“I know.” Something very much like regret softened his expression, but I wasn’t about to be fooled. Remember, I said I’d known Tyler a long time. “I’ve told Eve I was wrong,” he said. “I’ve told her I’m sorry.”

A better woman would have taken the comment at face value, and maybe even softened a little. I wasn’t about to let Tyler off the hook so easily.

Even though there wasn’t much room to move, I took a step forward, just so he’d know I wasn’t going to fold like an origami stork. “So that apology of yours… you telling Eve you’re sorry… that’s supposed to make everything all better?”

“No. But it’s supposed to start to make everything better.”

I had another opportunity to be charitable. I chose not to take it.

“So Eve is just supposed to forgive and forget, that’s what you’re telling me?” The very notion offended me so deeply, I nearly choked on my words. “You can’t just break a woman’s heart into a couple million pieces and then show up again and expect her to pretend it never happened. You hurt her too deeply. You disappointed her. She trusted you. She depended on you. She thought you’d be there for her and-”

“We’re talking about me and Eve, Annie. Not about you and Peter. What he did to you, don’t take that out on me.”

Tyler ’s words hit like a slap, and I found myself staring at him, wishing I could find a way to tell him he was wrong, and knowing it was impossible. See, for the first time in his hard-nosed, strong-armed, one-upmanship life, Tyler Cooper was absolutely, one hundred percent right.

“I’m sorry.” OK, so it wasn’t the most eloquent way to let him know, but it was sincere, and, for all his faults, I think Tyler appreciates sincerity. My laugh was both embarrassed and uneasy. “I guess that’s what some shrink would call transference. You’re hanging around. Peter’s hanging around. And I’m just sort of taking what I feel about him and piling it onto you.” I took a step away from Tyler, a symbolic way of letting him know that if he was genuine, I was willing to back off. “What Eve and you do, it’s none of my business.”

Like I said, he’s subtle. At least he didn’t come right out and call me an idiot. Instead, he rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s your business. You and Eve are best friends. But Annie…” Tyler reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. Just as quickly, he knew he’d gone too far in exposing his softer side and he dropped my hand like a hot potato. “I don’t know if we’ll work it out,” he told me. “But I do know I’m going to try. It would be easier if I didn’t find you gunning for me around every corner.”

“It’s that obvious, huh?” I tried for a smile.

So did Tyler. “Look, if you see me stepping out of line… well, I guess if you see me stepping out of line, I can be pretty sure you’ll call me on it.”

“I will.” My nod reinforced my answer. “And if you see me sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong-”

“I’ll tell you that, too. And you won’t listen.”

I might have taken offense if Tyler didn’t grin.

And if it wasn’t true.

“Speaking of that…” We weren’t, but this seemed as good a time as any to talk to Tyler about what I wanted to talk to him about in the first place. When I sat down near my desk, he took the guest chair. “What are we going to do about Norman?”

Tyler scrubbed his hands over his face. “Wish I knew,” he said, and I realized that, like Tyler, I appreciated the truth. Even when I didn’t want to hear it. “Seems like all we can do is wait for the killer to come after him again.”

A shiver snaked up my back. Telling Norman he could start leading a normal life again, then hanging him out to dry, didn’t seem like a kindness. “There’s got to be a better way. A way to bring the guy out in the open and still maintain some control,” I said. “You know, a way for Norman to expose himself-you know what I mean,” I added when I saw a smirk on Tyler ’s face. “A way for him to come out in public and for you to be there to make sure he’s all right.”

“You mean like using him as a decoy.”

It wasn’t what I meant when I said it, but now that Tyler mentioned it…

My computer was on so I clicked on the Internet and from there to the information about the food show where Norman-or at least his alter ego, Jacques Lavoie-was supposed to do a cooking demonstration.

“It’s tomorrow,” I said, pointing to the screen so Tyler knew what I was talking about. “I’ll bet Norman hasn’t officially canceled. I’m sure he forgot all about it. What if he did it, Tyler? What if he went to the food show and did that cooking demonstration? There probably wouldn’t be an immediate threat. I mean, the guy wants to talk to Norman, right? Not kill him. If it really is this O’Hara fellow, he wants to find out what happened to the money from the bank robbery, and he wants the money back. He wouldn’t risk hurting Norman before he can find out what’s going on. And you, you could be there-”

“For protection.” Tyler ’s gaze was steely. “It might work. Could you convince him?”

I wasn’t sure. Until I thought that a man who rebottles dishwashing soap and sells it as a miracle cleaner… well, deep down inside, a man like that has to have a lot of nerve.

THE RONALD REAGAN BUILDING AND INTERNATIONAL

Trade Center has an amphitheater that seats six hundred and twenty-five. A half hour before Jacques Lavoie was set to step out onstage and demonstrate an array of French foods and cooking techniques, the place was just about packed.

And any one of those six hundred and twenty-five people could have been Greg’s killer.

I looked over the crowd, checking faces against what I remembered of the man who’d tried to snatch Norman off the street in Atlantic City. Needless to say, I got nowhere fast, and honestly, I should have known this from the start. I’d tangled with a couple of killers in my day, and none of them were what I expected. Now the only thing I had to go on was that the person who’d shot Greg and the person who’d darted out of that black sedan back in A.C. was a man.

A couple hundred of the people in the audience were men.

Was I going to lose heart? Not by a long shot. I scanned the crowd one more time, looking for Tyler and the other detectives who were there to assure Norman ’s safety, and confident we were doing the right thing in the right way, I wiped any residual worry from my expression and turned toward where Norman was waiting in the wings.

In khakis, a blue shirt, and a crisp Très Bonne Cuisine apron, he looked the part of the French chef so many knew and loved.

The only question now was, could he pull it off?

“You ready?” I gave him a quick hug. “You’ve got a lot of fans out there waiting for you.”

“I do?” It was Norman ’s voice, Norman ’s nervous gaze that traveled to the stage and beyond, as if he could see the audience gathering on the other side of the curtain. We heard the murmur of the crowd and, like me, I had no doubt he was thinking that one of those voices might sound awfully familiar if it said, “It’s payback time, Norman.”

Unlike me, Norman wasn’t very good about hiding his jitteriness. (At least I thought I was doing a pretty good job of it.) He ran his tongue over his lips. He shifted from foot to foot. Even though we needed special passes to get backstage and that should have assured us that everyone there really belonged, his gaze darted over his shoulder and, from there, up to the catwalk that crossed the stage high above our heads.

Norman ’s voice was as fidgety as his movements. “I dunno, Annie. I’m not sure I can do this. What if… what if he’s out there waiting?”

“That’s exactly what we want to happen.” I put a hand on Norman ’s shoulder and leaned in closer so that none of the stagehands working around us could hear. “You’re going to be fine. There are plenty of cops out there and a couple more stationed here backstage. Nobody’s going to get anywhere near you. Not before they get the guy first. You remember what we said last night.”