"I thought he was a businessman. Owns restaurants and laundromats and things."

"He does," Yeoman said, "but only as a masquerade, and to explain his wealth. He's into everything thats dirty-drugs, prostitution, protection, gambling. He's into it all. The infor mation contained in that diary would probably put him away for a very long time."

"Are you trying to recover it for him?"

Yeoman's lips were pressed into a hard, tight line. Knots of muscle, jumped in his jaw. "No." The word that escaped from between his clenched lips was hard, flat, and cold enough to make Jennifer suppress a shiver.

"And you don't care about the stamps?"

He shook his head. His eyes had captured hers. She felt as if she were a sparrow held in the grip of a massive, now calm, but potentially destructive giant. It was a frightening yet somehow exhilarating feeling.

"Okayyy," she said slowly. "You don't care about the stamps. I don't care about this diary. I think that we can come to an understanding."

Yeoman smiled and again Jennifer suppressed a shiver. "Then you do have it."

"Well, I know where it is." She fell silent for a moment, considering. She didn't know this Yeoman from Adam. She knew that he was behind the recent spate of bow and arrow killings, since notes signed Yeoman had been scrawled on many of the crime scenes. Father Squid said he could be trusted, but then she didn't know Father Squid, either. He waited patiently as this all ran through her mind, as if aware that she was trying to resolve an internal dilemma. He wasn't acting like a murderous maniac. He was manifestly a dangerous man, but the dangerous aura that hung about him was like a spice, an alluring scent. A sudden resolve struck her, sparked by an equally strong impulse.

"I'll tell you where the book is," she said, "if you answer two questions."

"What?" There was genuine puzzlement on Yeoman's face and in his voice.

"How'd you trace me to Ebbets Field?"

"Simple." He grinned wolfishly. "Your fence turned you in. He heard the word that Kien had put out on the streets about the books, but he didn't know how to contact Kien directly. He had to go through a third. party, an information broker who's a… friend… of mine. She put him in touch with Kien, but she also told me about it. I got to his shop just in time to see you leave one of the stores next to the pawnshop, go down the street and join the ticket line in front of the ballpark. I'll just followed you inside."

"That makes sense… I guess. Now, my second question." She smiled sweetly. "What's your name?"

Jennifer herself barely understood why she asked him' that, knowing only that she wanted them to interact on a personal level, not as anonymous masked figures.

He drew back in his chair, frowned at her. "I could make you. tell me where the diary is."

Jennifer pulled the sweatshirt more tightly around her. Her throat was suddenly dry with the realization that she was treading in dangerous, potentially fatal waters.

"I know you could," she said in a small voice. "But you wouldn't.

"

"What in the world makes you say that?"

She shrugged slim shoulders. "I just know you wouldn't." He stared at her a moment longer, but she wouldn't drop her gaze. He growled something inarticulate, like an irate bear, and then said in an angry voice, "Brennan."

Jennifer nodded, obscurely relieved that she had been correct. Not that she had really been in danger. Her powers had certainly rejuvenated by now, and if he had attacked her all she would have had to do was ghost.

"Good," she said. "The books are with Dr. Tachyon."

"Tachyon?" Brennan asked in obvious astonishment. "Actually," she smiled, "in his wax figure in the Bowery Dime Museum."

"Not a bad hiding place," Brennan said after a moment of reflection. "Kien's men are still looking for you-once Wyrm tastes a scent he can follow it anywhere, as long as traces of it remain on his tongue-so I'll take you to a safe place and then go after the books. I'll keep the diary, you can have the others."

"I'll go with you-"

"No." The word was as hard and sharp as the edge of a guillotine blade. Jennifer knew there'd be no arguing with him about this.

"Well, if you're going to take me someplace, make it a place with food. I feel like I haven't eaten in a week." Brennan thought for a moment, then nodded. He reached into a back pocket of his jeans and took out a playing card, an ace of spades, borrowed a pen from Father Squid's desk, and scrawled a note on the face of the card. He put the pen back and passed the card to Jennifer.

"Hiram Worchester is throwing an aces-only party in his restaurant, Aces High. You should be safe there and there'll also be plenty to eat. You've heard of Fortunato?" Jennifer nodded. "Give this to him."

Jennifer glanced at the note he'd written on the card. It was short and to the point: Watch over her. Y. She looked up at Brennan, respect in her eyes. She'd heard a little about the shadowy ace, Fortunato. Not much, as he wasn't one to seek publicity, but the fact that Brennan was on personal terms with him was an interesting development. She wondered if he were an ace himself, and what ability the virus had given him.

"Or Tachyon, if Fortunato s not there. Whatever you do, though, stay away from Captain Trips-the tall, skinny hippie-and the dancer known as Fantasy. I'm not sure about them. Not sure at all."

She pondered his advice for a moment, then nodded. If she was to trust him, she'd trust him all the way.

"I don't want to be a bother, but could we stop for some clothes? I'd hate to go to Aces High dressed like this."

"The father told me about the state of your, um, dress." He reached down into the case on the floor by his feet and took out a bundle of clothes. "I hope they fit." He looked at her critically. "You're taller than I first thought."

He studiously looked all about the office while Jennifer stood, pulled the sweatshirt off, and got into a pair of jeans and a dark pullover sweater. She put on the socks Brennan had brought her and looked up from lacing the running shoes to see him gazing at her intently. There was also a mask among the clothing. She stuffed it into the back pocket of her jeans and stood up. The shirt and shoes fit fine, though the jeans were a little short and hugged her slim figure tightly. She folded the sweatshirt neatly and left it on the priest's desk with a short explicatory note.

"Right." Brennan stood and hefted his case. "First stop, Empire State Building." He smiled in satisfaction. "If you're not going to be safe in a room full of aces you wouldn't be safe anywhere."

Upstairs in his mother's brownstone, in the comfortable luxury of the upper West Side, Fortunato closed his eyes. Miranda straightened his black tie with skillful fingers. She was in her late forties now, heavier than she should have been if she was still a geisha, wearing tailored Chanel instead of low-cut ready-to-wear. She'd become his mother's business manager ten years ago and hadn't turned a trick since.

"You look bad," she said. "Is Veronica not working out?"

"No," Fortunato said. " I don't think she's going to make it."

"I never understood her. All she wants is to be married and have kids and put them in day-care, to have a husband she never sees, to have servants and cars and money. I keep asking myself what I did wrong."

"It's not you. It's the whole country. Greed is very chic these days."

She touched his lips and the skin tingled. "You're very tired."

"Exhausted."

" I used to know the cure for that." She was standing very close. He could smell her perfume and the sweetness of her skin. She read the willingness in his face and said, "Lie down."

He stretched out across the bed. She took off her jacket and skirt. Fortunato reached for his tie and she said, "Don't move. "