T ires screeched as a dark green sedan flew around the corner and entered the parking lot via the fast-food restaurant’s drive-thru exit. The brakes grabbed, and the front bumper nearly kissed the pavement as the car came to an abrupt halt just a few feet away from Jack.

Sergeant Chavez was standing nearby, speaking to the traffic-control leader by radio. Jack couldn’t hear every word, but he gathered that media vans with satellite dishes were starting to back up at both the north and south barricades on Biscayne Boulevard. The fleet of television helicopters whirring overhead had grown from one to three, their bright white search lamps cutting through the clear night sky. Meanwhile, the tactical teams stood idle outside the SWAT van, drinking only decaffeinated coffee, careful not to get too stimulated.

The moment the car door flew open, Jack recognized the mayor’s daughter from the recent photographs in the newspaper. The passenger door opened, and the man with the sunglasses and long white cane could only have been Vincent Paulo. As they approached, Jack noted the way Officer Mendoza guided her blind partner through unfamiliar territory, his hand resting in the crook of her elbow. She wasn’t steering him, nor had they locked arms like sweethearts, but Jack detected a level of comfort and familiarity between them, a certain naturalness to the physical contact.

“Any word on McKenzie?” she asked the sergeant.

Chavez cut his mike and said, “Took one in the belly. He’s in surgery now. We’re hoping for the best. I guess you heard about Lopez.”

Her nod was slow and deliberate, conveying only sadness. Jack suddenly wished he were invisible, as if his status as Falcon’s lawyer placed him somewhere between the outsider at a family funeral and an accomplice to murder.

“Any contact with the subject yet?” asked Paulo.

Chavez cast a glance in Jack’s direction. “His lawyer just took a phone call.”

“Where’s his lawyer?” asked Paulo.

“I’m right here,” said Jack.

Paulo turned at the sound of his voice, and they shook hands. Sergeant Malloy then introduced himself as the crisis-team leader from the Miami-Dade Police Department. The round of introductions ended with Jack facing Alicia.

There was always a level of discomfort when meeting your client’s victim, even if she was, relatively speaking, one of the lucky ones. Her demeanor toward Jack was professional, however, no daggers in those big brown eyes. She was wearing a stylish cropped leather jacket, black slacks and sweater, and heels that left her shorter than Jack and Sergeant Paulo but a good two inches taller than Chavez. If any doubt remained, the perfume and makeup confirmed that she had been summoned from an off-duty location. The photographs in the newspaper had presented the mayor’s daughter as quite an attractive woman, and Jack could now attest to the fact that the camera hadn’t lied.

Paulo asked, “How certain are we that Falcon has taken a hostage?”

“Very,” said Jack. “His name’s Theo Knight. He was riding with me when Falcon hijacked our car. The phone call came on Theo’s cell phone. Could be a woman in there, too.”

“I need more details,” said Paulo. “Who can bring me up to speed?”

Chavez gave him the rundown on police response thus far. Jack filled in everything from the carjacking to the call on Theo’s phone. Finally, they replayed the tape recording of Jack’s conversation with Falcon. For Jack, it was only a little less stressful the second time around. He was already starting to second-guess the things he’d said, and the way he’d said them, with Theo’s life in the balance.

Just as the tape finished, a helicopter cruised by so low that it stirred the cold night air around them. “Is that one of ours?” asked Paulo.

“Media,” said Chavez.

“We need them to back off.”

“No shit,” said Chavez.

Paulo looked up to the sky, which struck Jack as curious. He seemed to be responding to the sound and the wind. Paulo said, “Are you sure the telephone call came by cell?”

“Positive. Theo’s number came up on my display.”

“The crash may have taken out the phone lines. Chavez, you’ll need to check with the phone company. If there’s still phone ser vice to the motel, block out all calls except those coming from our communications vehicle. We don’t need him talking to some overactive journalist. By the way, has anyone contacted Building and Zoning yet?”

“Not yet,” said Chavez.

“We’ll want blueprints of the building. The more detailed, the better. Bearing walls versus nonbearing walls, crawl space, duct work, attic clearance. Have you located the water main?”

“We’re working on it,” said Chavez.

“Good. We may want to turn that off at some point. The same goes for electrical.”

“Any moron can see-” Chavez stopped himself, but he didn’t apologize for the slip. “The electricity is already out, at least in the room they’re in. The crash seems to have taken care of that.”

“Let’s not assume anything,” said Paulo. “I don’t want Falcon watching us on television, especially with these media choppers revealing our positions. So let’s get on it and cut the power as soon as possible. Is anyone else still inside the motel?”

Chavez said, “We went door-to-door as much as we could and evacuated the guests. Seems to be plenty of vacancy. We’ve accounted for sixteen guests. Some were already out on the street. They ran like hell when the car crashed into the building. I’m sure it must have sounded like a bomb going off.”

Paulo asked, “Was there anyone inside the motel room that Mr. Swyteck’s car crashed into?”

Jack felt a sudden chill. With all the commotion, he hadn’t yet stopped to consider the possibility of another victim crushed beneath his vehicle.

“We don’t know yet,” said Chavez.

“Is there a hotel manager or front-desk clerk we can ask?”

“Haven’t found him yet. It was pandemonium out here until traffic control cleaned things up.”

“Is there a guest registry in the front office?”

“Yeah, but about half of the guests we’ve talked to so far aren’t even listed on it. Some of these rooms seem to rent by the hour, if you know what I mean.”

Malloy interrupted, flashing an annoyed expression. “Excuse me, Sergeant Paulo. But exactly what is your role here?”

Alicia answered, “He has a history of negotiations with Falcon, going back almost two years. He’s here at the request of Chief Renfro.”

“You mean he’s going to be the lead negotiator?” said Malloy.

Paulo said, “I’m not trying to sound like a jerk, but would everyone please stop talking about me as if I weren’t here? I’m blind, not invisible.”

“Sorry,” said Alicia.

“To answer your question: No, I’m not going to be lead negotiator. I’ve agreed to get a dialogue started. But once that’s done, I’m out. You guys can take it from there.”

Jack said, “Sorry, but that won’t work. You heard the tape of the phone call. The only person Falcon wants to talk to is me, and he told me to talk to Vince Paulo if I needed help figuring out what he wants.”

Malloy said, “Let’s get something straight right now. A lawyer is not going to be our lead negotiator.”

“Then it has to be me and Paulo.”

An uneasy silence came over the group. It was impossible for Jack to read Paulo’s expression, the eyes hidden as they were behind dark glasses. Finally, Paulo said, “Let’s take it one step at a time. First thing we have to deal with is the demand. Tell me more about the money he wants.”

“He has cash in a safe deposit box in Nassau. He thinks I took it, but I didn’t. I left all but enough to cover his bail right where I found it, back in the Bahamas.”

“How much money are we talking about?”

Jack hesitated. His criminal defense lawyer instincts were kicking in, but the bottom line was that if this lawyer-client relationship hadn’t died with the carjacking, then it definitely took a backseat to the gun Falcon was holding to Theo’s head. “I counted exactly two hundred thousand originally. His bail was ten thousand.”