“I don’t think so,” she said. “Not more than anybody else.”

“Six on a scale of ten.”

“What?”

He shook his head. Said nothing. They lay on the bed, the comforter piled at their feet, only the sheet stretched over them. From the angle, he couldn’t see the city outside the window, just an indigo glow creeping to midnight blue. Beneath that never-dark sky lay the depths of Lake Michigan, black ripples frosted white. He didn’t know how to sail, but had always wanted a sailboat. He imagined being on one now, skimming over inky currents like the edge of a dream, just him and Anna and a cold wind and the hollow lap of water and the city’s fevered light dwindling behind. Head east, sail all night, into a sunrise scrubbed clean by solitude.

“What are you thinking, baby?”

“Something Jack said.” He flashed back to the moment, the twitch of adrenaline, the pressure of the knife in his pocket. The way Jack had gestured with one hand to encompass their living room, their marriage, their life. “He asked why we took the money. What we wanted that we didn’t already have.”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t know what to say. I mean, we aren’t as well off as it must have looked to him. He didn’t know about mortgage payments and fertility treatments and how badly we wanted a baby and how you hated your job. But…” He held his hands in the air, then folded them behind his head. “I don’t know. Even with those things. He had a point.”

In the quiet of the room, he could hear her breathing. “You know what I think? Everything finds a balance. An equilibrium.” Her voice low. “I think rich people are fundamentally about as happy as poor people. It’s the way we’re wired. When things are good for any length of time, we take them for granted. When they’re bad, we get used to them. Our heads level everything out.”

“That’s kind of convenient.”

“What do you mean?”

“As an argument. It makes it easy not to worry about things or try to change them. It excuses us from concern.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not true. Give somebody a million dollars, they’re going to live it up for a while. But eventually, the lifestyle will become normal. It won’t thrill. They’ll end up feeling more or less the same way they always did.”

“So what’s the point?”

“I don’t know. Live a good life. Be nice to people. Have a family, and love them well.”

He thought about it, staring at the liquid stir of light on the ceiling. “Maybe you’re right. I look back at the problems we used to have, and I wonder what the hell was wrong with us. I mean, were we really sweating all that nonsense? Everything that mattered at the time, now it seems…” He pursed his lips and blew air like he was scattering the pods off a dandelion.

“I know,” she said. “Worrying about advertising. House payments. Jesus. Even the baby thing.”

They fell silent for a long spell, time marked in steady intervals by the slow throb of his hand. Finally he said, “We were greedy.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I guess we were.”

AROUND SIX IN THE MORNING, he gave it up. His fingers ached, his head pounded, and it felt like someone had grabbed hold of his kidney and twisted. Tom rolled out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom. He closed the door and started the shower, put one of the disposable packs in the coffeemaker. Thought better of it, and stuffed the second pack in as well.

In the shower he stood and let the water drench him, pounding off the top of his head in a soaking spray that hid the world and soothed some of the pain. It felt lovely, a quiet moment lost behind a curtain of water. The only thing that ruined it was having to hold his bandaged left hand up and away.

He reluctantly got out of the shower and awkwardly toweled off. At least there was a plan. He felt better for that. Maybe they had been greedy. Maybe they were in over their heads. But they were working together, sharing their strength, and they had a plan. It was something. He poured the coffee into two mugs and stepped into the room.

Anna lay nude atop sheets twisted like whipped egg whites. She smiled when he set a mug on the table. Tom picked up his cell phone and turned it on. The message indicator blinked, and he dialed his voice mail. A computerized voice told him he had four messages.

“This is Detective Halden. Give me a call back as soon as you can. We’re ready to go ahead with setting up this man who threatened you.” The cop rattled off his phone numbers. Tom sipped the coffee. Strong but lousy, which he supposed was better than weak but lousy. He punched a button to save the message and hear the next.

“Mr. Reed, Detective Halden. Please call me – we need to move.”

The next. “This is Christopher Halden again. I need you to call me back ASAP. Day or night. I mean it, Tom – as soon as possible. I’ll try your home line as well.”

The next, from this morning. A hang-up.

Shit. Tom closed the phone, rubbed his jaw. They’d gotten so caught up in their plans last night he’d forgotten all about the cop. “I’ve got a couple of messages from Halden.”

“Don’t call him.” Anna wriggled to a sitting position, stuffed a pillow behind her back. “We can’t talk to him now. If you accidentally say something that tips him off about Jack or the mall…”

“I have to call him eventually.”

“Once this is over. You can just tell him you changed your mind. That we talked it over, and you don’t want to act as bait. He’ll believe that. It must happen all the time, people backing out on identifying criminals.”

He thought about it, nodded. Pulled his pants from the edge of the chair and stepped into them, then stretched with his arms above his head, first one side, then the other, wincing at the pain in his kidneys. “You have your cell phone?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done.”

“Done?”

“Meeting the drug dealer.” Tom buckled his belt. “He wants to talk first.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Like hell you are.” He turned, stared at her. “You think I’m taking you into a meeting with a-”

“Jesus Christ.” She sat up, grabbed a pillow, and whipped it at him.

Tom ducked sideways, surprised. “What?”

“There you go again. Trying to protect me.”

“This isn’t me being a hero. I just don’t see any point in you being in this too.”

“I’m already in it, you arrogant shit. You think Jack or your drug dealer friend are going to cut me slack because I have breasts?” She shook her head. “The only one doing that is you.”

He opened his mouth, closed it. Stood with his hands spread. Finally he said, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t want either of us hurt. And we went through this already. Last night.”

Tom turned, stared. The horizon was draped in gray, fat-bellied clouds hanging low. The skyline was bleak and faded, the top third of the Aon Center lost in mist. The commuter rush wouldn’t start in earnest for another hour, but the streets were already thick with taxis, the sidewalks dotted with tiny figures in skirts and suits. A spring morning like any other. Her voice came soft and low from behind. “Partners in crime. All or nothing.”

“Better get dressed,” he said. “We’ve got a long morning.”