S o I guess you don't believe me either." It was early in the morning, and Michelle and King were driving back to Wrightsburg.

"About what?" King asked.

"Simmons! The man I saw in the truck."

"I believe you. You saw what you saw."

She looked at him, surprised. "Well, Parks clearly didn't, why do you?"

"Because a Secret Service agent never forgets a face."

She smiled. "I knew I liked having you around. And look, there's something else. There apparently isn't a security firm guarding the Fairmount. So the guy who stopped me was a fake."

King looked very concerned. "Michelle, it could have been the same guy who killed Loretta."

"I know. I dodged a bullet there."

"What did he look like?" Michelle described him. "Sounds like a couple billion guys walking around. Nothing distinctive."

"That was probably intentional. So another dead end? That seems to be a recurring theme in this case."

L ater that morning, they pulled onto the drive heading up to King's house. When they reached the top, King's face darkened.

"Oh, hell," he exclaimed as he looked up ahead. An annoyed-looking Joan Dillinger was pacing in front of his house.

Michelle had seen her too. "The esteemed Ms. Dillinger doesn't look very happy."

"I know you're suspicious of her, but play it cool. She's one sharp lady."

Michelle nodded.

King got out of the truck and walked up to Joan.

"I've been calling you," she said.

"I've been out of town," explained King.

She started when Michelle climbed out of the Land Cruiser.

Glancing suspiciously at King and then back at Michelle, she said, "You're Agent Maxwell?"

"Yes. We actually met a few years ago when you were still with the Service."

"Of course. And you've certainly made a splash in the papers recently."

"That's right," Michelle said. "Coverage I could do without."

"I'm sure. What a surprise to see you here," Joan said as she looked at King intently. "I didn't know you and Sean even knew each other."

"It's a recent thing," said King.

"Uh-huh." Joan touched Michelle on the elbow. "Michelle, would you excuse us? I have something to talk about with Sean that's very important."

"Oh, no problem. I'm pretty beat anyway."

"Sean has that effect on lots of women. In fact, he could even be considered hazardous to some people's health."

The two women engaged in a stare-down. "Thanks for the tip, but I can take care of myself," said Michelle.

"I'm sure. But given the right opponent, you could find yourself out of your league."

"Actually that's never happened to me."

"Me either. They say the first time is truly memorable."

"I'll keep that in mind. Maybe you should too."

"Good-bye, Michelle," said Joan. "And thanks so much for letting me take Sean off your hands," she added icily.

"Yeah, thanks, Mick, " muttered King under his breath.

Michelle drove off, and King walked up the steps, with Joan marching right behind him. He could feel the white heat of her anger on the back of his neck. The condemned man going the last mile was the closest analogy he could come up with, and right now it seemed far too close.

Inside, Joan sat down at the kitchen table, while King put on some water for hot tea. Joan's expression brimmed with fury. "So would you care to tell me about you and Michelle Maxwell?"

"I already did. She's a recent phenomenon in my life."

"I don't believe in phenomena like that. She loses Bruno and then shows up on your doorstep?"

"What do you care?"

"What do I care? Are you insane? I'm investigating Bruno's disappearance, and you pop up with the detail leader who's on suspension for losing him."

"She looked me up because we both lost presidential candidates, and she wanted to compare notes. That's it. Bruno really doesn't enter the equation."

"Excuse me for saying, but my bullshit meter is clanging so hard it's popping some springs."

"That's the truth, accept it or not." He held up an empty cup. "Tea?" he asked pleasantly. "You look like you could use some. I've got Earl Grey, peppermint or the old standby, Lipton."

"Screw the tea! Where were you and she coming from?" she demanded.

King kept his voice calm. "Oh, from about eight years ago."

"What!"

"Just taking a walk down memory lane."

"Eight years ago?" She looked at him incredulously. "Did you go to Bowlington?"

"Bingo. Sugar and cream?"

"What the hell did you go there for?"

"Sorry, I don't think you're cleared for it."

Joan slammed her fist on the table. "Cut the shit, Sean, and tell me!"

He stopped making the tea and stared at her. "It's none of your damn business unless you tell me you have some interest in the Ritter assassination that I don't know about."

She looked at him warily. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Why don't you tell me what it means?"

Joan sat back, took a deep breath and ran a hand through her tangled hair. "Does she know we spent the night together at the hotel?"

"It doesn't matter what she knows or doesn't know. This is between you and me."

"I still don't know where all this is going, Sean. Why are you raking all this up now?"

"Maybe I don't know why. And maybe I really don't care to know, so let's just drop the whole damn thing. Water under the bridge, right? Sleeping dogs lie, okay? Let asshole Ritter rest in peace, right?" He prepared the tea and handed her a cup. "Here, peppermint, drink it!"

"Sean-"

He grabbed her arm and leaned very close. "Drink your tea."

His very low voice and intense gaze seemed to calm her down. She picked up her cup and took a sip. "It's good, thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, about your Bruno offer. Suppose I say yes. What's the first step in our little partnership?"

Joan still looked very upset, but she took out a file from her briefcase and went over its contents. She took a deep, apparently cleansing breath and said, "We need facts. So I've put together a list of people to interview." She slid across a piece of paper that King looked at.

"And going to the crime scene and working the angle from there."

King was running his eye down the list. "Okay, pretty thorough. Everyone from Mrs. Bruno to Mrs. Martin to Colonel Mustard and the butler." He stopped at one name on the list and looked up at her. "Sidney Morse?"

"He's supposedly at a mental institution in Ohio. Let's verify that. I'm assuming you'd recognize him?"

"I don't think I'll ever forget him. Theories going in?"

"Do I take all this interest as a yes?"

"Take it as a maybe. Theories?"

"Bruno had lots of enemies. He may already be dead."

"If so, the investigation is over before it started."

"No, my deal with Bruno's people is to find out what happened to him. I get the money whether he's found alive or not."

"Good negotiating. I see you haven't lost your edge."

"The work is just as hard if he's dead. In fact, it's more problematic if he's not alive. They pay me for results, whatever those results happen to be."

"Fine, understood. We were talking theories."

"One side has him kidnapped to throw the election their way. From what I can gather, Bruno's constituency might have been enough to swing the vote if he either withheld his support from or threw it to another party."

"Look, I really don't buy that a major political party kidnapped Bruno. Maybe in another country, but not here."

"Agreed. It's pretty far-fetched."

King sipped his tea and said, "So let's get back to more conventional malfeasance, shall we?"

"They kidnapped him for money, and the ransom demand will be forthcoming."

"Or a gang he wreaked havoc on when he was a prosecutor took him."

"If so, we'll probably never find the body."

"Any likely suspects on that?"

Joan shook her head. "I thought there would be, but actually no. The three worst organizations he helped break up have no active members on the outside. He did prosecute some local gangs in Philly after he left D.C., but they tended to operate within a two-block radius with little sophistication beyond guns, knives and cell phones. They wouldn't have had the brains or resources to snatch Bruno right out from under the Secret Service."

"Okay, we rule out enemies from when he was a prosecutor and those for political gain, and we have left pure financial motivation. Was he worth enough to take that risk?"

"By himself, no. As I said before, his wife's family has money, but they're not Rockefellers either. They could pay a million dollars but not more than that."

"Well, it sounds like a lot, but a million bucks just doesn't go as far as it used to."

"Oh, how I'd love to find out," said Joan. She glanced at her file. "Bruno's political party has funds, but still, there are lots of other targets with far bigger payoffs."

"And ones that don't have the Secret Service guarding them."

"Exactly. It's like whoever took Bruno did it for-"

King broke in. "For the challenge? To show they could beat the Secret Service?"

"Yes."

"They must have had inside info. Somebody on Bruno's staff."

"I've got some possibilities. We'll have to check them out."

"Great. But right now I'm going to grab a quick shower."

"I guess exploring your past is a dirty business," she said dryly.

"Boy, it sure can be," he shot back as he walked up the stairs.

She called after him. "Are you sure you want to leave me alone? I might hide a nuclear bomb in your sock drawer and get you into real trouble."

King went to his bedroom, flipped on the bathroom light, turnedon the shower and started brushing his teeth. He turned to close the door, lest Joan get any weird ideas.