"I follow you. That doesn't mean I'm with you."

"Something you disagree with?"

"I just need to give you fair warning. It's my job to consider more than one possibility."

"Understood. But you have to ask yourself, would Theo have called the cops after Isaac came to see him if he was planning to gun him down himself?"

"That's a fair point. But people do stupid things. They have a change of heart."

"Then you should jump at the chance to protect Theo. If my theory is correct, Theo is the live bait that helps you catch a two-time killer who helped Reems escape from prison. If I'm wrong, or just plain bluffing, what better way is there to keep your eye on Theo the suspect?"

She fell silent, thinking. Finally, she said, "I need a little time to sell that to the bureau."

"But you'll try?"

"I'll try."

"I have your word on that?"

"You have my word."

She raised her cup, and Jack clanked his against it in a silent toast. His coffee spilled on impact, and as they fumbled for napkins to mop it up, Jack got the uneasy feeling that this was a metaphor.

Hard to imagine an alliance with Andie that was anything but rocky.

Uncle Cy didn't like it one bit.

Just six hours after his release from the hospital, Theo was already trying to sweep his uncle out of the house. "I'm fine," Theo kept telling him. "Take a walk, see a friend, rent some porn. Just go."

The doctors had told Cy the same thing – not the part about the porn, but the fact that Theo was "fine" They'd kept him overnight for observation, liked what they saw, and discharged him with a flesh-tone bandage on his head and a prescription for painkillers. Cy pushed him out of the hospital in a wheelchair – it was hospital policy, undoubtedly implemented after a patient tripped over his own feet and sued the world for failing to remind him that it was left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot – and from then on, Theo was Mr. Independence. "Cy, go away" seemed to be Theo's message. He was a good nephew. He was a really lousy patient.

The phone rang. "I'll get it," Cy shouted.

"No, you won't!" Theo fired back. He launched himself from the couch, muted the television, and picked up before Cy could count another ring.

The old man watched from across the room. It was a short conversation. Cy couldn't hear what his nephew was saying, but Theo had a serious expression on his face. As he hung up, Theo brought his hand to his head, right to the oversized bandage that covered his stitches, and grimaced in pain. It wasn't clear if Theo had touched them because they hurt or if they hurt because he'd touched them.

"Something wrong at the bar?" said Cy.

"No, that was-" He stopped, apparently unwilling to say. "I'm sure everything's fine there"

"You look upset."

Theo was still deep in thought, not at all focused on the conversation. He went to his computer desk and rifled through a drawer. "I'm not upset."

"You sound like you are."

He slammed the drawer in anger.

"What are you looking for?"

Theo ripped the hospital's plastic ID bracelet from his wrist.

"Scissors are in the kitchen drawer," said Cy.

Theo drew a breath, composing himself. "It ain't the bar. But now that you bring it up, it'd be cool if you popped down to Sparky's to see how Trina's doing. No one in his right mind screws off in front of her, but another set of eyes on those morons can't hurt."

"So that wasn't Trina on the phone?"

"It – it doesn't matter who that was. Can you just go?"

Theo's tone worried him, but there was no denying the anxiety of barely escaping a gunshot to the head – not to mention the added stress of knowing that the killer was probably still gunning for you. "Sure, I can check on things," Cy said. "You want anything while I'm out?"

"No."

"Pizza? Ice cream?"

"No. Really. Nothin'."

Cy noted the tone of voice again. Theo didn't appear angry. It was more a sense of urgency. He was suddenly in a major hurry to get his uncle out the door.

Cy patted his pants pockets. Empty. "You got the car keys?"

"No, you do."

"You drove home from the hospital, not me."

"Yeah, but-"

There was a firm knock at the front door.

"Shit," said Theo.

"Who is it?" Cy called out.

"Go upstairs," said Theo, shuffling his uncle toward the staircase.

"Police," came the answer from outside the door.

Cy shot a look of concern at his nephew. "What's going on?"

"Just go upstairs, all right?"

He shook free from Theo's grip, went to the door, and opened it. Two uniformed police officers, one male and one female, were standing on the porch. Cy recognized them as City of Miami cops. He could see his own concern reflected in the tall guy's sunglasses. "What's this about?"

The male cop answered. "Is this the residence of Theodopolis Knight?"

"Yes. What's this-"

"Is Mr. Knight home now?"

"Yes, he is. But-"

"I'm right here," said Theo as he nudged his uncle aside. He stood face-to-face with the cop, who promptly reached for his handcuffs.

In an instant, the two officers crossed the threshold and had Theo facing the other way, hands behind his back. The lead cop spoke as he cuffed him. "Theodopolis Knight, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right…"

Cy tried to listen as they read Theo his rights, but the voices faded into a whirl of confusion.

"Arrest?" said Cy. "For what?"

Theo said, "Don't say anything."

The cop patted Theo down and found the pistol in his pocket.

Cy said, "That's for protection. His lawyer told him-"

"I told you not to say anything!" Theo said.

The female cop placed the gun in an evidence bag.

The old man watched from the open doorway as Theo went peaceably with the two officers. They took him to the squad car and opened the rear passenger-side door. As he ducked into the backseat, Theo looked toward his uncle on the porch and said, "Just call Jack. He'll know what to do."

The cops buckled him in and closed the door. Cy felt like he should do something, but he was helpless.

In seconds, they were gone.

Theo was arraigned from jail, his court appearance nothing more than a closed-circuit television transmission to the duty judge. Bail was set at $25,000. The charge was harboring a fugitive and a host of related offenses, including the aiding and abetting of Isaac Reems's escape.

Theo uttered just two words at the arraignment: "Not guilty." His lawyer didn't even ask the prosecutor to recommend release on his own recognizance, didn't urge the judge to set a lesser amount. But he did offer Theo some words of encouragement, and he meant them quite literally.

"Watch your back, buddy."

Theo didn't make bail.

It was 10:00 p.m., and Turner Guilford Knight Correctional Center was in lockdown for the night. Theo's mind was elsewhere as the guards escorted him to his cell.

The walk down the long corridor, iron bars on either side, triggered a wave of memories. Prison would always be a part of him, and not even the vindication of DNA testing could erase the fact that he'd lost four of his best years to Florida's death row. Sometimes that seemed like another lifetime. Right now, it felt like yesterday, and the worst of his checkered past was rising up in his throat like battery acid. He'd come within minutes of a gruesome death, saved only by an eleventh-hour stay of execution won by his lawyer from the Freedom Institute, a young idealist named Jack Swyteck. Theo recalled every step of the lonely, final journey from which most men never returned. He'd managed only two bites of his last meal, stone crabs and Key lime pie. He'd refused God's forgiveness, and he would never forget the prison chaplain's frustration at his continued protestations of innocence. He could still smell the tobacco-stained hand of the prison barber who shaved his head and ankles so that the electrodes would connect properly at both ends, ensuring the smooth and efficient passage of kilovolts that would sear his skin, boil his blood, and snuff out his life. In the Hollywood portrayal, a stoic corrections officer calls out, "Dead man walking." In Florida, however, it was "Dead man coming," and it was the refrain of fellow inmates, not prison personnel, as the condemned man – hands and feet shackled, dressed in pants and an orange T-shirt, surrounded by guards – made his way to the electric chair.