They both expected it to be Hayes, but it was Laura Towle, inviting them to a dinner with the school board member who represented their district. Boldt listened one-sided as Liz accepted. She knew that her husband supported her own passion to improve the early reading program. But the intrusion registered on both their faces as Liz hung up. David Hayes had stepped into their lives. There was no getting around it.

Not long after that they rounded up the kids and got them to bed. Familiar routines that settled Boldt’s anxieties and reminded him how important this family life had become for him.

Twenty minutes after the kids went down Liz’s cell phone rang, and this time her face collapsed as she answered. Boldt edged up next to her and she cocked the phone away from her head just far enough for Boldt to overhear.

Hayes made it short and sweet. She was to withdraw five thousand dollars in cash from the bank, deposit it into an aluminum briefcase sold by a Brookstone store in the small mall beneath the bank, and carry it with her out of the bank and onto the streets. Additional instructions were to come by cell phone then.

“They’re willing to deal,” Liz said, stretching the known facts. “The details aren’t worked out, but they’re sympathetic to your situation. They’re willing to protect you and your mother. Let me work this out for you, David.”

The long pause on the other end of the call seemed good reason for hope.

“Don’t let me down, Lizzy. These guys… there’s no deal that could possibly be good enough. Help me out here. Do this for me. Tomorrow, four P.M. sharp.”

The line disconnected.

Twenty-five minutes later, at Boldt’s beckoning, Danny Foreman knocked on the back door, and Boldt let him in. He was out of breath, his forehead sparkling, his eyes frantic, betraying a cluttered mind.

“Let me explain this,” Foreman said, looking too big for the lovingly restored parlor chair that had once been Liz’s great-aunt’s. He sat forward, dispensing a sense of urgency that Boldt found contagious.

Boldt reviewed the Hayes phone call with Danny Foreman as if Liz weren’t in the room, an attitude corrected after a series of glaring looks on her part. He built up to a point where he felt himself capable of negotiating Liz out of the money drop that Hayes had requested. It was then that Foreman jumped in with his own news.

“I’ve spoken to Paul Geiser. Any deal is predicated upon the recovery of the software or whatever means was used to hide the money as well as the identification and apprehension of whoever’s money it was in the first place.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Liz blurted out. “That’s not a deal. That’s conscription. He’s not a cop, for heaven’s sake.”

“Paul is just a prosecutor. He’d have to pull some serious strings to provide permanent relocation for Hayes and his mother. Witness protection like that is only done on the federal level.” Boldt felt himself nodding along. The state could protect an important trial witness for a matter of weeks, or sometimes even months, but true relocation was a matter for the Justice Department. “If he can put a racketeering charge onto whoever’s got a thumb on Hayes, then the U.S. Attorney’s Office takes over and he says relocation is possible, not guaranteed, but possible. But that’s the only way it’s going to happen.”

“It’s too much,” Liz said.

“You’re speaking for him now, are you?”

“Lay off, Danny,” Boldt said.

Foreman sat back and collected himself. “Paul asked if Liz would go along with us, at least far enough to obtain what he calls the ‘cloaking’ software-whatever means was used to hide the money. I told him I doubted it, given your involvement.”

“You’ve got that right.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, okay?” Liz leveled a look at both men. “Did you tell this prosecutor about David and me, Danny?” Foreman looked as if she’d slapped him across the face. “He knows, Danny,” she said, indicating Boldt. “I told you I wasn’t going to hide any of this.”

“He knows I have some juice on you, yes, because he asked how far we could push you.”

“And you answered, how?” Boldt asked.

“I was clear that the degree of her involvement would probably be defined by you more than by her.”

“But you said you had juice.”

“I did, but Paul has no idea of the nature of that.”

“He can guess,” Liz said.

“No. If he guesses, it will have to do with internal politics, because that’s the way Paul Geiser thinks.” Foreman looked around the room, his eyes landing on the kids’ books and toys. Boldt wondered if he was thinking that had Darlene lived, such clutter might be on the floor of his own living room. “I want her to make the drop.”

“Absolutely not.”

“To show goodwill. To show him she means business, that he can trust her.”

“Hayes needs her and her security clearance in order to access these computers. That makes her a constant target of possible abduction. A drop like this… for all we know, it’s a trap being laid to kidnap her.”

Liz interjected, “Then why wouldn’t he have simply taken me when we met earlier? He had a terrific opportunity. No, it’s not the way David operates. He’s not going to kidnap anyone. If he can’t get me to do this for him, he’ll think of something else.”

“We do not want to lose contact with him,” Foreman pressed. “Liz is that contact.”

“So we’ll give him what he wants,” Boldt said.

Liz asked, “Will someone please tell me what we’re all agreeing to?”

“Give us a chance to set it up,” Boldt told Foreman, who looked as surprised as Liz that he had acquiesced. Boldt told them exactly what he had in mind.

“THE WOMEN’S REST ROOM DOWN the hall will have a yellow sign out front saying it’s being cleaned,” Danny Foreman told Liz over the phone in a calm, melodious voice. “Go in there now.”

She walked out her office door and down the hall, telling her assistant that she’d be right back. She doubted that. The wall clock read 3:40. She was scheduled to pick up the five thousand in cash at 4:00. This was it. A day of clock-watching over, actually doing some felt a bit surreal.

Stepping inside, she was met by a woman she recognized. This woman locked the door behind her and whispered “Clear” into the echoing tile room.

It took Liz a moment to identify Detective Bobbie Gaynes because of the dark blue coveralls. Gaynes was the first woman to ever make Homicide. She wore her dark hair cut short, and the cleaning-company coveralls fit her loosely.

Gaynes spoke softly. “Your every movement will be tracked by Special Ops, Mrs. B.” Everyone on the Crimes Against Persons unit called her this. “Just as the Lieu probably told you, I need you to follow my instructions closely and do exactly as I say. Me and the girls urge you to ask questions whenever you’re unclear. We’ll repeat or explain ourselves as necessary, though time is of the essence. Okay? We want to get this right the first time. Okay?” She waited hardly a second. “Good.”

Liz found it hard to breathe.

Lou had explained the operation to her, but it had seemed at the time that little would be expected of her. Now, even that little bit felt like too much.

Gaynes continued, “This here is Gina.” The woman stood about five feet, and had to be a size two. She had Italian coloring, a sweet smile, and a firm handshake. “If you ever seen Cats up on Fifth, you seen Gina’s handiwork.” In front of Gina, on the countertop between two sinks, a series of open fishing tackle boxes offered a wealth of cosmetics, from eyebrow pencils and blushes to hairpieces and bras.

A woman with dark hair, average height, stood next to Gina, her blouse unbuttoned and hanging open. She looked familiar, though Liz felt certain they’d never met. No introduction was made. This woman remained firmly fixed on Gina.