She told him, "If you've changed your mind about last night, I'm afraid I have too. I behaved very poorly. I hope you're not too disappointed in me."

It was the most contradictory rejection and apology Mason had ever received. The more he learned about Beth, the less he understood her. The more he saw of her, the more he wanted her.

Mason said, "We need to talk. You should get dressed first."

Beth waited a fraction of a minute, letting him reconsider, then gathered her robe closely to her chest. "Of course. I'll only be a minute." She left a renewed chill behind as she went back upstairs.

The minute she had promised turned into thirty. While he waited, Mason explored the first floor. There was a dining room to the left of the entry hall and a living room to the right. Unlike his, they were furnished. Beth's tastes ran to antiques and oriental rugs, muted taupe and pale burgundy fabrics, and overstuffed pillows.

There was a portrait in the living room of a brooding young girl set in shadow, her long blond hair hanging loosely over a thin white gown, open at the neck. The girl's fingers were wrapped in strands of her hair, her lips half open with wistful longing. Her features were soft, her eyes both dreamy and sad. The artist had captured an ache that reverberated throughout the girl, as if she'd seen her future and wished she could turn from it. Looking more closely, he realized that the girl was Beth.

"I was fifteen. My mother was the artist," Beth said from behind him. "She painted portraits while my father took his secretary on business trips. She told me how he had cheated on her since before I was born but that she couldn't afford to leave him. Then one day, he left her. She said she wanted to paint me while I was still young and no one had crushed my heart like he had crushed hers."

Beth had changed into slightly wrinkled chinos and a plum-colored crew-neck sweater. She had brushed out the kinks in her hair, but wasn't wearing any makeup. She still looked beautiful but, for the first time, she also looked brittle, as if one more jolt would fracture her. The girl in the painting had seen her future.

"You said we needed to talk," she reminded him. "What about?"

"Why did Ed Fiora send you to find me last night?"

"Why do you think?"

"Then he did send you?"

"You won't consider the possibility that I was there alone, that I saw you and wanted to be with you?"

Mason hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I did consider that. It may be true, but I don't think it's entirely true."

"A concession to your ego and my weakness, Lou?" He didn't answer. "It would be less humiliating if it weren't true at all. Then I'd just be a victim instead of a fool and you might be willing to help me."

"I can't help you if I don't know the truth, and I may not be able to help you even then."

She walked over to where he was standing and studied her painted image. "My mother wasn't exactly a prize either. She was cold and aloof, even toward me. She put her feelings in her paintings, stroking her brushes instead of my father and me. My father needed constant reassurance that he was wonderful and wanted. They made each other's weaknesses worse."

"It's a little late in life to be blaming dear old Mom and Dad, isn't it?"

Beth folded her arms over her chest. "You bet it is. I just got some of the worst from both of them, and I ended up looking for love in all the wrong places."

Mason said, "That song has been covered by a lot of people."

"Listen, this isn't easy. I was so determined not to screw up like they did. I put everything into school and my career. I graduated first in my class, got a job with a top firm, went back to teach law school, got appointed to the Gaming Commission. I was doing everything right publicly, but I made some bad choices privately."

"Including taking a bribe to approve the license for the Dream Casino?"

She shook her head. “No. I really thought Fiora's application was the best one. The key to it was the lease with the city for the location at the landing. It was the best deal for the taxpayers."

"What about Fiora's background?"

"We checked him out every way possible. He's rough around the edges, but we found no compelling evidence that he was dirty."

"Then why the scandal?"

Beth looked at Mason, silently judging them both. "Fiora bribed the mayor. Jack Cullan set it up through a secret ownership in the Dream Casino."

"Can you prove that?"

"I had heard enough whispers that I was going to have the Gaming Commission investigate it. I think we could have made the case."

"Why didn't you?"

"I was about to until Jack invited me to go out that night. He tried to bribe me during dinner. Not straight up. Just enough subtle hints about what a bad idea it would be if the commission investigated the Dream Casino and that I would be well taken care of if I stayed out of it."

"You turned him down?"

"I acted like I didn't hear him, like I didn't know what he was talking about. I told him that we couldn't discuss commission business at all. He let it drop until we got to Blues on Broadway. Then he brought it up again. Only this time he threatened me."

"With what?"

Beth sat down on a sofa, sinking deeply into the cushions. "I told you that I had made some bad choices. One of my husbands was the worst. I let him take some photographs of me." She dipped her head, bit her lip, and looked away. "Doing some things." She rubbed her palms across her eyes. "Jack said that he'd bought the pictures from my ex and had given them to Ed Fiora. He promised to get them back from Fiora if I played ball. That's when I threw my drink in his face."

Mason paced slowly around the living room, trying to concentrate on the crown molding along the ceiling, the intricate design of the parquet hardwood floor-anything but the person dissolving on the sofa. He didn't know whether he should drop to one knee, take her hand in his, and promise to avenge her honor, or whether he should twist her arm until she agreed to take a polygraph test.

Mason said, "That doesn't explain last night."

Beth took another deep breath and sat up straighter. "No, it doesn't. I was at the grocery and this huge man comes walking down the aisle. He dropped an envelope in my cart. At first, I thought it was an accident. Then I saw my name on the envelope. There was an invitation to the party inside and a photocopy of one of the pictures. Someone had written a note that said Mr. Fiora looks forward to seeing me at the party. So I went."

"Did you keep the invitation and the picture?"

"No. I almost got sick right there in the grocery store. I burnt them when I got home."

"What happened when you got to the party?"

"Fiora's moose found me. God only knows how in that crowd. Fiora told me where to find you."

"And the rest?"

Beth rose from the sofa and walked to the floor-length windows at the front of the room, her hands balled into fists. She banged them against the glass, pressed harder, and turned to face Mason.

"The little prick told me that since I liked being in pictures so much, he wanted to get some of you and me together. He told me to go find you and use my imagination. He said he'd be watching."

Mason thought about their embrace, her kiss, and his rejection of her. "What did you do after you left me out on the prow?"

"I got out of there as fast as I could, came home, and got drunk."

He stared at her, hoping to peel through the layers she was wrapped in and find something or someone he could believe. "Right after you left, someone tried to shoot me. I had to jump into the river to get away. I got shot anyway and nearly drowned."

Beth's hands fluttered to her mouth and she let out a long, low moan as she slid slowly into a heap on the floor. The sunlight poured through the windows behind her, burying her in its brightness. Mason walked over to her and she looked up at him, silently mouthing that she was sorry. She reached for his hand, and he reluctantly took hers as she pulled him down toward her.