“Why?”

The buzzer sounded angrily and long.

“Because if we tell the truth we’re going to jail.” She raised her eyebrows. “We stole that money. We’ve spent a lot of it. We’ve lied to the police.”

“Better that than face Jack Witkowski again.” He pushed past, shouldering through her arm easily. Two steps took him to the intercom.

Her voice came from behind him. “How do you know his name?”

He froze, thumb on the button to open the door.

“Tom? He wouldn’t have told you that.”

He opened his mouth. Shut it again. There was no time to explain, to tell her that the things he had kept from her were different, that he had done it for the good of both of them, that he had only been trying to-

To protect her.

He felt the anger deflate. The buzzer sounded again. He turned to face her, then said, “Okay. We get through this. Then you and I need to talk.”

The look she gave him was scared and wounded and sweet all at once. It was like watching something beautiful break.

He took a breath. Pushed the intercom and said, in as calm a voice as he could manage, “Yes? Who is it?”

ANNA WAS GETTING USED to lying to the police.

After Tom had buzzed them up, she’d barely had time to wipe away the blood in the hallway before opening the door and smoothing her expression as if she were icing a cake. Listened to the heavy tromp of their feet. One cop had his gun held at his side, which startled her. “Officer, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.” She shook her head ruefully. “We just got the alarm, and I’m not used to it yet.”

“Is this your house, ma’am?” The first cop was a baby-faced blond; behind him stood a tall officer with a graying crewcut.

“Yes. We just came in, and I punched the wrong code.” She gave him what she hoped was an embarrassed smile. “They taught us about the panic code, but I wasn’t thinking and misdialed. The alarm shut off, so…”

The older cop relaxed, but the first said, “Do you mind if I look around?”

“Why?”

“The point of the panic code is that someone might force you to shut off your alarm.”

“Officer, I promise, it’s just my husband and me.”

“Still, ma’am, I’m going to need to confirm that.”

She hesitated, then shrugged, opened the door wide.

“Thank you.” The blond officer moved with his gun out, playing at Serpico. Anna slid aside to make room as he swept down the hall. The older cop stepped in casually, hooked his thumbs in his belt and shrugged at her, as if to say, Kids. Anna forced a smile back. “I’m Anna Reed.”

“Sergeant Peter Bradley.” He glanced around the living room. “Nice place.” It was at that moment that she remembered the bullet hole in the ceiling. She started to look up, caught herself, looked down instead, and saw a brass cylinder, shit, part of the bullet, that part that got ejected from the gun. It lay on the hardwood floor three inches from Bradley’s left foot. She coughed, then said, “Thanks. Can I get you guys some coffee?”

“That’s all right, ma’am.” He rocked back on his heels, watery eyes calmly taking in the room. Anna found herself wondering about him, imagining his life: an ex-wife, two kids, child support that had him picking up extra shifts working security at a strip club. Strange, random thoughts. The cop shuffled his feet, and she said a silent prayer he wouldn’t kick the bullet.

Tom came out of the bathroom. He’d washed his face and brushed his hair, and held his left hand behind his back, standing like a politician about to deliver a speech. He smiled, said, “Really sorry about this, Officer.”

“Happens all the time.”

They heard the younger cop from down the hall, barking that the bedroom was clear. Bradley shook his head, called down the hall, “Why don’t we get out of here, let these folks get on about their day?”

“But, Sergeant, I’m supposed to check-”

“It’s all right, son.” Bradley keyed his radio, said, “It’s a false. Dialed the wrong code.”

Anna slipped her arm around Tom’s waist. “You sure we can’t get you anything?”

The blond cop, his gun now holstered, said, “Would you mind if I used your lavatory?”

She felt the muscles in her smile tighten. She wanted to scream, Get out get out get Out! Instead she said, “Of course, Officer.”

She stood and willed herself to keep her eyes level, not to glance at either the ceiling or the floor. Reminded herself that these guys were just regular cops, not detectives, not people who knew what had happened in the last week. “I really do feel stupid. You guys must have better things to do.”

“We were in the neighborhood.” Bradley cleared his throat. “Your security company will bill you for the false alarm, though.”

“Really?”

“Probably about two hundred.” The cop shrugged. “It’s steep, I know, but that’s how they do it.”

“That’s okay, Officer,” Anna said, remembering Jack sprinting out the back door. “I don’t mind at all.” She heard the toilet flush, the hiss of the sink, and then the other guy came down the hall, belt heavy with gear. As the two turned to go, the corner of the sergeant’s boot caught the edge of the shell casing and set it spinning. She moved fast, stepping forward to silence it with a foot, her smile never wavering.

When the door closed behind them, Tom said, “Where’s the money?”

“In the car.”

His mouth fell open. “You left three hundred grand in the car?”

“I was going to put it at Sara’s, but I thought…” She shrugged, feeling stupid. “I don’t know. I didn’t really think it through. I wasn’t trying to steal it, like I said. But once I took it out, putting it back didn’t make any sense. I was going to get a safe-deposit box, but with my job, everything.” She shrugged again.

Tom closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead hard. “Okay.” He held his left hand in his right. Winced.

“You should get that looked at.”

“We’ll hit a drugstore on our way.”

“On our way where?”

THE W HOTEL ON LAKE SHORE was hipster heaven. Anna dug the décor, the mod chairs and muted colors, trip-hop playing over the lobby sound system. It made her feel cooler than she was.

When the woman behind the desk asked her name, Anna told the truth. Then she said, “I can give you a credit card. But could you put the room in a different name? My ex-husband…” She trailed off with a meaningful look.

“Of course,” the woman said. “I understand. What name would you like?”

“Ummm… Anna Karenina?”

“You sure? Love didn’t go well for her either.”

“I suppose not.”

“How about Annie Oakley? He shows up, you can shoot him, then ride into the sunset.”

Anna laughed. “Thanks.”

The room was all sleek planes and Asian light fixtures. Broad windows gave onto the lake and Navy Pier, the Ferris wheel burning bright against indigo skies. It made her want to take off her clothes and order champagne.

Tom set the duffel bag on the ground, then collapsed into the overstuffed chair beside it. His face was drawn and his lips pressed tight. He rested his left elbow on the arm of the chair so that his hand was above his head. It was swollen and crusted with blood.

“How is it?”

“It hurts.” He said it simply. He wasn’t much of one to complain, would always drive her crazy with his refusal to go to a doctor no matter how sick he was. What’s the doctor going to do? he’d say. I’ll be better by the time I could get an appointment.

She moved to the edge of the bed. Nervous again, not sure how to talk to him, what to say. “Want me to tape it up?”

“Let me have a couple of drinks and some pills first.”

They’d bought a bottle of bourbon at the CVS, along with medical tape, gauze, antiseptic cream, antibacterial soap, Advil, and a splint. She shook out a couple of capsules and passed them to him, then dug the booze out of the bag. She knew you weren’t supposed to mix ibuprofen and alcohol, but against the scale of their current concerns, that rule seemed laughable. She poured three inches into each glass. He took his wordlessly, eyes out the window.