Kennedy said, "All right." He nodded toward the hotel. "But if there's any bloodshed tonight, it'll be on your hands."

"Goes with the territory," she muttered, recalling she'd threatened Kincaid with the same words. "Go on, C. P."

The agent led the mayor back to his limo. The two men got inside. Jefferies stared defiantly at Lukas for a moment but she turned quickly, and together she and Cage walked back toward the hotel.

"Shit," Cage said.

"No, I think it's okay. I don't think the Digger could've seen anything."

"That's not what I mean. Think about it-if Kennedy found out we were here, that means we've got a leak. Where the hell do you think it is?"

"Oh, I know that." She opened her cell phone and made a call.

"Detective," Lukas said, struggling to control her anger, "you know that information about tac operations is secure. You want to give me a reason why I shouldn't refer what you did to the U.S. attorney?"

She expected Len Hardy to deny or at least offer some slippery excuse about a mistake or getting tricked. But he surprised her by saying briskly, "Refer whatever you want but Kennedy wanted a chance to negotiate with the shooter. I gave it to him."

"Why?"

"Because you're willing to let, what, a dozen people die? Two dozen?"

"If it meant stopping the shooter then, yeah, that's exactly what I'm willing to do."

"Kennedy said he could talk to him. Talk him into taking the money. He-"

"You know he showed up with a goddamn TV crew?"

Hardy's voice was no longer so certain. "He… what?"

"A TV crew. He was playing it for media. If the Digger'd seen the lights, the police bodyguard… he'd just leave and find another target."

"He said he wanted to talk to him," Hardy said. "I didn't think he was going to use it for PR."

"Well, he did."

"Did the Digger-?"

"I don't think he could've seen anything."

Silence for a moment. "I'm sorry, Margaret." He sighed. "I just wanted to do something. I didn't want any more people to die. I'm sorry."

Lukas gripped her phone. She knew she should fire him, kick him off the team. Probably file a report with the District police commission too. And yet she had an image of the young man returning to his house, a house as silent as the one she returned to every night after Tom and Joey had died-a silence that hurts like a slap from a lover. He'd spend the holiday alone, forced to suffer a false mourning for Emma-a wife not alive and not dead.

He seemed to sense her weakening and said, "It won't happen again. Give me another chance."

Yes? No?

"Okay, Len. We'll talk about it later."

"Thanks, Margaret."

"We've got to get back on stakeout."

She clicked off the phone abruptly and if Hardy said anything else she never heard it. She returned to the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton.

Lukas slipped her weapon off her hip once more, held it at her side and began to circulate through the crowd. Cage tapped his watch. It was a few minutes to eight.

They looked over the railing at the dark water and joked about the Titanic, they ate the shrimp and left the chicken livers, they talked about wine and about interest rates and about upcoming elections and about congressional scandals and about sitcoms.

Most of the men were in tuxedos or dinner jackets, most of the women in dark dresses whose hems hovered an inch above the lacquered deck.

"Isn't this something? Look at the view."

"Will we be able to see the fireworks?"

"Where'd Hank get to? He's got my beer."

The hundreds of partyers had stationed themselves all over the lengthy yacht. There were three decks and four bars and everyone at the New Year's Eve bash was feeling great.

Lawyers and doctors, finding a few hours of peace from their clients' and patients' woes. Parents, enjoying a respite from their children. Lovers, thinking about finding an empty stateroom.

"So what's he going to do I heard he was going to run but the polls suck why should he oh what about Sally Claire Tom did they really get that place in Warrenton well I don't know how he can afford it… "

Minutes clicked past and the time grew closer to eight o'clock.

Everyone was happy.

Pleasant people enjoying a party, enjoying the company of friends.

Thankful for the view they'd have of the fireworks at midnight, thankful for the chance to celebrate and be away from the pressures of the nations capital for the evening.

Thankful for the creature comforts conferred upon them by the crew and caterers on board the luxury yacht the Ritzy Lady, which floated regally in her dock on the Potomac, exactly two miles south of the Fourteenth Street Bridge.

Robby had moved from J. R. R. Tolkien to Nintendo.

He didn't seem upset anymore and Parker could stand it no longer; he had to find out about the Digger, about the most recent attack. Had Lukas and Cage succeeded? Had they found him?

Had they killed him? He maneuvered through the toys on the floor and walked downstairs, where Stephie was in the kitchen with Mrs. Cavanaugh. The girl was squinting in concentration as she scrubbed one of Parker's stainless-steel pots. She'd made a caramel corn Christmas tree, sprinkled with green sugar. It sat, charmingly lopsided, on a plate on the counter.

"Beautiful, Who," he told her.

"I tried to put silver balls on it but they fell off."

"Robby'll love it."

He started for the den but saw a hollowness in her face.

He put his arm around the girl. "Your brother's okay, you know."

"I know."

"I'm sorry tonight's gone all ka-flooey."

"That's okay."

Which meant of course that it wasn't quite okay.

"We'll have fun tomorrow… But, honey, you know my friend? I may have to go back and see him."

"Oh, I know," Stephie said.

"You do?"

"I could tell. Sometimes you're all-the-way here and sometimes you're partway here. And tonight, when you came back, you were only partway here."

"Tomorrow I'll be all-the-way here. It's supposed to snow. You want to go sledding?"

"Yeah! Can I make the hot chocolate?"

"I was hoping you would." He hugged his daughter then rose and walked into the den to call Lukas. He didn't want her to overhear his conversation.

But through the curtained window he saw motion on the sidewalk, a man, he thought.

He walked quickly to the window and looked out. He couldn't see anyone-only a car he didn't recognize.

He slipped his hand into his pocket. And kneaded the cold metal of Lukas's gun.

Oh, not again… Thinking of the Boatman, remembering that terrible night.

The gun is too loud!…

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," he called abruptly, glancing into the kitchen. He saw Stephie blink. Once again his brusque manner had startled one of his children. Still, there was no time to comfort her.

Hand in his pocket, he looked through the window in the door and saw an FBI agent he recognized from earlier in the evening. He relaxed, leaned his head against the doorjamb. Breathed deeply to calm himself then opened the door with a trembling hand. A second agent walked up the steps. He remembered Lukas's comment about sending some men to watch the house.

"Agent Kincaid?"

He nodded. Looking over his shoulder to make sure Stephie was out of earshot.

"Margaret Lukas sent us to keep an eye on your family."

"Thanks. Just park out of sight if you would. I don't want to upset the children."

"Sure thing, sir."

He glanced at his watch. He was relieved. If the Digger had struck again, Cage or Lukas would have called. Maybe they'd actually caught the son of a bitch.

"The shooter in the Metro killing?" he asked. "The Digger. They got him?"