“I still care about you, Maggie,” he said quietly, without moving and still not looking at her. “I thought I didn’t care anymore. I tried to stop. But when I saw you this morning, I realized I hadn’t stopped caring at all.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation, Nick. I really can’t. Not now.” Her stomach churned with anticipation, with panic, with fear. She didn’t need to feel anything more.

“I called you when I first moved to Boston,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her.

She glanced at him. Was this some line? That boyish charm, that flirtatious reputation of his surely couldn’t have disappeared so easily.

“I didn’t get any message,” she said, now curious and anxious to call him on his bluff if, in fact, that was what it turned out to be.

“Quantico wouldn’t give me any information as to where you were, or when you’d be back. I even told them I was with the Suffolk County D.A.’s office.” He glanced at her and smiled. “They weren’t impressed.”

It was a safe story. She wouldn’t be able to confirm it or deny it. She concentrated on the lobby. Below, three men toted luggage behind a well-dressed woman with silver hair and a London Fog raincoat that didn’t have a raindrop on it.

“I ended up calling Greg’s law firm.”

“You did what?”

She pushed herself away from the railing and waited until he did the same, giving her his attention and his eyes.

“Neither of you are listed in the Virginia telephone directory,” he defended himself. “I figured the law office of Brackman, Harvey and Lowe might be more understanding. They might actually care about someone from a D.A.’s office getting in touch with one of their attorneys. Even if it was after hours.”

“You talked to Greg?”

“I didn’t mean to. I was hoping to catch you at home. I thought if Greg answered, I could tell him I needed to talk to you about unfinished business in Nebraska. After all, I knew you were still looking for Father Keller.”

“But Greg didn’t buy it.”

“No.” Nick looked embarrassed. He continued anyway. “He told me the two of you were working on your marriage. He asked me as a gentleman to respect that and stay away.”

“Greg said that? About being a gentleman? As if he knew.” She shook her head and returned to her perch, pretending to be distracted by the activity below. Greg had become so good at lying, Maggie wondered if he actually believed his own bullshit. “How long ago was this?”

“Couple months ago.” He joined her again, but this time kept some distance.

“Months ago?” She couldn’t believe Greg hadn’t mentioned it, or that he hadn’t let it slip out during one of their arguments.

“It was right after I moved, so it had to be around the last week of January. I got the impression the two of you were still living together.”

“Greg and I both decided to stay at the condo, since neither of us were there that often. But I asked Greg for a divorce on New Year’s Eve. That probably sounds heartless—I meant to wait.” She watched as a maintenance crew pushed huge floor waxers into the lobby. “We were at his law firm’s holiday party. He wanted us to masquerade as the happy couple.”

The supervisor of the maintenance crew had a clipboard and wore shiny leather dress shoes. Maggie craned over the railing to get a glimpse of his face. Too young and too tall to be Stucky.

“People at the party kept congratulating me and welcoming me to the firm. They spoiled Greg’s surprise. He had managed to get me a job as the head of their investigations department without even talking to me about it. Then he couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t jump at the chance to be digging through corporate files, looking for misappropriation of funds instead of digging through Dumpsters, looking for body parts.”

“Right. Jesus, how silly of him.”

She turned and rewarded his sarcasm with a smile.

“I am a pain in the ass, aren’t I?” she said.

“An awfully beautiful pain in the ass.”

She felt a blush and looked away, annoyed that he could make her feel sensual and alive while the world was going nuts around them.

“I finally moved into a house of my own last week. In a few weeks the divorce should be final.”

“Maybe it would have been safer to stay at the condo. I mean as far as this thing with Stucky is concerned.”

“Newburgh Heights is just outside D.C. It’s probably one of the safest neighborhoods in Virginia.”

“Yeah, but I hate thinking about you being all alone.”

“I’d rather be alone when he comes for me. That way no one else gets hurt. Not this time.”

“Jesus, Maggie! You want him to come after you?”

She avoided looking at him. She didn’t need to see his concern. She couldn’t take on the weight of it, the responsibility of it. So instead, she concentrated on the men in blue overalls wrestling with cords and mops. When she didn’t answer, Nick reached for her hand, gently taking it. He intertwined her arm with his, bringing her hand to his chest and keeping it there, warm and tight against the pounding of his heart. Then they stood there while they watched the hotel lobby get its floors waxed.

CHAPTER 28

Washington, D.C.

Wednesday, April 1

He could feel Dr. Gwen Patterson staring at him while he stabbed at her furniture with his white cane, fumbling for a place to sit down. Nice stuff. The office even smelled expensive, fine leather and polished wood. But why would he expect anything less? She was a classy woman; sophisticated, cultured, wise and talented. Finally, a challenge to up the ante, so to speak.

He swiped his hand across her desktop, but there wasn’t much to disturb—a phone, a Roledex, several legal pads and a daily calendar, flipped open to Wednesday, April 1. Only now did it occur to him that it was April Fools’ Day. How ironically appropriate. He resisted the urge to smile, instead turning again and bumping into a credenza, barely missing an antique vase. The window above the credenza looked out over the Potomac River. In its reflection, he watched her grimace at his bold and reckless fumblings.

“The sofa is just to your left,” she finally instructed, but stayed seated behind her desk. Though her voice sounded tight, restraining her impatience, she wouldn’t embarrass him by coming to his rescue. Excellent. She had passed his first test.

He put his hand out and patted down the soft leather, feeling for the arm, and carefully sitting himself down.

“Would you like something to drink before we get started?”

“No,” he snapped, being unnecessarily rude. Invalids could get away with shit like that. It was one of the few advantages he could look forward to. Then, to let her know he wasn’t such a bad guy, he politely added, “I’d rather we just get started.”

He set the cane by his side where he could find it easily. He bunched up his leather jacket and laid it in his lap. The room was dark, the blinds half-closed, and he wondered why she had bothered. He adjusted his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. The lenses were extra dark so that no one could see his eyes. So that no one could catch him watching. It was a lovely twist to voyeurism. Everyone thought they were being the voyeurs, safe in staring at him, watching him, pitying him. No one seemed to question whether or not a blind guy could actually see. After all, why in the world would someone fake something like that?

Except that, ironically, the lie might be coming true. The drugs weren’t working, and he couldn’t deny that his eyesight was getting worse. He had lucked out so many times before, was his number finally up? No, he didn’t believe in such a stupid thing as fate. So what if he needed a little extra help these days, a prop or two, or some assistance from an old friend to bring a little excitement into his life. Wasn’t that what friends were for?