren?" Mike said as we sat. He was back on with the cop humor. I sipped my coffee in the awkward silence between us. The joe was scalding and bitter. A lot like what I now had to admit. Mike winked at me. "C'mon, Lauren. I killed an Ordonez," he said in a low voice. "Now you've killed an Ordonez. If you can't talk to me, who else is there?" I told him everything. Staring into my coffee cup, I recited the whole story. What I knew. When I knew it. Every sordid twist and every tawdry turn. Mike took a last, loud sip of his Diet c.o.ke and looked out at the pa.s.sing headlights. "You know what, Lauren?" he said after a while. I shook my head. "Call me screwed up, but even after hearing all that, I'm pretty much glad about what's happened. Maybe they didn't kill Scott, but let's face it, those two Ordonez brethren were an ugly strain of bacteria. And if what brother Mark said was true about Scott being involved with them, then, h.e.l.l, maybe even he had it coming. The Lord," Mike said, "He sure do work in mysterious ways."

Chapter 90.

I LISTENED TO THE clattering plates in the diner. Something was sizzling on a grill. On the TV behind the register, a reporter was cackling like an idiot as he was buffeted by the high winds of a Florida storm. "That's why I'm quitting," my partner suddenly said. "My little brother owns a bar in San Juan. He invited me down. I already put my papers in. I'm cashing in all the vacation I've been saving, so today was my last day. I'm out." "But . . ." "But what, Lauren?" Mike said. "I've put my time in, and you know what? It didn't work out, so screw it. If you make a mistake at a factory and someone gets hurt, what's the worst thing that can happen? You'll lose your job? In our job, you make a mistake, chances are you're losing your job and going to jail. For what? Fifty grand a year? We're not even allowed to go on strike. Please. You know how many dead people I've dealt with? How many grieving mothers? Not worth it. I'm over. What's that song, Lauren? 'Even walls fall down.' " I started weeping again then, really crying my eyes out. "Yeah," I managed to say. "And I'm the one holding the sledgehammer." Mike wiped the tears off my cheek with his thumb. "Bulls.h.i.t," he said. "Me pulling that trigger had nothing to do with you." I stared at him. "Nothing?" I said. "Well," he said, pinching his thumb and first finger together. "Maybe a teensy-weensy bit." I punched him in his arm. "But I forgive you, Lauren," he said. "We're partners. But when it comes down to doing the right thing for your family, well, things get hairy quick, don't they? Who am I to judge? No one. Not anymore. That's why I'm out. Though I do regret one thing." "What's that?" I said. "Not being there to see the million-megawatt grin slide off that slick Jeff Buslik's face when you blackmailed him. I always knew you were an a.s.s kicker, but Christ. You go right for the jugular when you have to." "Or lower," I said, wiping at my red eyes. "Whatever the situation calls for." Mike lifted the ketchup bottle and made the sign of the cross at me with it. "You are now forgiven for your sins, my child. Go forth unto the Earth and sin no more," he said, standing. "I mean it, Lauren. You're a good person. Don't ever forget that." "I'll try not to, Mike." He gave me a kiss on my forehead before he stood. "And if you ever make your way down to San Juan, you look me up. Ex-partners, even ones involved in super-crazy s.h.i.t like you, get hooked up with margaritas all night long."

Chapter 91.

I WAS COMING OUT of the shower Monday morning of the following week when I found Paul waiting for me. He held my morning coffee in one hand and my fluffy bathrobe in the other. "What service," I said, beaming a smile at him. "I almost can't stand it. Almost." "Least I could do, considering what a big day this is," he said, planting a kiss on my dripping nose. It was a big day, I thought as I was royally a.s.sisted into my robe. I took a sip of the coffee and wiped the steam off the mirror with my sleeve and looked at myself. My first day back to work. And the last of my career. I'd decided to take my partner Mike's lead. I was going to hand in my resignation today, finally get out. It would be a change for me, I knew. It was going to be incredibly hard to get used to not being a cop. But given what had happened over the past several weeks, I had to admit that it was high time for me to make the move. Twenty minutes later, my face and badge polished, Paul gave me another kiss at the garage door. He was dressed for work as well, looking great, handsome as ever. His concussion, like the doctors had thought, had only been minor, thank G.o.d. Except for twenty or so st.i.tches at the back of his head, he was as good as new. He, too, was wrapping things up at work. It was all arranged now. We'd gotten the paperwork from the relocation company on Friday. Both closings were set. Paul's new Connecticut job and our new Connecticut lives would start in six weeks. If we could get through the next eight hours. Not exactly a sure thing, considering our recent history. I crossed my fingers as I raised my travel mug to his. "The family that quits the rat race together . . . ," I said. "Stays together," Paul said as the clink of stainless steel echoed off the walls of the garage.

Chapter 92.

I CAUGHT LIEUTENANT KEANE in his office when I came into the squad room. He only looked up from his Post sudoku puzzle after I closed his door.Then his sharp blue eyes scanned my face. Suddenly, he slapped his paper and pen onto his desk. "Please," he said. "Not you, too. Don't tell me you're leaving. You can't. How does that make sense, Lauren? We lose one cop, and now two more are gone?" "It's not like that, LT. You're reading this wrong." "Please. Do I look stupid? If it's IAB you're worried about, I have hooks and -" "I'm pregnant, Pete," I said. Keane stared at me as if I'd shot a round into the ceiling. He rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips. Finally, reluctantly, he smiled. Then he stood and walked around his desk and gave me a fatherly hug. The first, I believe, he'd ever given me. Probably the last, too. "Well, young lady, even though I don't remember giving you permission to get pregnant, congratulations to you and Paul. I'm happy for you both." "I appreciate it, boss man." "You had some trouble, too, if I remember. Ann and I did, too - before the twins. That's just terrific for you guys. You have to be ecstatic. I'm sickened by the fact you're completely s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g me by leaving, but I'll get used to it, I suppose. I'm sure as h.e.l.l going to miss you. I guess going out and tying one on is out of the question. How can we celebrate? How about some breakfast?" My boss ordered in from the precinct's local bodega, and we sat for half the morning, telling old stories as we ate scrambled egg quesadillas and drank coffee. "Hey, if I'd known it was going to be this much fun," I said, wiping hot sauce off my cheek, "I would have retired years ago." Keane's desk phone rang as we were finishing our coffee. "Yeah?" he called into it. "That's weird. That's very strange. Okay, send her up, I guess." "Send up who?" I asked, an edge creeping into my voice. "The witness in Scott's case. What's her name? The old schoolmarm?" My heart and stomach did a simultaneous stutter step. Amelia Phelps! What now? "What does she want?" I asked. Keane pointed his sharp chin out at the rail of the squad room stairs, where Amelia Phelps was standing. "You can start your two weeks' notice by finding out. Go talk to her." I got right up and walked out to see what was up. "Yes, Mrs. - I mean, Ms. Phelps," I said, leading her to my desk. "What can I do for you today?" "I was expecting to get a call to come in and look at a lineup," she said, removing her white gloves as she sat. "But no one ever got in touch, so I thought I'd stop by and ask if I can be of any a.s.sistance." I let out a long breath of relief. Mike must have forgotten to let her know we wouldn't need her after all. "I'm sorry, Ms. Phelps, I should have called you. It turns out we apprehended the suspect, so we no longer need your help. It was so good of you to come in, though. Can I give you a ride somewhere? Back to your house maybe? It wouldn't be any trouble." I usually wasn't in the business of chauffeuring witnesses, but Ms. Phelps was elderly. And besides, she was the last conceivable wrinkle in the whole ordeal. The sooner I got her out of there, the better. "Oh, okay," she said. "That would be very nice, Detective. I've never actually ridden in a police car before. Thank you." "Believe me," I said, steering her toward the exit. "It's no problem at all."

Chapter 93.

THE REST OF THE DAY I spent on the phone with personnel. On hold with personnel was more like it as I attempted to hash out the bureaucratic details of my resignation.Periodically, my fellow squaddies came by to register their surprise and well wishes. They even insisted I head out with them around four to The Sportsmen, the precinct's local gin mill, for a farewell drink. Though my bladder came dangerously close to the bursting point at the bar - with Diet c.o.kes, of course - I was deeply touched by my co-workers' concern and respect. They even gave me one of those corny, oversize greeting cards with what had to be the entire precinct's signatures.See ya, it said on the front.And on the inside, Wouldn't wanna be ya.Who knew Hallmark had an NYC Cop Att.i.tude section?"Oh, guys," I said with a sniffle. "I'm going to miss you, too. And I wouldn't want to be ya either."It was around seven when I finally begged out of there and headed for home. That's funny, I thought, as I pulled into my driveway. I didn't see Paul's car. He usually called to let me know when he had to work late. I was opening the call file on my cell to ring him, when I noticed something kind of strange in the den window over the garage. There was a dark gap in the slats of the blinds. As I scrolled down for Paul's cell number, I tried to remember the last time I'd opened them. I looked back up, slowly, very deliberately, then shut my cell phone with a click. The gap in the blinds had closed.Wait a second, I thought. Hold on.My mind raced as I thought of the possibilities. Could this be more friends of the Ordonezes? Maybe there was another brother I didn't know about? Or maybe you're just tired and paranoid, I thought. Maybe one too many Diet c.o.kes at The Sportsmen. I pulled out my Glock and put it in the belt of my skirt at the back. Most definitely a little skittish, I thought. But better paranoid than sorry.

Chapter 94.

I TOOK OUT MY KEYS as I came up the stairs, acting as naturally as I could. When I was out of sight of the den window, I drew my gun and ran around to the back of my house. I glanced at the windows. Everything seemed intact. No sign of a break-in. No trouble so far. There was a small gap in the curtains at the back door. I peered through it, watching the front-to-back hallway for a while. No movement. Nothing. After a few minutes, I began to feel silly. There was n.o.body there but me. Then, at the end of the hall near the door, something suddenly crossed through the dark hall. A large shadow moving quickly. I was sure of it. s.h.i.t! I thought as my pulse pounded. Christ! I could feel my heartbeat in the fillings of my teeth. That's when I thought of Paul. Maybe he actually was home. And there was somebody in there with him. Running around in the dark. Who? For what possible reason? I had to go inside, I decided with a deep breath. I slipped off my shoes and, with painstaking quiet, unlocked the back door and turned the k.n.o.b, as slowly as I could."Shh," I heard somebody say. Not me.I was lifting my Glock toward the sound, ready to squeeze off a shot, when the lights went on. "SURPRISE!" said a couple of dozen voices in unison. I'll say! Jesus G.o.d, it was my friends and family. The female ones, at least. By some miracle, I didn't fire a round. Thank goodness for safe-action pistols. I gaped at the Mylar balloons, the green-and-yellow-wrapped presents, the three-wheel yuppie jogging stroller parked in the corner. It wasn't a home invasion after all. Not bad news or tragedy. It was my baby shower! And judging by the number of hands that shot up over open-mouthed, blood-drained faces, I guessed it had been a real surprise all around. I lowered my sights from between my elderly Aunt Lucy's eyes. She started breathing again. "Look, Mommy," my sister Michele's four-year-old daughter said in the dead silence. "Auntie Lauren has a gun." "It's all right, ladies," Paul said, smiling as he hurried forward and helped me to reholster my weapon. He gave me a hug to help me recover. "Why did you plan the shower for now? I'm only eleven weeks," I whispered as he kissed me on the cheek. "I wanted to make sure you got a shower before the move," Paul said, turning back toward the crowd. "Now, smile. Big smile. Enjoy your party. "It's all right," Paul repeated. "Just another day in the life of a hero cop. Thank G.o.d we have a fresh supply of diapers, huh? Who needs a drink?"

Chapter 95.

THE SHOWER WAS A BIG SUCCESS - happy times for all, but especially for me. I had such good friends, and even my relatives were mostly nice. Life was finally starting to make some sense again. And then - "Hey, stranger!" Bonnie Clesnik said, dropping her menu and almost knocking the table over as she hugged me in the middle of the Mott Street Dragon Flower the Sunday after the baby shower. I looked around at the overly bright restaurant. There were cloudy-looking fish tanks everywhere. When my old CSU sergeant friend Bonnie called me to come out with her, I was thinking pub grub, home fries, a couple of Virgin Marys maybe. I blinked as I picked up the menu and saw the picture of a turtle and a frog. Wow. Sunday brunch in Chinatown. I guess Bonnie had never had morning sickness herself. "I can't believe I missed your retirement party and your shower," Bonnie said as we sat. "Someone on third shift called in sick, and wouldn't you know it? I got the call." "Save the regrets, Bonnie," I said, smiling. "It's me here. This is great. Perfect." As long as I can keep the Chinese food down. "So," Bonnie said midway through the dim sum. "All of a sudden, it's so many changes for you. I would have thought they'd have to pry you off The Job with a hammer and a crowbar. I'm so happy for you and Paul, of course, but . . . I don't know. I've seen how you work cases, Lauren. The glow in your eyes. How fearless you can be. I'm not the only woman cop you've inspired, either, by the way. I guess it's hard for me to see you turn it all down and walk away. Somehow, I can't see you as a soccer mom." Gee, Bonnie. Thanks for the vote of confidence, I thought. Wasn't this supposed to be a celebration? Let the good times flow? Suddenly, Bonnie laid down her chopsticks. "Before I forget," she said. "I have a gift." Bonnie removed a large manila envelope from her bag and handed it to me. I opened the flap. "Just what I've always wanted," I said, looking at the pages and then staring at my friend quizzically. "A computer printout."What was going on now?"I received that on Friday from the FBI lab," Bonnie said. She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and looked into my eyes with kind concern. "It's the results from the DNA sample I found on the tarp Scott Thayer was found wrapped in." The world whited out for a second as a sudden heat flash sizzled through me. Our G.o.dd.a.m.ned Neat Sheet! I actually remembered the picnic where Paul had provided his DNA sample! It was our first anniversary. Paul had brought me and two bottles of champagne up to the exquisitely beautiful Rockwood Hall Park in North Tarrytown. Had it ever gotten better for us? I doubted it. Late summer. Champagne and crickets, and just the two of us. It was the first time we'd actually tried to get pregnant. I glanced at the pages, then back at my friend. "What are you talking about?" I asked Bonnie. "I thought that you said all you could find was Scott's blood." "After I sc.r.a.ped it off, I noticed that there was another, older stain. It turns out it was dried s.e.m.e.n. Just enough to get a DNA signature." I squinted at the pages. What would it take for Scott's case to stay closed? I wondered. Holy water? Pounding a stake through its heart? Shooting it with a silver bullet? And what the h.e.l.l was I supposed to say now? Bonnie seemed to be waiting for something from me. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?" I finally got up the courage to ask. "I tried to," Bonnie said. "But it was the morning of the Ordonez shooting, and I couldn't reach you. When I called your lieutenant the next day, he told me to s.h.i.t-can it. They'd found Scott's gun on Victor Ordonez, and the case was a slam-dunk." "So what's the problem?" I said. Bonnie let out a sigh. "What can I tell you, kid? The DNA isn't from Ordonez. And yeah, I'm sure." I ran through the implications at the speed of light. They had Paul's DNA! That would be devastating for him, for both of us. And baby makes three. "Whose is it?" I said carefully. "We don't know," Bonnie answered.Thank G.o.d for small mercies, I thought.But unfortunately Bonnie wasn't done. "But we did get a cold hit from another crime scene," she said. "How about that?"What?! How about I shoot myself here in the Dragon Flower?A vague and sickening dread hit the center of my chest like a punch. "Run that by me again," I said to Bonnie. "The Feds' CODIS database collects DNA samples from crime scenes across the country in order to ID perpetrators. It turns out, the same DNA from the s.e.m.e.n on the blanket in your case was found at another crime scene - an armed robbery in Washington, DC. Happened nearly five years ago. The case was never closed." The dread that had been operating in my stomach suddenly shifted its strategy for attack and caught me in a hammerlock around the throat. I was having trouble thinking, even sitting in an upright position. No. It couldn't be. What Bonnie was saying meant that . . .Paul had been involved in another crime? An armed robbery?

Chapter 96.

THE WAITER CAME and Bonnie paid. Then she reached across the table and patted my shaking hands. "I didn't mean to drop all of this on you at once, Lauren," Bonnie said. "I was as shocked as you are."Want to bet? I thought, dropping my eyes to the table."An armed robbery in DC?" I whispered through the cotton that had suddenly materialized in my mouth. "You're sure about it, Bonnie?" "The brief abstract they sent with the positive match said the DNA came from a blood sample found at an armed robbery in a DC hotel. But the case wasn't solved, and it's still open. The match means that we have anonymous secretions at two different crime scenes. s.e.m.e.n on the blanket used to cover Thayer. And blood in some DC hotel room." What did that mean? Obviously, they still didn't know it was Paul's. As if that mattered, I thought, dropping my pulverized head into my hands. As if anything did at this point. Bonnie kept talking but I barely heard what she was saying. All I could do was blink and nod. The impossible had just happened. For the first time in a while, I had actually managed to stop caring about Scott's case. I had a new distraction. Almost five years ago Paul had committed some kind of armed robbery in a hotel room? My brain labored over that thought, then promptly went on strike. Because that was impossible. But DNA doesn't lie. When I looked up, I found Bonnie staring at me, waiting for some kind of comment. "So what does this mean?" I said, as if I didn't know the answer. "Victor Ordonez didn't kill Scott Thayer?" Bonnie looked out the window onto crowded Mott Street. There was pain in her eyes. "I don't know. How could I, Lauren? Maybe he just borrowed the blanket off a friend, but it definitely throws some doubt out there, doesn't it?" she said. "The kind of doubt a defense lawyer would have a field day with. Not to mention the press jackals."I looked at the neon Chinese characters in the restaurant window. A black eel in the aquarium beside our booth batted his head against the gla.s.s as if trying to get my attention and say something. Hey, Lauren. Why don't you just run screaming out of the restaurant? Don't stop till you get to Bellevue.Bonnie straightened the papers against the tabletop, pushed them back into the envelope, and stuffed the whole thing down into my bag. "But I decided it's the kind of doubt this city, this department, Scott's wife, and most especially you, Lauren, don't need thrown out there." She gestured toward my handbag. "That's why I'm giving it to you, honey. This case was screwed for everyone involved from the word go. This is my retirement present to you. The DC detective's name and contact info are somewhere in those sheets, if you ever want to pursue it on your own. Or you can chuck it off the Brooklyn Bridge. Your choice." Bonnie planted a big kiss on my forehead as she stood up at our table. "One thing I've learned as a cop is that you do what you can. It's not our fault that sometimes that's not enough. Lauren, you're my friend, and I love you, and it's up to you. See you around."

Chapter 97.

IT WAS A FEW HOURS LATER, and dark, when I found myself standing in Battery Park at the southern tip of Manhattan.Manhattan, my father used to say before we'd start his thrice-weekly walks from this very park. The greatest treadmill in the world.His postretirement exercise routine consisted of riding the subway here to the last stop, walking over to Broadway, and seeing how many of Manhattan's thirteen concrete miles he could cover before he got tired and hopped on an uptown subway headed back home. All through law school, I'd go with him if I had the chance. Listen to him talk about the crimes and arrests that occurred at the countless intersections. It was on one of those walks with Dad that I decided I wanted to be a cop rather than a lawyer. Wanted to be just like my father. And it was right here, at the beginning of one of those walks, all alone, that he died of a heart attack. As if he'd have it no other way than to pa.s.s on the streets of the city he served and loved. I rested the FBI report against the rusted railing before me as I listened to the dark waves slap against the concrete pier. Just when I'd completed the toughest puzzle ever, Dad, I thought. I'd been handed an extra piece. Story of my life recently. "What do I do, Pop?" I whispered as tears fell down my cheeks. "I don't know what to do." There were exactly two options, I knew. I could toss away Bonnie's gift, like I had the rest of the evidence, and head to my new life in Connecticut, a blissful soccer-mom-to-be. Or I could slap myself out of my denial and figure out what the h.e.l.l was going on with my life, and with my mysterious husband. I held the envelope over the railing. This was an easy one, right? All I had to do was release my fingers and it would be over. I would go to the train and head north, where safety, my husband, and my new life waited. A gust of wind picked up off the water, flapping the envelope in my hand.Let it go, I thought. Let it go, let it go.But, finally, I dug my nails into the envelope and clutched it to my chest. I couldn't. I needed to get to the bottom of this, no matter how hard, how ugly, it got. Even after everything I had pulled, all the craziness, all the hurting my friends and covering things up, I guess there was still some sc.r.a.p of detective left in me. Maybe more than a sc.r.a.p. I closed my eyes tightly. Somewhere in the darkness of the park behind me, I sensed an old man stretching his legs, limbering up for a walk. As I turned around quickly to find a taxi, out of the corner of my eye I felt a figure nodding in my direction, a smile on his face.

Chapter 98.