Still, Christy had a right to know that her instincts had been dead on the money. But if Levy wasn't pressing charges, and if the police found nothing to connect Bethlehem to Gerhard, she'd have nothing to back up her claims. She'd sound like an overprotective, possessive, paranoid madwoman. Hell, the cops hadn't even released news of Gerhard's death yet. Jack wondered about that, but figured they might want to notify his next of kin first.

He'd set up a meet with her, tell her what he knew, and let her take it from there.

7

As soon as he was on the move, Aaron speed-dialed Julia's cell phone. "It's me," he said when she answered. "You home?"

"I'm just leaving the office. Why? Something wrong?"

"Damn right it is. The therapy is a bust. He's on a rampage." She said nothing for a while, then, "Meet me at home." He cut the connection and upped his speed, yet his thoughts raced ahead of him. And his heart raced ahead of his thoughts. He'd finally stopped shaking, but a soaked undershirt lay plastered against his skin.

He'd been as good as dead tonight. The shock of finding Bolton in his garage had paralyzed him. The look of death in those cold blue eyes, the point of the knife against his throat… he'd almost passed out. The suffocating ride in the trunk and then… salvation.

But the things that stranger, Robertson, had told him… about Gerhard's torture-murder… they had to be true. It made no sense for Robertson to save him, drive him back to his car, and let him go, just to lie to him.

Gerhard dead! Il had to be Bolton. He'd found out the detective was investigating him and killed him. And how he'd killed him. Aaron shuddered. That might have been him.

But why me?

He posed no threat to Bolton. Of course, he didn't have to. Bolton merely had to perceive him as a threat. But why would—?

Julia. Had Julia set him up? Had she sicced Bolton on Gerhard and then on him? But why would she do that? Sure, he'd been a reluctant partner in this experiment, but he'd gone along with all her risky plans.

None of this made any sense!

He called Marie next and told her he'd be stuck at the institute for a few more hours. Good wife that she was, she said she'd keep some dinner warm for him.

He got off at Tarrytown and went straight up 9 to Julia's house.

His superior at the Creighton Institute, Julia Vecca, M.D., M.S., Ph.D., was single, ascetic, politically connected, and intensely, relentlessly devoted to her job as medical director. Aaron had been there a couple of years longer but was not so driven—he had a life outside the institute, after all—and not the least bit connected. Hence her position as director. Which was fine with Aaron. He wouldn't have minded the extra money—something Julia didn't seem to care about—but didn't want the administrative headaches. He shared Julia's commitment to the project, but not her zeal.

He pulled into the parking lot of her condo complex and parked next to a grime-caked Jetta—Julia's car. Always easy to find. Just look for the dirtiest car on the lot and that would be Julia's. She didn't believe in washing cars. They'd only get dirty again.

He sat waiting and watching, afraid to leave the locked womb of his In-finiti. No sign of Bolton but that meant nothing. He could be hiding anywhere.

Aaron stared across the small expanse of pavement and lawn to Julia's front door. So near, and yet…

He called her again. When she answered he said, "I'm outside."

"Really? I didn't hear you knock."

"I didn't. Open the door and wait for me."

"I don't—"

"Just do it." He added, "Please."

After all, she was his boss.

He saw a rectangle of light appear, silhouetting a vaguely female figure. With his heart pounding he leaped from the car and dashed toward it. Julia backed away, her expression alarmed, as he charged in and slammed the door behind him.

"Aaron, what the hell is going on?"

Julia almost never cursed.

He noticed that she'd let her hair down, an act that made many women more attractive. Julia, however, proved an exception. Her barely shoulder-length mouse-brown hair—just long enough to tie back with an elastic band—was stringy and in need of a good shampooing. Her makeup-free face was pale and shiny as her wide dark eyes regarded him through thick glasses. She'd traded her usual blouse and slacks for a baggy gray NYU sweatsuit that softened the sharp angles of her thin frame.

Aaron locked the door, then turned to her.

"Bolton kidnapped me."

Her eyes widened further, growing huge through her lenses. "Are you crazy?"

"No. He's the crazy one, remember?"

He peeked through one of the door's sidelights, looking for movement outside. God, he was still shaking inside.

"But why would he—?"

He whirled toward her. "Exactly what I want to know. If some detective hadn't seen it and set me free—"

She stiffened. "Detective? Are the police—?"

"No, this one's private. I never got around to asking who hired him, but I assume it was the same woman who hired Gerhard."

"Why would she hire two detectives?"

Aaron steadied his jangling nerves as best he could and watched her closely, gauging her reaction.

"Because the first one is dead. Murdered."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "What?"

Aaron knew Julia was no actress—a strictly what-you-see-is-what-you-get type—and her shock seemed genuine.

He nodded. "The new detective found Gerhard's body. He'd been put through some bizarre sort of water torture before he drowned."

Julia dropped onto a couch and began picking her nose as she stared at a wall—a blank wall, just like all the others in her townhouse.

Aaron had asked her once why she didn't hang a picture or two; she'd seemed genuinely puzzled by the concept: Why? Once I've seen a picture or a painting, I've seen it. Why would I want to look at it again?

She made a good salary but Aaron had no idea what she did with it. Certainly didn't spend it on furniture. Most of hers was mismatched and secondhand. She was the least materialistic person he'd ever met. All that mattered to Julia Vecca was her work.

And now her work had murdered a man.

She extracted her finger from her nose, stared at the tip, then wiped it on her sweatsuit pants.

Aaron kept close watch on her face as he said, "How did Bolton know about Gerhard?"

She didn't blink, didn't shift her gaze from the wall as she said, "I told him."

Aaron had suspected that, but it was a jolt to hear it put so matter-of-factly.

Now came his turn to drop into a chair.

Private investigator Michael Gerhard had shown up at Julia's office one day and rocked them with a question neither of them had expected to hear: Why was a murderous psychopath like Jeremy Bolton out on the street?

The detective had been hired by the mother of some young thing Bolton was diddling. He'd snagged a glass with Bolton's fingerprints from some restaurant, run it through various databases, and come up with a hit in ViCAP.

Julia had explained that it was all legal, a government-funded-and-sanctioned pilot program, and how secrecy was crucial to its success. The new identity they'd created for Bolton must not be compromised.

Gerhard had said his client had a right to know what sort of man her daughter was dating. He'd been hired to find something on the man and he had. He was going to tell his client.

Julia offered him twice what the client was paying, and to put him on permanent retainer with the institute if he'd keep what he'd learned to himself. Gerhard had taken the money and kept his mouth shut. But he hadn't stopped snooping.

"Why… why on earth would you tell Bolton?"

"I thought he should know. Dating a teenager is risky behavior. I couldn't tell him not to, but I thought if he knew the mother was looking into his past he might decide to break it off."