“Gratitude?”

“Not everybody has a partner in crime like you.”

“We’re doing okay, aren’t we? For a couple of regular people, I mean?” She could feel the pounding of her pulse. For just a second, she had a flash of what they were up to, how crazy it was, like the moment on a roller coaster just before the plummet when it was way too late to get off.

“We’re going to be okay,” he said. “I promise.”

She forced a smile. “Cross your heart?”

THE CAB REEKED OF APPLE from the air freshener hanging over the mirror. Tom wrinkled his nose, watched the blocks crawl. Anna had suggested parking the Pontiac away from the mall and taking a cab, a good idea.

He remembered that kiss, in the cramped unit, his knees propped on three hundred thousand dollars as he tasted her. The whiff of desperation they’d both tried not to acknowledge. He looked over, squeezed her hand, got a thin-lipped smile in return.

The rain had started, fat gentle drops that stole color, reducing the streets to a tapestry of grays. People crab-walked under umbrellas, and shopkeepers sniffed the air from the safety of their awnings. The cab passed a discount electronics store, a rug mart, a couple of artsy boutiques, a falafel joint. There was a toxic lightness in his chest. He’d gone skydiving once, back in college, and remembered most the staticky panic as the plane circled upward, the sense that he was moving closer and closer to something irrevocable.

The driver pulled to the side and tapped the meter. Windshield wipers slip-slopped back and forth. Outside was the block-long gray bulk of Century Mall, baroque columns rising above the movie marquee, shimmering display windows and glass doors below. Tom passed the driver a twenty, waved off the change. They needed all the good karma they could get right now.

“I know what you’re going to say, but please, would you consider letting me do this-”

“We’re in it together.” Her face shone pale, but her shoulders were set. “Let’s just get through it.”

He nodded, blew a breath, and they walked to the entrance, Anna stepping ahead of him to open the door. The duffel was unwieldy, kept banging against his knee, but he found himself grateful to have something to hang on to. Inside, the hum of the rain and the whir of tires was replaced by pop music and a jumble of chemical smells from the bath shop. The woman behind the information desk didn’t look up from her novel as they passed.

Century Mall was a squared spiral rising four stories around a center courtyard. It had always reminded Tom of the Guggenheim, only instead of paintings, the walls gave way to two dozen shops: clothing and laser hair removal and lingerie and a tanning place. A ramped walkway ran all the way around, and from where he stood, he could look up at a cross section of commercialism rising to a broad glass ceiling spotted with rain. In the middle and down a level was a gourmet grocery store, one of those places that sold prepackaged sushi and elaborate salads. “Where do you think is best?”

“We’ll want to end up around the second floor, so no matter where they are, Malachi’s people aren’t too far away.”

“So we can’t start there. Up top, then?”

They waited at the glass elevator. Tom rocked on his toes, looking around, trying not to seem nervous. Anna stiffened. She turned to face him, then whispered, “There’s a cop here.”

He glanced as nonchalantly as he could. The policeman leaned against the railing above the grocery, looking down at display cases of imported meats and upscale potato salad. He seemed calm, casual, two-finger-spinning an unlit cigarette.

“Shit,” Tom said. “I figured on a security guard, not a cop. Jack sees him, that could screw everything.” He pressed his lips tight. “Nothing we can do.”

The elevator dinged open, and they stepped on. He thumbed the button for four, turned to look out the glass rear. It was early yet, and he wondered who all these people wandering around the mall were. Didn’t they have jobs? Brass doors slid closed, and the elevator rose slowly. He kept his eye on the cop. The motion of the elevator had apparently caught his attention, and for a moment they locked eyes. Then the officer turned away and strolled off.

When the doors parted, Tom could smell popcorn. The air-conditioning kept the place icy, but sweat soaked his armpits anyway. They moved to the left, away from the movie theater, to a quiet corner. Anna leaned over the railing, looking in all directions. “I get why he chose this place. You can see everywhere. If we brought the police, he’d probably be able to tell.”

“Let’s hope Malachi’s people are more subtle.”

“Only a little.” Anna gestured with her head. “Over there, a level down. The luggage store.”

He looked where she indicated, saw Andre standing inside, pretending to examine a matched set of suitcases. The man nodded slightly.

“Jesus.” Tom’s stomach was watery. His head understood all the advantages to meeting in a public place, that these people around him should keep them safe, but he felt exposed, open air and shops on all sides. What were they doing? Selling out a killer to a group of drug dealers, bluffing that a bag of newspapers could pass as a fortune, a cop wandering below and Jack coming from who knew where?

Easy. Take it easy. Just get through this. Get through this, and get her through this.

His watch read five till ten. In fifteen minutes, they’d either be clear or dead. Tom took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

FIVE TILL TEN. Jack laced his fingers and stretched his arms up to crack the knuckles over his head. The movement pulled at the gash on his forearm, and he winced. He’d cleaned and bandaged it, knew it wasn’t deep enough to do much more than leave a nasty scar, but still, the thing stung like a motherfucker.

He adjusted the bandage gingerly and leaned back against the concrete of the parking deck. They’d spent three hours last night walking every inch of the mall and its surroundings. It was a good spot, plenty of escape routes, stairwells on three corners with connections to the parking deck, the grocery in the bottom, even the loading docks out back. Plus, security was a joke. Jack unzipped the navy jumpsuit, fingered the pistol slung against his T-shirt. The rain smelled good, even layered over the exhaust and oil smell of cars.

On his belt, the cell phone vibrated once. He opened it, saw the text message from Marshall:

theyre here

Jack took a deep breath, then slipped through the break in the chain-link fence, rounded the corner, and stepped into the loading dock, a wide concrete bay, dingy and smelling of trash. A guy unloading a panel truck looked over, and Jack tossed a salute. The man nodded and went back to work. As Jack opened the door into the mall, he felt that old tightness in his stomach. It felt like home.

ANNA’S SKIN WAS STRETCHED TOO FAR, like she might split at the seams. All around them, people shopped and ate and chatted as though everything were normal. Two men laughed at a downstairs table. A couple of hairstylists from the salon wandered into Victoria’s Secret. They were easy to spot, black clothes and fried bangs. Why did stylists always have the worst hair? A woman pushed a stroller, the boy in it wearing that slightly stupefied expression like the world was a hell of a show.

This had seemed like a good idea last night, clean and easy. Just a thought experiment, a move they were contemplating in a game. But now that she stood here, it wasn’t rational thought that filled her. It was dread and nerves and a child’s desperate fear of punishment.

A muscular man in a Cubs jersey rounded the corner to their right. He moved swiftly, not running, but with fast, long strides. His eyes were on them.