Charlotte's smile faded at what Bonnie said next

"I'm sorry Matt's taking the Connors' move so hard."

"He takes everything hard since Kurt died."

"I know."

"He's not bouncing back the way Hank has."

"He needs more time, Charlotte. He's older than Hank. And it's only been-"

"Eighteen months, eleven days, and twenty-two hours."

The women's eyes locked. Bonnie squeezed Charlotte's hand even harder and tried to smile.

Then in tandem, the women turned their gaze to the split-level stone and siding house at 1232 Hayden Circle. With the plastic climbing toys and the BMX bikes removed from the lawn, Charlotte thought the house next door looked downright glamorous-and a little lonely.

She glanced at the red sold sticker slapped across the real estate sign, proof that LoriSue Bettmyer had successfully closed another deal.

"Any more dirt on who bought the house?" Bonnie gave Charlotte a sidelong glance. "Because I've got to say that LoriSue's been weirder than usual about this. Maybe a decade of bleach buildup has finally leached into her brain."

"That would explain so much."

As the two giggled like girls, Charlotte scanned the house and its sloped, painstakingly landscaped front yard. "Actually, nothing," she eventually answered. "It's strange. All the Connors said is somebody from First National signed the closing documents and the bank is listed as owner. They have no idea who is going to live here-and it's freaking me out What if some psycho moves in?"

"Then Ned will have somebody to play with!" Bonnie slid her arm around Charlotte's shoulders and guided her back toward the house.

They walked up the drive, past a neat row of yellow tulips in full bloom, past the little clumps of lilies of the valley along the front walkway, and to the front door of Charlotte's tidy two-story Colonial.

Charlotte put her hand on the brass doorknob, then paused. She slowly turned her head. "Tell me I'm being paranoid, Bon. Tell me the new neighbors will be a nice family with two-point-five children and a gerbil"

"Hmm. Not sure about the gerbil, but I bet you'll love them, whoever they turn out to be."

Bonnie pushed open the door and ushered Charlotte inside.

"Besides. You've got to remember that Ned and I were a bit worried the day you newly weds pulled up in your beat-up Chevette. And look at us now. I can't imagine my life without you and the children."

Charlotte looked closely at her friend, noticing the crinkles at her eyes, the damp sparkle at her lashes, and knew with certainty that she wouldn't have survived the last year without Bonnie and Ned Preston.

"Ohio?"

Joe Bellacera's mouth fell open in shock. Then he lanced Roger Hagerman with one of his trademark menacing stares.

But Roger already knew this was not going to be an easy sell.

"Minton, Ohio, Joe." He shuffled some papers on his desktop. "Population of just over twenty thousand souls. An hour or so from Cincinnati. Near the scenic and historic Ohio River. Good schools. Decent, patriotic folk."

"You might as well put a bullet in my brain now and skip the middleman."

Roger winced. "Only living people can testify in a court of law, as you know."

He watched Joe turn up the intimidation level of his stare, and though Roger tried to smile casually at him, he couldn't quite manage it. No wonder Joe Bellacera had a reputation for getting exactly what he wanted-whether it was convincing an informant to talk or a getting a woman he'd just met to eat out of his hand. It was his eyes. They could be pitch-black and threatening one minute and cheerful and sweet the next.

And though he'd known Joe since he was a kid straight out of Special Forces, the guy's intensity still managed to make Roger more than a little nervous.

Roger breathed a sigh of relief when Joe began to let his big body relax into the chair, his glare mellowing to a frown.

"So let's hear it, boss." Joe ran a hand through what was left of the heavy black hair that had been past his shoulders only days ago. "Who am I? What's my story?"

Roger reached for the dossier, flipped open the cover embossed with the Drug Enforcement Administration shield, and read aloud.

"You're Joseph William Mills.'"

Joe let out a sharp laugh. "Jesus tap-dancing Christ! Mills? Could you possibly have been a little less Wonder Bread?" He shook his head. "Go on."

Roger stifled a chuckle, agreeing that the name hardly fit Joe's, infamous Latin-lover looks. "We're going Middle America here, Joe."

"I'm all over it."

Roger laughed out loud at that "You're a mystery writer trying to get published. You live off your investments. You work at home. Keep to yourself. Divorced. No kids. Moved from the city to start over. A private kind of person."

Joe mumbled something probably crude and probably in Spanish, Italian, or Greek or some combination thereof. Roger raised an eyebrow.

"Go on," Joe said, crossing one long leg over a knee. "This is good. I can't wait to hear the rest."

Roger scanned the file. "Hayden Heights subdivision. Soccer moms and corporate dads. We've done background checks on everyone and the place is squeaky clean. The house is a nice, modern split-level with four bedrooms, two and a half baths, a patio, and a pool. And it's all compliments of the U.S. Marshals Service." Roger winked. "They owed me one "

"Plush. Give the marshal my regards. But why the hell do I need four bedrooms?"

"Well, for one thing, you'll be meeting with the supervisory agent in Cincinnati, a guy named Rich Baum. He could really use your expertise while you're in town."

"Yeah, but we'll be meeting in his office, not my bedroom. What ami supposed to do with a place that big?"

"You can run around the house and dance to show tunes for all I care-just keep a low profile until the trial."

"That could be a while." '

"We're well aware of that. We're just trying to make this as pleasant as possible for you."

"I still say shoot me."

"Not an option. The whole case against Guzman is built on your testimony about the year you and Steve spent inside."

"I know."

"Guzman has a million-dollar reward out for your head, Bellacera."

"I know."

"So if you don't disappear, you're a dead man. And years of hard work and countless taxpayer dollars are down the crapper. Not to mention you'll never get justice for Steve and his family. So you go. It's your job to go."

Joe said nothing for a long moment, and Roger watched the shadow of grief and rage pass through the agent's face. He hoped the downtime would allow Joe to come to terms with the murder of his partner, Steve Simmons, and his wife and son-as much as that was possible. Joe looked him straight in the eye and whispered, "When?"

"Three days. Stay in the safe house until then. Movers will come for your stuff day after tomorrow. Here." Roger handed him a manila envelope. "The usual-driver's license, Social Security card, retail credit report, passport, birth certificate, baptismal certificate, Visa, medical records, your airline ticket, and there's even a Clermont County Library card."

Joe peeked inside the flap, then grimaced. "Guess I'll have plenty of time to read."

"Good luck to you, Mr. Mills." Roger stood up to shake his hand, and he felt a big smile spread across his face. "And for God's sake, Joe-do us all a favor and stay away from the soccer moms."

"We have two minutes and sixteen seconds! Move it!"

Charlotte tossed her laptop case into the front passenger seat and revved up the minivan's engine, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel with one hand while clutching the Palm Pilot stylus in the other. She poked at the tiny keyboard.