He extended his hand. "Good to see you again, Doctor."

Alicia's throat tightened as she thought of seeing that toy room full again yesterday. She clasped his hand between both of hers and held it.

"I don't know how to thank you," she said. "How to even begin to thank you for returning those gifts."

"No thanks necessary. I was hired to do a job, and I did it."

Somehow Alicia doubted that. No matter how offhanded his tone, she'd seen his eyes on Friday, and she knew what he'd done to that thief. Did a man simply "hired to do a job" wreak that kind of havoc?

He offered her coffee, which she refused. Julio refilled Jack's chipped white mug, then left them alone.

"Was everything there?" Jack said, sipping his black coffee.

Again, she noticed his long thumbnails. Maybe she'd ask him later why he didn't trim them short like the rest.

"As far as we can tell, yes. The staff is simply delirious with joy. They're calling it a Christmas miracle. So are the papers."

"I've seen them. Good. Then we can consider that matter closed. How's that little guy with the new haircut, by the way? The one who got sick right after I saw you?"

"Hector?" she said, surprised he remembered. "Hector's not doing too great."

"Aw, no. You're not going to tell me something awful, are you?"

He cares, she thought in wonder. He genuinely cares.

"His latest chest X ray shows pneumonia."

The lung infiltrates had formed a typical Pneumocystis pattern, and the gram stain had confirmed that as the infecting organism. No big surprise. Pneumocystis carinii loved AIDS patients.

Alicia had started him on IV Bactrim. He was supposed to have been on a prophylactic oral dose, but not all the foster parents were that religious about giving daily medication to seemingly well kids.

"He's going to be all right?"

"The medication he's on usually does the trick."

Usually.

"Anything I can do for him? Send him some balloons or a teddy bear or something?"

How about a mother or a father, or better yet, a new immune system? Alicia thought, but said, "That'd be great. He's got nothing. I'm sure he'll love anything."

"He's got nothing," Jack said, shaking his head and looking glum as he stared at his coffee.

When he looked up at her, Alicia knew he was struggling to find words to express the bleakness of the life he was trying to imagine.

Don't try to express it, she thought. You can't.

"I know," she told him.

He nodded. Then he sighed. "Your message said you had a personal matter you wanted to discuss."

Yes, she thought. Let's move on to something you can do something about.

"First, call me Alicia. And before we get down to business, I want to know about those dead plants in the window. What's the idea?"

Jack glanced over to the window. The dead stuff had been there so long he hardly noticed it anymore.

"Julio uses them as totems. To ward off evil spirits."

"You're kidding. What evil spirits?"

"The kind that order Chardonnay."

Her smile was crooked. "Oh, I get it. A macho bar… testosterone thick in the air."

Jack shrugged. "I can't speak for Julio. He likes a certain type of customer and tries to discourage others. But sometimes it backfires. Sometimes those plants actually attract the wrong type because they think the place is so 'authentic'… whatever that means. But let's get back to you."

She sighed, feeling the tension mount. Here we go.

"It's a long, complicated story, and I won't bother you with all the details. In a nutshell: A man named Ronald Clayton died in a plane crash two months ago and left every damn thing he owned to me."

"Who was he?"

"He fathered me."

"Your father? I'm sorry to hear—"

"Don't be. We shared some genes, and that was the extent of it. Anyway, when I got the call from the lawyer who's the executor of the estate, I told him I wasn't interested in that man's belongings or anything connected to him. Then he told me that I was sole heir."

Across the table, Jack raised his eyebrows. "Not your mother?"

"She died twenty-some years ago—and that you can be sorry about, if you wish."

Alicia barely remembered her mother. If only she hadn't died… things would have been so different…

"Well, anyway, I was shocked. I hadn't spoken to him in a dozen years. Hadn't even thought about him." Wouldn't allow myself. "I told the executor I wanted nothing to do with the damn house and hung up on him."

Jack remained silent. Still waiting for the "problem" part, Alicia figured.

Don't worry, she thought. It's coming.

"Next thing I know, my half brother Thomas is on the phone, and he's—"

"Wait," said Jack. "Half brother?"

"Right. Older by four years."

"Which half—the mother or the father?"

"Ronald Clayton is his father."

Jack cocked his head. "And he was left out in the cold."

"Right. Not a dime."

"Any other halves floating around the Clayton family?"

"No. Just Thomas. He's enough, thanks. So Thomas is on the phone saying that if I don't want the house, can he have it. I tell him no. I say I've changed my mind. I do want it. I tell him I'm going to donate it to the AIDS Center for use as a satellite facility. So forget about it."

"Got along with your brother about as well as your father, I take it?"

"Worse, if that's possible. The next day Thomas is back on the phone offering me two million for the house."

Jack's eyebrow's jumped. "Where is this place?"

"Murray Hill."

He smiled. "No kidding. That might be cheap for Murray Hill."

"It's a three-story brownstone. Worth every penny."

"So far, I don't see why you think you need me. Take the money and run."

Now came the touchy part. Now he'd start wondering why. But Alicia had evaded the hard questions—the impossible questions—with poor Leo Weinstein, and she could evade them with Jack.

"But I didn't. I turned him down."

"You knew the price would go up."

"No way. But it did. Thomas came back and offered me four million. And I gave him the same answer. And then he told me he was tired of bidding against himself and that I should 'name a fucking price'—his words—and I hung up on him."

"Turned him down again… sort of like winning the lottery and not cashing in your ticket, isn't it?"

"Not exactly. You see, Thomas hardly has a dime to his name."

Jack leaned forward and stared at her. Now he looked interested.

"You know that for sure?"

"I suspected it. I mean, he's been in a low-level research job at AT&T since he graduated college. Where would he get approval for a mortgage that size? So I checked him out: His credit rating is the pits, and he quit his job about the time he started calling me."

"So… a guy with no money and no job offers you four mil. I don't blame you for hanging up on him."

"No," Alicia said, "you don't understand. I think he does have the money—in cash."

"In cash?"

"That's what he offered me—said I can take it or he can donate it all to the charity of my choice. How do you explain that?"

"Either he's crazy or somebody's backing him."

"Exactly, but who? And why not approach me directly? Why go through Thomas?"

"Does it matter?" Jack said, leaning back again. "A valuable piece of real estate lands in your lap. You can either live in it or sell it. You don't need me, you need a tax attorney."

Alicia sensed him withdrawing, losing interest. She rushed forward with the rest of her story.

"But I can't live in it, and I can't sell it. When I turned him down, Thomas hired some high-priced attorneys to challenge the will. I can't take possession until this is resolved. They even got a court order to board up the place, so I can't even take a look around inside." Not that I'd ever want to.