“What’re we gonna do?” he asks, his voice still a whisper.

“I have a few ideas,” I tell him. It’s an empty promise, but Charlie doesn’t bother to challenge. He just keeps his head against my shoulder, searching for support. On the wall, we’re one big shadow. Then my phone rings.

The shrill screech echoes through the room. I jerk back; Charlie doesn’t move. Reaching into my suit pocket, I quickly shut off the ringer. When there’s no answer, the person calls back. Whoever it is, they’re not giving up. The phone vibrates against my chest. I reach back in and shut it off.

“You sure we shouldn’t get it?” Charlie asks, reading my expression.

“I don’t think so,” I quickly reply.

He nods as if that’ll keep us safe. We both know it’s a lie. Along the back wall, the candles’ tiny flames are dancing in place. And no matter how much we want to shut our eyes, from here on in, it’s only getting worse.

“Well?” Gallo asked.

“No answer,” Lapidus said as he hung up the receiver. “Not that I’m surprised – Oliver’s too smart to pick up.” Turning to the photocopied letter that Gallo left on his desk, Lapidus looked down and quickly skimmed it. “So this is how they did it?” Lapidus asked. “A fake letter signed by Duckworth?”

“According to the tech boys, that’s the last document Oliver typed into his computer,” Gallo explained as he limped across the vintage carpet. After what happened with Joey, he was in no mood to sit. “And from the hard copy we found hidden in the back of Shep’s drawer, it looks like Shep was helping them along.”

“So the three of them met this morning, and when things went sour, Oliver and Charlie took his head off,” Quincy hypothesized from his usual spot by the door.

“That’s the only thing that makes sense,” DeSanctis said, shooting a cocky look at Gallo.

“And what about the investigation?” Lapidus asked. “As you know, we have a number of important clients who rely on our promise of privacy. Any chance of keeping it… how do you say… out of the papers?”

There it was – the one thing Gallo was waiting for. “I completely agree,” he replied, seizing the opportunity. “If we throw this to the press, they’ll broadcast our every move straight to Charlie and Oliver. When it gets this big, we’re all better off on the quiet side.”

“Exactly – that’s exactly our point,” Lapidus said, nodding vigorously at Quincy. “Isn’t that right?”

Quincy didn’t nod back. He’d had enough sucking up for one day.

“So you think you’ll be able to find them?” Lapidus asked as Gallo picked up the phone on the corner of Lapidus’s desk.

Gallo glanced at Quincy, then back to Lapidus. “Why don’t you leave that to us.” Quickly dialing a number, Gallo raised the receiver to his ear. “Hey, it’s me,” he said to the person on the other line. “I got a cell phone loose in the city – you ready to do some tracking?”

I don’t turn the phone back on until I’m ten blocks away. And even as it flicks on, it takes me another block and a half to work up the nerve to dial. For strength, I think of Charlie. As I wait for someone to answer, I try to keep my balance in the back of the bus while it crawls uptown and crashes through the city’s potholes. Sure, the subway is more inconspicuous, but last I checked, my phone didn’t get a signal underground. And right now, I need to keep moving – anything to put distance between me and the church.

“Welcome to Greene & Greene Private Bank. How can I assist you?” a female voice sings through my cell phone. I’m not sure who it belongs to, but it’s not any of the phonebankers I know. Good. That means she doesn’t know me.

“Hi, this is Marty Duckworth,” I say. “I had a quick question I was hoping you could help me with.” As she checks my account and Social Security number, I can’t help but wonder whether the bank’s system is even going to be up and running. If the Secret Service were smart, they would’ve already shut it d-

“I have your account right in front of me. Now what can I help you with today, Mr. Duckworth?” She says the words so quickly… so eagerly… I can’t help but smell a trap. Too bad for me, I need the cheese.

“Actually, I just wanted to check the most recent activity on my account,” I tell her. “There was a large deposit that came in, and I need to know what day it posted.” Clearly, it’s a nonsense question, but if we plan on figuring out what’s going on, we need to know how Duckworth’s three million turned into three hundred and thirteen.

“I’m sorry, sir, but in the last week… I’m not showing any deposits.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m looking at it right now. According to our records, your current balance is zero, and the only activity on record is a three-hundred-and-thirteen-million-dollar withdrawal yesterday afternoon. Other than that, there were no deposits to-”

“What about the day before?” I ask, watching the passengers on the bus. No one turns around. “What was the balance on the day before?”

There’s a short pause. “Not including interest, it’s the same amount, sir – three hundred and thirteen million. And it’s the same on the day before. I have no record of any recent deposits.”

The bus bucks to a halt and I grab a metal pole for balance. “Are you sure the balance wasn’t three million dollars?”

“I’m sorry, sir – I’m just telling you what’s on my screen.”

She says the words and my hand slides down around the pole. It can’t be. It’s not possible. How can we -?

“Mr. Duckworth…?” the woman on the other line interrupts. “Can you hold on a second? I’ll be right back.”

“Of course,” I agree. The line goes silent, and for thirty seconds I don’t think much of it. After a minute, I can’t help but wonder where my phonebanker went – it’s the first rule they teach you – when you’re dealing with rich people, you’re never supposed to put them on hol… hold on. My chest twitches. This is still a company line. And the longer she keeps me on it, the easier it is for the Secret Service to tra-

I slap the phone shut, hoping I’m fast enough. There’s no way they can do it that fast. Not when it’s-

The phone vibrates in my hand, sending a frozen chill across the back of my neck. I check the number on Caller ID, but it’s nothing I recognize. Last time, I ignored it. This time… if they’re tracing it… I need to know.

“Hello?” I answer, keeping it confident.

“Where the hell are you?” Charlie asks. There’s no phone in the chapel. If he’s risking a call from the street, we’ve got problems.

“What’s wrong? Are you-?”

“You better get back here,” he demands.

“Just tell me what happened.”

“Oliver, get back here. Now!”

I pound the bus’s Stop-Request strip with the base of my fist. Goodbye frying pan – Hello, fire.