The door closed after him before she could reply.

He was wrong. She was upset and shocked, but she wasn't torn by indecision. She just needed a little time to recover her balance after the death of that poor woman. Why had he thought she was? She rejected immediately the answer that occurred to her. He hadn't broken his promise.

How could she be sure? Of course, she couldn't be sure, but she was beginning to know Silver.

Putting things back together gives me the most satisfaction.

Those words had rung true. An important missing piece of the puzzle that was Brad Silver.

And she believed he was trying to keep his promise.

So if he seemed to have insight into her thought processes, it was because he probably knew her better than anyone on earth.

And he thought she was at a crossroad.

Sam whined and rolled over on his back for a belly rub.

She absently stroked him as she lay back down on the pillows. Having Sam here was a comfort. Another thing that Silver had guessed. That didn't mean he was right about her inner turmoil. Perhaps he was nudging her toward this mythical crossroad.

But she was beginning to think he was right about that too, dammit.

You look more rested,” Silver said as he watched her coming down the staircase with Sam at her heels. “I peeked in your room a couple hours ago and you were sound asleep.”

“I went to sleep almost immediately after you left.” She grimaced. “So if you expected me to lie there and soul-search, you batted out.”

He shook his head. “I'm glad you slept.” He took her arm. “Come on. I'll ask George to have the cook make you something to eat.”

“A sandwich will do. And I don't need a cook.” She glanced at him. “Did you sleep at all?”

“A little. I don't need much.”

“Is there anything on the news about Joyce Fairchild?”

He shook his head. “Ledbruk must have managed to cover it. God only knows how.” He gestured to the kitchen chair. “Sit down. I'll make you something. Ham and cheese okay?”

She nodded. “I can make it.”

“I know where everything is.” He went to the refrigerator. “It's more efficient if I do it.”

“Then by all means.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You're being very agreeable.”

“You're offering me a service.” She smiled faintly. “And you're making sense. As you said, it's more efficient.”

He stopped, then turned and leaned back on the refrigerator. “Are we still talking about the sandwich?”

“Among other things.” Her smile faded. “Damn you.”

“And that means?”

“It means that Michael Travis was right. That you were right.” She moistened her lips. “And that if I'd had more control instead of just being a damn sponge, I might have been able to save Joyce Fairchild.”

He didn't answer.

“You're not going to argue with me?”

“Do you want someone to soothe you and tell you lies? It won't be me, Kerry. There's a strong possibility that you're right. On the other hand, it might still have gone down the same way. Who the hell knows?”

“I know. I have a gut feeling.”

“Then it's probably true. I believe in gut feelings. So where is this taking us?”

“I think you know. You said you fix things. Can you also build things?”

“Maybe. What do you want me to build?”

“A wall to keep out all the flak and poison Trask throws at me. It's like being in the middle of a tornado. I can't sort out what's important and what's not. All I can do is try to keep from drowning in the slime.”

“That's not too difficult to do. It's what Travis wanted to teach you to protect yourself years ago.”

“And while you're at it”—she met his gaze—“do you think you can show me how to influence Trask, push him to do what I want him to do?”

He shook his head. “I've never run across anyone who had the same talent I have.”

“I know I can't change his reality. All I want to do is push him a little, maybe find a way to slow him down or divert him so that we can catch the bastard. Is that possible?”

He thought about it. “I don't know. It's possible, I suppose. It depends how well you can defend yourself.”

“Defend?”

“Even if he's unaware of what you're doing, the psyche's defenses are automatic. You'd be safer not trying anything fancy.”

“Will you try to teach me how to do it?”

“If that's what you want.”

“That's what I want.”

“Are you sure you know what you're getting into?”

“Hell, no, I don't have any idea. Tell me.”

“You want me to teach you. I can't be subtle. I can't sneak in and just change everything. You're going to know I'm inside your mind and you're not going to like it. I'm going to have to show you. There's nothing more intimate or intrusive. Do you understand?”

“Do you think I didn't consider every disadvantage you could dream up? You're damn right I'm not going to like it. I'm going to feel like kicking and screaming. I'm going to hate it.” She paused a moment to gain control. “But I don't see any other way I can handle this. I won't let anyone else die if I can find any way to prevent it. There are three more people at risk out there.”

“Five. You forgot about you and me. Not to mention the thousands who might be victimized if Trask sells Firestorm to an unfriendly nation.”

“So stop warning me and worry about how you're going to teach me to push.”

He shook his head. “Defense first.” He paused. “And you're going to have to learn to trust me.”

“I'll try. You can't expect me to—”

“I expect everything from you. Just as you'll have to expect everything from me. Total interdependence.”

“Is that supposed to intimidate me? I can handle it.”

He smiled. “But you're scared shitless.”

“That doesn't change anything. Let's go for it.”

“Right now?”

“Now. This minute. I don't want to put it off.”

“Like a dose of castor oil. It doesn't work that way. I set the pace, Kerry.”

“I don't see why I can't—” She shrugged. “So how do we begin?”

He opened the refrigerator door. “We begin with a ham-and-cheese sandwich. Do you like mayonnaise?”

What the hell happened in Tyler Park?” Dickens asked when Trask called him. “The feds were all over the place.”

“How do you know?”

“Did you think I wasn't going to keep an eye on what was going on? I'm the one who did the legwork scoping the park out for you. I'm the one who might be remembered and recognized.” He paused. “What did you do?”

“You don't want to know.”

Dickens swore softly. “I didn't buy into anything that might get me hung out to dry. I'm not getting paid to take those kinds of risks. Ki Yong said that all I had to do was some basic tailing and bugging.”

“But I'm sure Ki Yong said you were to obey my orders. I don't think you'd like me to tell him I'm not happy with you. He might decide to finesse you into Guantánamo with those other terrorist suspects.”

“Jesus, I'm no terrorist.”

“It's a fine line. I don't consider myself a terrorist either, but Homeland Security might have a different view. And you're my accomplice, aren't you?”

“Accomplice to what?” He paused. “Did you kill her?”

“Of course. You knew it was going to happen. That's what makes you an accomplice.” His tone hardened. “Enough, Dickens. It's over. I didn't call you to discuss what happened in Tyler Park. I need to know about Kerry Murphy. What have you found out?”

Dickens was silent a moment. “You know about her brother and his wife. Her father, Ron Murphy, is still alive, but she doesn't see much of him. He's a journalist and seems to be closer to his son. She has friends, but no one very close. You're looking for a hook?”

“No, I'm looking for bait. Someone to draw her out and away from Silver.”

“I thought Silver was your next—” He stopped. “You had me find out everything I could about him.”

Trask chuckled. “You see, you are an accomplice. So stop wobbling, Dickens. Silver is a target, but Kerry Murphy has a special appeal for me.” And excitement. He'd thought that the Fairchild killing would cause that excitement to abate, but it hadn't happened. What was it about Kerry Murphy that made him feel this sense of closeness to her? The fact that Silver had brought her here to track him down? The fact that he had failed in killing her and her family that night?