''Where's that coming from?'' Franklin asked.

''Outa my pocket,'' Lucas said, looking across the desk at him. Lucas had the money, all right: they never talked about it, but they all knew it.

''Way to go,'' Del said. He looked at the others: ''That's what'll get them.

We'll buy the motherfuckers out.''

The phone rang on Lucas's desk.

ALTHOUGH COPS WERE EVERYWHERE AROUND THE HOTEL, there were still a few working the neighborhoods, doing the routine.

Barney's Old Time Malt Shoppe pulled in a lot of cops because Barney used to be one, before he retired, and because he rolled free coffee to any cops who stopped in, and always had a booth open. A single patrol car sat in Barney's lot. Stadic noted the number, 603, then cruised the place, peering through the windows. A tall, slender, pink-cheeked sergeant with pale hair and a much darker mustache: Arne Palin, two years behind Stadic at Central High.

Stadic pulled to the curb, kept an eye on the cops through the window. Harp had written down the plates on the truck LaChaise had taken to the laundromat for the meeting. Stadic took the piece of notepaper out of his pocket and called

Dispatch on his handset: ''Yeah, six-oh-three, run a Chevy S-10, Wisconsin

Q-dash-H-O-R-S-E.''

''Hang on…''

A moment later it came back: the truck was registered to an Elmore Darling, on a rural route in Turtle Lake, Wisconsin.

''Thanks for that…''

He looked through the window into Barney's. The cops inside hadn't heard their car number going out. He moved down the street, to a stop signal.

Now. One more call.

He brooded about the idea through the green light: the streets were empty, and he sat staring at nothing, the redyellow-green bouncing unseen across his face.

He knew the phone number, all right. If he had the guts… but then, it was hardly a matter of guts anymore. It was a matter of urgent necessity. And he'd already set it up.

If Davenport thought LaChaise was going after his daughter, LaChaise was a dead man: and that's what he needed. Dead men. Stadic pulled himself together and punched in the number. Christ, if they recognized his voice…

The phone rang once, then Davenport's voice said, ''Yeah?''

''I don't want to say who this is-I don't want to get involved-but you gave me your card, once.'' He pitched his voice up, made it smooth, syrupy.

''OKAY,'' LUCAS SAID, AN EDGE OF IMPATIENCE IN HIS tone. He was staring at

Sherrill, who was chewing on a cuticle. Lucas didn't need tips about loan sharks, cigarettesmuggling, credit card dealing, dope factories.

''I live down by Richard Small and Jennifer Carey.'' The voice was curiously soft. ''That's your little girl with Jennifer, right?''

There was a hard moment of silence, then Davenport said, ''Jesus.''

''There's been a truck driving around. I saw him twice when I was out walking my dog. Wisconsin plates. I thought I should call.''

And the caller was gone.

Lucas exploded out of the chair and ran from the office and through the building to Dispatch. The other four, not understanding, went after him.

A PATROL CAR SQUATTED IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE, EXHAUST curling up into the falling snow. Another was parked across the street, and the two cops from the car waited in the back of the house. Lucas arrived fifteen minutes after his dash to

Dispatch, carrying his black wool overcoat and a briefcase. Del trailed a few steps behind, like a destitute bodyguard, watching the windows up and down the street. A cop met them at the door.

''We kept everybody away from the windows,'' the cop said. ''There's been nothin' on the street. Nothin' moving.''

''Good. And thanks. Keep an eye out,'' Lucas said.

Jennifer Carey and Richard Small waited for him in the dining room, the blinds pulled.

''Where's Sarah?'' Lucas asked, without preamble.

''Upstairs, in bed,'' Jennifer said. She was still the willowy blonde, but with a few more wrinkles than when Sarah had been conceived. Lucas had wanted-had offered, in any case-to marry her, but though she'd wanted the baby, she hadn't cared for the prospects of marriage to Lucas. Now she and Small, a vice-president at TV3's parent corporation, hadput together a family: Jennifer's daughter, his son. Jennifer looked past Lucas at Del, and a tiny smile caught her lips. ''How're you doing, Del?''

Del shrugged. ''Cheryl's gonna make it.''

''What's the threat level?'' Small asked. He was short, muscular, blunt, a onetime Navy pilot in Vietnam, and Lucas liked him.

''We don't know,'' Lucas said. ''The call was weird, but we can't take any chances. You're gonna have to move.''

''I can't quit working,'' Jennifer said. ''This is too large.'' Lucas said,

''That pushes the threat quite a bit higher.''

''We'll keep her behind security, inside the building,'' Small said. ''We'll make sure she doesn't leave at any expected time. We can use different cars.''

''That'll all help,'' Lucas said. ''But we still haven't figured out their capability. We know there are several of them, and we've only got the ID on

LaChaise. The other two-we just don't know.''

Jennifer looked at Small. ''Do you think you could get off?''

Small shook his head: ''I'm not going anywhere; I gotta be here.'' He turned to

Lucas. ''How safe is this hotel you're putting people into?''

''Safe,'' Lucas said. ''That'd be the best place. We don't really know how much these guys know about us. I don't know how they found out about Jen and Sarah. ..''

''Sloan's wife,'' Jennifer said.

Small and Lucas looked at her, and she said, ''Sloan's wife. She'd take care of the kids-she loves kids. And she's in the hotel, right?''

Lucas nodded. ''Give her a call.''

Jen headed for the phone, and Lucas turned to Small: ''If we can get you guys in the hotel tonight, we'd like to put a few guys in here… I'd be with them. ..''

''Use the house as a trap,'' Small said.

''Yeah.''

Small nodded: ''All right. So let's get the kids out.''

Jennifer came back: ''She says she'll be glad to take them.''

Small said, ''Pack a suitcase. You go with the kids for tonight. Lucas is gonna set up an ambush here… and I'm going to stick around. Make sure the cops don't steal anything.''

Del looked him over. ''You gotta gun someplace?''

Small nodded: ''Yeah. I do. I don't like people fucking with my kids.''

My kids…

Lucas never flinched, but as he stepped over to a telephone, he caught

Jennifer's reflection in a windowpane. Behind his back, she'd brought a finger to her lips, and Small nodded. Lucas picked up the phone and called downtown:

''Sherrill and Franklin are around somewhere,'' he said. ''Get them on the line.''

A high-pitched voice said something from back in the house, and Jennifer hurried that way. Lucas stepped into the hall, and saw Sarah standing halfway down the stairs in her fuzzy pink pajamas, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Lucas cleared his voice and said into the phone, ''We're making some changes down here.''

SARAH WOULDGROW UP TO BE TALL ANDWILLOWYAND blond like her mother-like Lucas's mother-but with her father's tough smile and deep eyes. Jennifer let her go and she wandered over to Lucas and took his index finger in her hand, and when he dropped the phone back on the hook, said, ''What's going on?''

Lucas squatted, so he could look straight into her eyes. ''We have some problems. You have to stay at a hotel tonight. With Mom. And Mrs. Sloan will be there.''

''What kind of problems?''

''There are some really bad men…'' he was explaining when the phone rang.

Small picked it up, then handed it to Lucas: ''It's Chief Roux. I'll take

Sarah,'' he said.

Lucas nodded. ''Yeah,'' he said into the phone. ''

Nightline 's coming on: watch it,'' Roux said. Her words came in a spate. ''We picked up a thumbprint off that door in Roseville and damned if the FBI didn't come up with a name that fits. A man named Ansel Butters, from Tennessee, an old friend of LaChaise's. We've got a photo from Washington and we've released it, and it oughta be on Nightline in about a minute.''