"Soon. If you haven't heard from me in a week, give my secretary a call. Her name's Nancy."

After shaking his hand, she started toward the door, then stopped and turned back to him, heart pounding, desperation tugging at her. "I want this job, Mr. Ryan. I need it. If you give it to me, I'll work hard. I'll perform any task, no matter how menial. If you give me this job, I won't let you down. I promise."

He looked pleased with her speech. "I'll keep that in mind. Oh, and Ms. Starr?" She stopped again and turned expectantly toward him. "My condolences on the Senator's passing."

"Excuse me?"

"Senator Jacobson. I was a fan of his policies. His murder was more than an outrage. It was a real loss for America."

Julianna stared at him, the room starting to spin. A tingling sensation started at the top of her head and inched downward. "Murder?" she whispered. "Billy's…dead?"

Richard came around the desk; he took her arm. "You're white as a sheet. Come, sit down. I'll get you a glass of water."

He led her to the chair she had occupied only moments before. She sank onto it and lowered her head to her knees and breathed deeply and slowly through her nose. After a minute the dizziness passed. But not her shock.

Billy was dead. Murdered.

Dear God, her mother.

"I'm so sorry," he said, handing her the water. "I never would have said anything…I thought you knew. It was in all the papers."

She shook her head and took the glass, hand shaking. She sipped, then met his eyes. "I haven't…with the move…" She took another sip. "When did it…how…?"

"About four months ago. He was shot, though I don't remember all the details. I don't think they ever caught the killer. Or if they did, I didn't hear about it."

Her mother's lover was dead. Murdered.

They hadn't caught the killer.

John.

She began to shake, though she tried to hide it. She got to her feet, forcing a semblance of calm, though she could see by Richard's sympathetic expression she wasn't doing all that good a job of it. She held her panic at bay by telling herself over and over that Billy's death had nothing to do with her or John. Why should it? People were murdered all the time, it was a tragic fact of modern life. Hadn't John always said so? Hadn't he always said that death was a bullet that couldn't be dodged, not forever anyway?

Richard walked her to his office door. "Sorry I can't give you any more details. You could go to the library and check the back issues of the Times Picayune."

The library. Of course. "Thank you, Mr. Ryan, I think I will." She smiled weakly at him. "I look forward to your call."

Somehow Julianna managed to make it from Richard's office to the Covington branch of the St. Tammany Parish library. There, the librarian helped her find what she was looking for on the microfilm, then left her alone.

Julianna scanned the article. It had happened November sixteenth. The senator, the paper reported, was found shot to death in his Washington hotel room. He had been shot at point blank range; he died instantly. At the time the article was written, the police had no suspects though they were following several leads.

Julianna stared at the screen, her vision blurring with tears, her teeth beginning to chatter. She hugged herself. Something didn't sound right, she thought. Why had Billy been in a hotel room? Sure, he lived with his family in Virginia, but whenever he was in town he stayed with her mother.

"Are you all right?"

Julianna lifted her gaze. The librarian had returned and was looking at her with concern. "I'm sorry," Julianna whispered, "what did you say?"

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, I-" Her tears threatened to spill over, and she fought them back. "You said I could make a copy of this?"

"That's right. They're a quarter a page."

Julianna dug two quarters out of her purse, one for the front page and headline about Billy's murder, the second for the rest of the story, buried at the back of the paper. She handed them to the woman, who made the copies for her.

Julianna thanked the librarian and left, clutching the copies to her chest. She made it home, though she had no recollection of climbing into her car, let alone driving, and raced to the phone. Heart thundering, she dialed her mother. The phone rang once. Then twice. While she waited, she told herself over and over that her mother was safe and unharmed. That Billy's death had nothing to do with her or her mother, nothing to do with John.

On the third ring a recording informed her that the number was no longer in service. The receiver still clutched in her hands, Julianna sank to her knees. It couldn't be, she thought. She had dialed incorrectly; that was all. She tried it again, paying closer attention this time.

The same recording rang in her ears.

Fighting complete hysteria, Julianna dialed long distance information and asked for a listing for Sylvia Starr. The operator informed her there was no such listing in the

D.C. area.

No listing for her mother. Billy was dead.

Julianna bent at her waist, phone cradled to her cheek. Dear God, what did she do now? She had to make sure her mother was all right. She had to find her.

Clark Russell. Of course.

Swiping at her tears, she called information, then dialed the CIA in Langley, Virginia.

"CIA. How may I direct your call?"

"Please, could you…" Julianna whispered, choked with tears. "I need to speak-"

"You'll have to speak up," the woman said, "I can't understand you."

She cleared her throat. "Clark Russell. Please."

"May I tell him who's calling."

"Julianna Starr."

There was a moment's silence on the other end of the line, then a series of clicking sounds. A moment later a man came on the line. "This is Todd Bishop. May I help you?"

"I was…I need to speak with Clark Russell, please."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Russell is no longer with the Agency. May I help you?"

"No longer with-" Julianna struggled for an even breath. "But where…when did he-"

"He retired this past January, the lucky guy. Is there something I can-"

Julianna slammed down the receiver, a low moan escaping her lips. She sank to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She pressed her face to her knees and rocked, struggling to get a grip on herself, on her fear.

Billy was dead. Murdered just three weeks after she had run away. Clark was no longer with the CIA. Her mother was missing.

John was cleaning house. He was exacting revenge.

Her mother was dead, too.

No. She brought her hands to her ears as if by doing so she could block out the sound of her own thoughts. It wasn't true. Her mother was fine, living on a yacht with that Arab millionaire, the one she had met shortly before Julianna left, the one she hadn't been able to stand. He had made himself more attractive to her mother by sweetening the pot. It had happened before.

That was it. Julianna swiped at the tears on her cheeks. Her mother had ended her relationship with Billy, taken the millionaire's offer and closed up the brownstone. That's why Billy had been staying in a hotel. That's why her mother's number was no longer in service. As for Clark Russell, he had retired, just as that man had said.

It all made sense. More sense than believing John was out exacting revenge on anyone who had known her.

Calm stole over her. She smiled and stood, chiding herself for letting her imagination run away with her. Learning of Billy's death had been a shock, of course, but from now on, she would keep her attention fixed firmly on Richard and the future they would have together.