"No, not really."

"Rule Six: When a man asks you to look up a license plate for personal reasons, it can be only one of two things. One"- Cingle raised a finger-"he thinks his wife is cheating and he wants to know who with."

"And two?"

"There's no two. I lied. There's only one."

"That's not it."

Cingle shook her head.

"What?"

"Ex-cons usually lie better."

He let that one alone.

"Okay, so let's say I believe you. Why, pray tell, do we want me to trace this down?"

"It's personal. Remember? Bill me, for me, personal?"

Cingle stood up, waaay up, and put her hands on her hips. She glared down at him. Unlike Olivia, Matt did not say "Wow" out loud, but maybe he thought it.

"Think of me as your religious advisor," she said. "Confession is good for the soul, you know."

"Yeah," Matt said. "Religion. That's what comes to mind." He sat up. "Will you just do this for me?"

"Okeydokey." She stared at him another beat. Matt did not cringe. Cingle sat back down and threw her feet back on the desk. "The standing up with the hands on the hips. That usually weakens a guy."

"I'm stone."

"Well, yes, that's part of it."

"Ha, ha."

She gave him the curious look again. "You love Olivia, right?"

"I'm not getting into this with you, Cingle."

"You don't have to answer. I've seen you with her. And her with you."

"So you know then."

She sighed. "Give me the plate number again."

He did. This time Cingle wrote it down.

"Shouldn't take more than an hour. I'll call you on your cell."

"Thanks." He started for the door.

"Matt?"

He turned back toward her.

"I've had some experience in stuff like this."

"I'm sure."

"Opening this door." Cingle held up the slip of paper with the license plate. "It's kinda like trying to break up a fight. Once you jump in, you don't know what could happen."

"Gee, Cingle, that's pretty subtle."

She spread her arms. "Subtlety ended for me the day I hit puberty."

"Just do this for me, okay?"

"I will."

"Thank you."

"But"- she put up her index finger-"should you feel the need to take it further, I want you to promise to let me help."

"I won't take it further," he said, and the look on her face told him all he needed to know about how much she believed him.

Matt was just entering his old hometown of Livingston when his cell phone rang again. It was Jamie Suh, Olivia's assistant, finally calling back. "Sorry, Matt, I can't find a hotel contact."

"How can that be?" he snapped without thinking.

There was too long a pause.

He tried to backtrack. "I mean, doesn't she usually leave one? Suppose there was an emergency."

"She has her cell phone."

He didn't know what to say.

"And most of the time," Jamie went on, "I book the hotel for her."

"You didn't this time?"

"No." Then she hurriedly added: "But that's not unusual or anything. Olivia does it herself sometimes too."

He didn't know what to make of that. "Have you heard from her today?"

"She called in this morning."

"Did she say where she was going to be?"

There was another pause. Matt knew that his behavior would be considered beyond the scope of normal husbandly curiosity, but he figured it was worth the risk.

"She just said she had some meetings. Nothing specific."

"Okay, if she calls back-"

"I'll tell her you're looking for her."

Then Jamie hung up.

Another memory struck him. He and Olivia had a huge fight, one of those no-holds-barred verbal brawls where you know you're wrong and you just keep pushing. She ran out in tears and didn't call for two days. Two full days. He would call, she wouldn't answer. He searched, but he couldn't find her. It punched a huge hole in his heart. That was what he remembered right now. The idea that she would never come back to him hurt so much he could barely breathe.

The home inspector was just finishing up when he arrived at the house. Nine years ago Matt walked out of jail after serving four years for killing a man. Now, incredible as it might seem, he was on the verge of buying a home, sharing it with the woman he loved, raising a child.

He shook his head.

The house was part of a suburban tract built in 1965. Like most of Livingston, the area used to be a farm. All the houses were pretty much the same, but if that discouraged Olivia, she hid it pretty well. She'd stared at the house with a nearly religious fervor and whispered, "It's perfect." Her enthusiasm had swept away any doubts he'd had about moving back.

Matt stood on what would soon be his front yard and tried to imagine himself living here. It felt odd. He didn't belong here anymore. He had known that until, well, until Olivia. Now he was back.

Behind him a police cruiser pulled up. Two men got out. The first one was in uniform. He was young and in shape. He gave Matt the cop squint. The second man was in plainclothes.

"Hey, Matt," the man in the brown suit called out. "Long time, no see."

It had been a long time, since Livingston High at least, but he recognized Lance Banner right away.

"Hi, Lance."

Both men slammed their doors closed as if they'd coordinated the move. The uniform crossed his arms and remained silent. Lance moved toward Matt.

"You know," Lance said, "I live on this street."

"That a fact."

"It is."

Matt said nothing.

"I'm a detective on the force now."

"Congrats."

"Thanks."

How long had he known Lance Banner? Since second grade, at least. They were never friends, never enemies. They played on the same Little League team for three years running. They shared a gym class in eighth grade and a study hall junior year of high school. Livingston High School had been big- six hundred kids per grade. They'd simply traveled in different circles.

"How's it been going for you?" Lance asked.

"Super."

The home inspector stepped outside. He had a clipboard. Lance said, "How's it look, Harold?"

Harold looked up from his clipboard and nodded. "Pretty solid, Lance."

"You sure?"

Something in his tone made Harold take a step back. Lance looked back at Matt.

"We have a nice neighborhood here."

"It's why we picked it."

"You really think it's a good idea, Matt?"

"What's that, Lance?"

"Moving back."

"Done my time."

"And you think that's the end of it?"

Matt didn't say anything.

"That boy you killed. He's still dead, isn't he?"

"Lance?"

"I'm Detective Banner now," he said.

"Detective Banner, I'm going inside now."

"I read all about your case. I even called a couple of cop buddies, got the whole scoop on what happened."

Matt looked at him. The man had gray flecks in his eyes. He had put on weight. His fingers kept itching and Matt didn't like the way he smiled at him. Lance Banner's family had worked this land as farmers. His grandfather or maybe it was his great-grandfather had sold the land for a song. The Banners still considered Livingston their town. They were the soil here. The father drank too much. So did Lance's two dull brothers. Lance, on the other hand, always hit Matt as being pretty sharp.

"Then you know it was an accident," Matt said.

Lance Banner nodded slowly. "Could be."

"So why the hard time, Lance?"

"Because you're an ex-con."

"You think I should have gone to prison?"

"Tough call," he said, rubbing his chin. "But from what I read, I think you got a bad break."

"So?"

"So you did. Go to prison, I mean."

"I don't understand."

"Society wants to peddle that rehabilitation crap on the public, hey, that's fine with me. But I"- he pointed to himself-"know better. And you"- he turned the finger toward Matt-"know better."