Qasim prodded her chin with his foot to get her to look. A large oil portrait hung above the ornately scrolled sofa. It showed Tess Olsen in a long silver gown, her hand resting on a polished round table with an elaborate floral arrangement. The face was austere, full of unearned pride.

“It doesn’t look like you. You’re prettier in real life. Sexier without any clothes,” he said. “Now, outside! Onto the terrace. You’re going to be a very famous lady. I promise. Your fans are waiting.”

AFTER QUASIM GAVE ANOTHER STRONG PULL on the leash, Tess Olsen struggled to her feet, then put her arms out, finally gaining some balance so that she could walk, at least.

Everything about this felt so unreal. Trembling, she backed her way onto the terrace-until the iron railing caught the small of her back.

Her whole body shivered. Twelve stories below, rush-hour traffic was crawling along Connecticut Avenue. Pedestrians, hundreds of them, navigated the sidewalks, most of them with their heads down, unaware of what was happening up in the Riverwalk tower. It was perfect symbolism for life in Washington, DC.

Yousef Qasim reached out and tore the tape off the woman’s mouth.

“Now, scream,” he said. “Scream like you mean it! Scream like you are terrified out of your mind! I want them to hear you in Virginia . In Ohio! In California!”

But the woman spoke to him instead, spoke in a barely intelligible rush. “Please. You don’t have to do this. I can help you. I have a lot of money. You can take anything you want from the apartment. I have a safe inside, in the second bedroom. Please, just tell me -”

“What I want, Mrs. Tess Olsen,” Qasim said, and held the barrel of a gun up to one of the diamond studs in her ears, “is for you to scream. Very, very loud. Right now! On cue, as it were. Do you follow me? It’s a simple instruction-scream!”

But her scream came out as little more than a sob, a pitiful whimper that was swallowed up in the wind.

“Fine,” Qasim said, and grabbed the woman’s bare legs. “We’ll do it your way!” With one powerful hoist, he had her over the railing, hanging upside down.

Now the screams came, high and clear as a security alarm going off. And Tess Olsen clawed at the air for a handhold that simply didn’t exist.

The red leash at her neck blew free in the wind like a stream of blood from her jugular. A nice effect, cinematic, Qasim thought. Just what he was looking for. All part of the plan.

Immediately, a crowd began to gather below. People stopped and pointed upward. Some began making cell-phone calls. Others used the phones to snap pictures-pornographic ones, if they stopped to think about it.

Finally Qasim reeled Tess Olsen back in and set her down on the terrace.

“You did very well,” he told her, his voice softening. “Beautiful work, and I mean that. Can you believe those people with their cameras? Some world we live in.”

Her next words came out in a torrent. “Oh, dear God, please, I don’t want to die like this. There has to be something you want. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life. I don’t understand any of this! Please… stop.”

“We’ll see. Don’t lose hope. Do exactly as you are told. That’s the best thing.”

“I will. I promise. I’ll do what you say.”

He leaned over to better see Connecticut Avenue, and all the people.

Even in the last few seconds, the crowd down below had grown, and grown again. He wondered if those on their cell phones were calling the police-or maybe just someone they wanted to impress or titillate. You won’t believe what I’m seeing right now. Here, look for yourself!

The audience wouldn’t believe what they were about to see either. No one would, which was why millions would watch these images on television, again and again.

Until he topped this murder with his next.

“In your honor,” he whispered. “All in your honor.”

“YOU START THE FIRE,” Bree suggested. “I’ll gussy up the suite.”

I shrugged, then I winked at her. “I think the, um, fire’s ready,” I said. “I know it is.”

“Patience,” Bree said. “It’ll be worth it. I’m worth it, Alex. For the moment, though, let’s remember the scoutmaster’s motto-if you fail to plan, then you plan to fail.”

“I was never a scout,” I said. “I’m too horny to be a scout.”

“Patience. If you must know, I’m horny too.”

While I went and looked for kindling, Bree unpacked the rest of the back of the car. The equipment I’d pulled from the attic at home looked like relics next to her gear. She quickly put up an ultralight tent and proceeded to fill it with an air mattress, a thermal blanket, and a couple of Coleman lanterns. She even had a water-filtration system, just in case we wanted to drink from a stream. Finally she hung a little wind chime in the flap. Nice touch.

For my part, I had a pair of lobster tails and two nicely marbled Delmonico steaks marinating in the cooler, ready for grilling. Black bears could be a fear factor here, but dehydrated food wasn’t an option for us.

“You need a hand there?” I asked once the fire was going pretty good, blowing sparks skyward. Bree had just pulled a sailcloth out of the backseat, presumably to use as a shade of some kind.

“Yeah, open that cabernet. Please, Alex. We’re almost there.”

By the time the wine was breathing, Bree had strung the tarp up onto three branches overhead, with looping knots she could use to raise or lower the corners from right there on the ground.

“We have to be careful with the food,” she said. “Bobcats and bears, you know. There are bears in these parts.”

“So I’ve heard.” I handed her a glass. “You know, you’re pretty handy around the house.”

“And you’re a good little cook, I’ll bet.”

Sometimes I missed what Bree said because I was too busy with those enchanting hazel eyes of hers. They were the first thing I had ever noticed about her. Some people just have great eyes. Of course, it wasn’t just the eyes that were distracting me. Not right now, anyway. She’d already shucked her shoes and was unbuttoning her cutoffs. And her blouse. Then she was standing there in pale-blue bra and panties. I had forgotten about her eyes for the moment, glorious as they might be.

She handed her glass back to me. “You know the very best thing about this spot?”

“Not really sure, but I think I’m going to find out. Am I?”

“Yes, you most definitely are.”

I HAVE ALWAYS FELT that life was on the borderline of being absurd and meaningless, but it can still be pretty, if you look at it in the right light.

And so the rest of the early evening was perfect for us. Bree and I hurried, hand in hand, down to the very inviting Big Hunting Creek. We took off the rest of our clothes and waded in. After an uncomfortable minute or so, the water felt like a second skin on our bodies.

At that point, I didn’t know if I could ever get out again. And I didn’t want to. We kissed and held each other, then swam and splashed around like a couple of kids on vacation. Somewhere nearby, bullfrogs were attempting to serenade us with a steady glunk, glunk, glunk.

“You think this is funny?” Bree called to the frogs. “Well, actually, I guess it is. Glunk! Glunk!”

We kissed some more, and one very good thing led to another, which is where the old-time movies used to cut to the scene of the speeding, steaming train racing through the tunnel. Except that Bree and I weren’t in any kind of hurry to get in and out of that tunnel. She whispered to me that I had the gentlest hands and asked for light tickling all over, and don’t stop. I liked what I was doing, and I told her she had the softest body, which was strange considering how buff she was. That kind of sensual exploration had to lead to trouble, and it did.