Cage juggled his own phone and called the hospital. He asked about Geller's condition.

When he hung up he said to Parker, "Lucky man. Smoke inhalation and a sprained toe from jumping out the window. Nothing worse than that. They're going to keep him in overnight. But it's just a precaution."

"Should get a commendation," Parker suggested.

"Oh, he will. Don't you worry."

Parker was coughing some himself. The pungent taste of the smoke was sickening.

They continued on for another half-dozen blocks before Cage gave Parker a telling "So."

"So," Parker echoed. Then: "What does that mean?"

"Wooee, we having a good time yet?" the agent said and slapped the steering wheel.

Parker ignored him and tucked a tiny scrap of burnt paper back under the glass protecting the unsub's notes.

Cage sped around a slow-moving car. After a few moments he asked, "How's your love life these days? You seeing anybody?"

"Not right now."

It had been nine months, he reflected, since he'd been going with someone regularly. He missed Lynne. She was ten years younger than he, pretty, athletic. They'd had a lot of fun together-jogging, dinners, day trips to Middleburg. He missed her vivacity, her sense of humor (the first time she'd been over to his house she'd glanced at a signature of Franklin Delano Roosevelt and, with perfect deadpan delivery, said, "Oh, I've heard of him. He's the guy started the Franklin Mint. I've got the thimble collection"). But the maternal side of her hadn't blossomed even though she was nearly thirty. When it came to his children, she had fun going to the museums and the Cineplex but Parker could see that any more of a commitment to the Whos-and to him-would soon become a burden to her. Love, like humor, Parker believed, is all in the timing. In the end they drifted apart with the agreement that in a few years, when she was ready for children, they might reconsider something more permanent. (Both knowing, of course, that, as lovers, they were saying goodbye for good.)

Cage now said, "Uh-huh. So you're just sitting at home?"

"Yeah," Parker said. "With my head in the sand like Ozzie the Ostrich."

"Who?"

"It's a kids' book."

"Don't you get the feeling there's stuff going on around you and you're missing it?"

"No, Cage, I don't. I get the feeling that my kids're growing up and I'm not missing it."

"That's important. Uh-huh. I can see where that would be kind of important."

"Very important."

Evans, still on the phone, was telling his wife he loved her. Parker tuned the words out. They depressed him.

"Whatta you think about Lukas?" Cage finally asked.

"What do I think? She's good. She'll go places. Maybe to the top. If she doesn't implode first."

"Explode?"

"No, implode. Like a lightbulb."

"That's good." Cage laughed. "But that's not what I'm asking. Whatta you think about her as a woman?"

Parker coughed. Shivered at the memory of the bullets and the flames. "You trying to set us up, Lukas and me?"

"Of course not." Then: "It's just I wish she had more friends. I'd forgot that you're a fun guy. You could hang out together some."

"Cage-"

"She's not married. No boyfriends. And, I don't know if you noticed," the wily agent said, "but she's good-looking. Don't you think?"

Sure, I think. For a lady cop. Of course Parker was attracted to her-and by more than just her appearance. He remembered a certain look in her eyes as she watched Robby run up the stairs earlier in the day. The way to a man's heart is through his children…

But what he told Cage was, "She can't wait till this case is over and she doesn't have to see me again."

"You think?" he asked, but cynically this time.

"You heard her-about my weapon."

"Hell, she just didn't want to send you back to your kids with your ass in a sling."

"No, it's more than that. I've been stepping on her toes and she doesn't like it. But I've got news for her. I'm going to keep on stepping if I think I'm right."

"Hey, there you go."

"What do you mean."

"That's just what she'd say. Aren't you two a pair…"

"Cage, take a break."

"Look, Margaret's only agenda is collaring perps. There's a ton of ego in her, sure, but it's good ego. She's the second-best investigator I know." Parker ignored the glance that accompanied this sentence. Cage thought for a moment. "You know what's good about Lukas? She takes care of herself."

"What does that mean?"

"I'll tell you. Couple months ago her house got broken into."

"Where's she live?"

"Georgetown."

"That happens there, yeah," Parker said. As much as he enjoyed the District he'd never live there, not with the children. Crime was terrible.

Cage continued, "She comes home from the office and sees the door's been jimmied. Okay? Her dog's in the backyard and-"

"She's got a dog? What kind?"

"I don't know. How do I know? Big black dog. Lemme finish. She makes sure her dog's okay then, instead of calling it in, she goes back to her van, puts on body armor, takes her MP-5 and secures the house herself."

Parker laughed. The thought of any other thin, attractive blonde stalking through a townhouse, armed with a laser-sighted machine gun, would have seemed absurd. But for some reason it was perfectly natural with Lukas. "Still don't get your point, Cage."

"No point. I'm only saying Lukas doesn't need anybody to take care of her. People being together, Parker, you know, men and women, don't you think it works out best that way? Nobody taking care of anybody else? That's a rule. Write it down."

Parker supposed the agent was talking about Joan. Cage had seen Parker and Joan together a number of times. And, sure, Parker had been drawn to his ex-wife because she was looking for someone to take care of her, and Parker-newly orphaned when they met-was desperate to nurture. Parker thought back several hours, Lukas addressing the troops in Gravesend. Maybe that was what had stirred him so much, listening to her: not so much her expertise as her independence.

They drove in silence for a moment.

"MP-5?" Parker asked, picturing the heavy black Heckler & Koch machine gun.

"Yep. Said her biggest worry was if she had to light up the perp she might ruin some of her wall decorations. She sews too. Makes these quilts you wouldn't believe."

"You told me that before. The perp-she bag him?"

"Naw. He'd booked."

Parker recalled her anger in Gravesend. He asked Cage, "Then what do you think it is? Why she's been on my case?"

After a moment the agent answered, "Maybe she envies you."

"Envies me? What do you mean?"

But he wouldn't answer. "That's not for me to say. Just hold that thought and when she gives you any static cut her some slack."

"You're making no sense, Cage. She envies me?"

"Think of it like one of your puzzles. Either you figure it out or she'll tell you the answer. That's up to her. But I'm not giving you any clues."

"Why would I want to know the answer to Margaret Lukas?"

But Cage only skidded around another canyon of a pothole and said nothing.

Evans closed his phone, poured himself another cup of coffee from the thermos. It must have held a half gallon of coffee. This time Parker accepted the offered cup and drank several sips of the strong brew.

"How's the family?" Parker asked him.

"I owe the kids big time." The shrink smiled ruefully.

"How many do you have?"

"Two."

"Me too," Parker said. "How old?"

"In their teens. They're a handful." He didn't give any details and didn't seem to want to say anything more. He asked, "Yours?"

"Eight and nine."

"Ah, you've got a few years of peace and quiet."

Cage said, "Grandkids are the best. Take it from me. You play with 'em, get 'em all dirty, let 'em spill ice cream on themselves, spoil 'em crazy and then you send 'em home to their parents. You go have a beer and watch the game. How can you beat that?"