Just about the past four days?

The guy had never been in any real trouble in his life; now he was wanted for two sets of grisly murders? No matter what the evidence said, Ellie still felt sure: he was no killer. A liar, maybe. Someone in totally over his head. A womanizer, possibly. But a cold-blooded killer? Shit, he didn’t even know how to use a gun.

She pushed herself away from the desk. Maybe Moretti was right. Stick to the art. Sure, it was fun playing with the A team for a while, but her days of chasing murderers were through.

“Shurtleff?” One of the Boston agents stuck his head in her cubicle.

Ellie nodded.

“Someone for you on line two.”

“Who is it?” she asked. The story was all over the media. She’d been dodging calls from the press all day.

“Celebrity call,” the agent said with a shrug. “Someone named Steve McQueen.”

THIS TIME she was determined to handle it right. By the book. Not like the day before. Though the crack about Steve McQueen was making her suppress a smile. Ellie pressed a button to record the call. She cupped her hand over the receiver and whispered to the agent, Trace this call.

“You miss me, Ellie?” Ned Kelly said when she came on the line.

“This isn’t a game, Ned,” Ellie said. “People here think you’re guilty as shit. I told you we had one chance to help you, but that chance is fading fast. Tell me where you are. Let me come get you. Give yourself up.”

“Guess that’s a no,” Ned sighed, as if disappointed.

“You want to know what I miss?” Ellie said, feeling herself getting angry. “I miss not taking that gun from you and putting you in cuffs when I had the chance. I trusted you, Ned. I went way out on a limb for you. And you didn’t tell me the truth.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, caught by surprise.

“About the Brazilian Court, Ned. About Tess McAuliffe. About the part that puts you with her that very afternoon. Or was that just something you forgot to slip in when you were going through your life story?”

“Oh.” Ned cleared his throat. There was silence on the line. He was probably running through what he could say to save his charade. “If I told you about that, Ellie, would you have believed anything else I said?”

“Whatever would give you that idea? At two murder scenes within just a few hours. Busy day, huh, Ned?”

“I didn’t do it, Ellie.”

“Is that your answer to everything, Ned? Or only for homicides and interstate trafficking of stolen goods? Oh, yeah, the sexual harassment of minors, too.” A low blow, Ellie told herself as soon as it left her mouth. She wished she could take it back. She knew it wasn’t true.

“I guess I deserved that,” Ned said, “but I figure by now you already checked with Stoughton, so you know I was telling you the truth. Are you tracing this, Ellie?”

“No,” she quickly replied, though she knew it sounded more like Of course I’m taping this, you dope. I’m with the FBI.

“Great.” Ned blew out an exasperated breath. “Guess there’s not a whole lot more I have to lose. Okay, I was with her, Ellie. But I didn’t kill Tess. You don’t understand…”

“Here’s one thing I understand perfectly, Ned. You say you’re innocent – then prove it. Turn yourself in! I give you my word I’ll make sure every part of your story gets fully checked out. You never threatened me yesterday. That was good. That can work for you. But, please, I’m trying to help you, Ned. This is the only way.”

There was a deep, extended pause. For a while she wasn’ sure if she had lost him. Finally Ned sighed, “I think I should go.”

“What are you going to do?” Ellie heard the emotion in her own voice. “Get yourself killed?”

He hesitated a moment. “You find Gachet?”

She glanced at her watch. She was sure they had had enough time to establish some kind of whereabouts for him. He was probably in a phone booth anyway, and in a minute he’d be gone. “No,” she replied, “we haven’t found him yet.”

“Then keep looking, Ellie, please. But you’re wrong. You’re wrong about Tess. I would never have killed her, Ellie.”

“Another lifelong friend?” Ellie said, angry, blowing out a frustrated breath.

“No,” Ned said softly. “Nothing like that. You ever felt yourself falling in love, Ellie?”

DENNIS STRATTON was fuming.

He had a copy of USA Today on the desk in front of him – and a Boston Globe.

This total fucking amateur was screwing up everything in a major way.

As Stratton read about the botched FBI arrest up in Boston, the lining in his stomach began to tighten. He had told them to get professionals, and who had they sent? That bitch from the Art Theft Department down here. Now they had blown it. This Ned Kelly character could be anywhere.

And the son of a bitch had something very precious that belonged to him.

The FBI had bungled things. Damn it, he had warned them. Now he couldn’t take any more chances. Kelly needed to be found. He didn’t give a shit what happened to him. As far as he was concerned, Kelly should have ended up in that house in Lake Worth with the rest of them. Stratton straightened the newspaper and read. FBI sources said they had no direct leads on the suspect’s whereabouts. This was becoming a very public nightmare for him.

Stratton took out a cell phone and punched in a private number. After three beeps, a familiar voice answered. “Gimme a minute, okay?”

Stratton waited impatiently, checking the morning faxes. He had nurtured this particular relationship for a long time. Now it was time to call in the chits. He’d been paying for the guy’s godforsaken kids in private school. For bonefishing trips to his house in the Keys. And right now, Stratton needed to collect on his investment.

The voice came back a few seconds later. “You’ve seen the morning papers, huh?”

“I’ve seen them,” Stratton spat into the phone, “and I’m not liking what I read. The FBI has made a mess of things. Kelly has something very important that belongs to me. Don’t be fooled – he has the goods. You said you were handling things. So far, I don’t see any evidence that the situation is ‘handled.’ It’s only getting worse.”

“It’ll be taken care of,” the man said, trying to sound calm. “I have a man in the area already. He assures me we have a lead on Mr. Kelly.”

“I want what’s mine. I don’t have to make that any clearer, do I? Whatever else happens is of no concern to me. This is just business.”

“I think I get the picture, Mr. Stratton. Relax,” the man said. “I know you’re a busy man. Play some golf. Get yourself a massage. I should be hearing from my man anytime. You can count on him. Like I told you a hundred times, Mr. Stratton” – the man laughed – “what’s the point of having friends -”

Stratton punched off the line. He placed the cell in his jacket and stood up and straightened his Thomas Pink shirt. This is the way he should’ve handled it from the start, with a real professional.

His wife came into the room. She was wearing black running tights with an orange cashmere sweatshirt wrapped around her waist. “Going out for a run, dear?”

“I should be back in half an hour,” Liz Stratton said, going over to the desk. “I was just looking for my keys. I thought I left them here.”

“I’ll alert the boys.” Stratton reached for the phone.

“Don’t bother, Dennis.” She picked up her keys on the desk. “I’m only going down along the lake.”

Stratton grabbed Liz by the wrist and jerked her to a stop as she went by. “No bother at all,” he said, squeezing.

“Get your hands off me, Dennis. Please.”

“I’m surprised at you, darling. You know the rules.” He had that look of pretend caring in his eyes that was nothing but ego, control. They stood for a second, eye to eye. She tried to pull away from him. Then she backed down. “Call your goons.”