I can’t find it in myself to lie to her completely. “Well, the director has refused to offer Dad protective custody for information on any of the civil rights cases, but Kaiser told me that if Dad has knowledge pertaining to the JFK assassination, he probably could get him protection.”

“What?” Her eyes have filled with disbelief. “What the hell could Tom know about the JFK assassination?”

“Nothing. I think Stone and Kaiser have convinced each other that the Double Eagles had something to do with killing Kennedy, and since Dad was their doctor, he might know something.”

“Oh.” Caitlin lies back on the covers. “That sounds like nothing but a shot in the dark.”

“Exactly.”

“Unless . . .” She rolls over and looks at me. “How could the Double Eagles be tied to the JFK assassination?”

Now there’s no avoiding it. “Stone believes Carlos Marcello, the New Orleans godfather, ordered Kennedy’s death. And the Double Eagles apparently did occasional muscle work for Marcello over the years. Through Brody Royal, I guess.”

“I see.” Caitlin’s bright green eyes are impossible to read. “And is there any indication that Tom knew Carlos Marcello?”

This is where I draw the line. I’m not going to have Caitlin digging into my father’s past in New Orleans, upsetting my mother and making me crazy. I’ll be doing enough of that myself. “Dad and Mom lived in New Orleans while he was at LSU med school. Dad did an externship at the parish prison, and Marcello was the don of the city at that time. But that’s all they’ve got. The flimsiest imaginable connection.”

Caitlin watches me in silence for several seconds, then says, “If that’s all they have, then Tom’s got nothing to worry about. On that score anyway.”

“Exactly.”

“Him treating the Double Eagles who worked at Triton Battery and Armstrong Tire is something else, though. I can imagine him hearing things about the civil rights murders that might be important.”

“Well, if we ever find him, we’ll ask him about that.”

Lying on our backs, staring at the ceiling, we fall into an exhausted but companionable silence. After only a couple of minutes, I feel myself jerk at the edge of sleep.

Caitlin laughs softly. “I’m tired, too. What if we set an alarm and sleep for two hours? Do you think we’d feel better or worse?”

“Worse. I need sleep, but I’ve got to get Mom and Annie moved before I can rest.”

“Okay. You’re right.”

“I wish Stone weren’t coming down here. Not in the middle of all this. I’ve been trying to think of a way to persuade Kaiser to head down to the Lusahatcha Swamp and hunt for the Bone Tree. That would keep him out of my hair for at least a couple of days. Walker and I would have a lot more freedom to pressure the Knoxes that way.”

After a couple of seconds, Caitlin makes a sound of acknowledgment but offers no comment.

I feel my breathing deepen. As consciousness begins to dim, I fight against sleep. “The Bone Tree is out there somewhere,” I murmur. “Brody wasn’t lying when he told us about Pooky dying there. And Kaiser has the resources to find it. Surely Dwight would love to find it, too. Have you found any clue in Henry’s notes as to where that tree might be?”

Caitlin doesn’t answer. At first I think she’s asleep, but then I hear the sound of a zipper. As I blink my eyes against the light, she arches beside me, then works her jeans down over her feet.

“I thought we didn’t have time to sleep,” I say.

“We don’t. This is the next best thing.”

She rolls on top of me and peers down into my eyes. “It’s been a long time,” she says, looking surprisingly awake. “Are you really that tired?”

In truth, I am. But she’s right. It has been a long time. As she straddles me and begins unbuttoning my shirt, it strikes me that the only respite I might find from my chaotic thoughts would be inside her. Caitlin clearly feels the same, and within a minute she’s put me there. As she labors purposefully above me, the world contracts to the boundaries of her eyes, and sensation blots out thought as surely as intravenous morphine.

HALF AN HOUR HAS passed since Caitlin climaxed and lay across my chest, her face buried in my neck. She’s sleeping as soundly as a child who’s stayed up past her bedtime. I haven’t had the heart to wake her, nor have I fallen asleep myself. My thoughts have been occupied with finding a truly safe haven for Annie and my mother.

In the past, I’ve moved them as far as Texas to get them out of danger, but this time I want them close enough that I can stay with them at night. No hotel would be safe, or any local B&B, though I know of several secluded ones. With Sheriff Billy Byrd and Forrest Knox on the hunt, any public or even semi-public accommodation will ultimately be traced. I’ve just about decided to leave them where they are when I remember that Sam Abrams, one of my best childhood friends, recently moved his parents to a retirement community in south Florida—Sea Haven Towers, or something like that. Sam was raised in Natchez’s once-thriving Jewish community, and he and I found we had a lot in common in high school. Like me, he’s one of the few successful members of our class who returned to Natchez as an adult. Sam has helped me during difficult times before, and most important, he makes the cut for what I call my “foxhole friends,” guys I’d trust with my life no matter what the circumstance. If I died tomorrow with no money to my name, Sam Abrams would make sure Annie made it through college with everything she needed. Since I’m now at war with Forrest Knox, that’s the kind of friend I need.

I’m about to prod Caitlin awake when I notice a Treo sticking out from behind the base of the lamp on her bedside table. Since Brody Royal destroyed her Treo last night, along with my BlackBerry, she must have gotten another. Moving smoothly, I reach over and slide the phone off the table, then enter her old passcode.

The phone rejects the code.

For a moment I lie staring at the screen, wondering why she would change her passcode. But since her previous phone was in the possession of more than one person before Royal destroyed it, perhaps she simply took the precaution of changing it when she got a new one.

Replacing the Treo on the bedside table, I get up and walk into the kitchen, where we keep a small laptop for recipes and shopping lists. The sweat on my skin evaporates quickly, chilling me enough to make me shiver. Booting up the computer, I check my e-mail, something I haven’t done nearly enough since losing my BlackBerry. My box contains more than thirty messages, but my quick scan stops instantly at the third most recent. The sender is KaiserJohn@fbi.gov. Opening the mail, I wait several seconds for it to download, then read the following:

Penn,

We traced several fingerprints on Brody Royal’s M-C to a Cuban émigré from New Orleans. You’ll recall that this M-C was part of the lot shipped from Italy after the rifle LHO bought via mail from Klein’s in Chicago. It was wholesaled to a Dallas retail gun store, and the earliest it could have been sold was August 1963. Cuban émigré was one Eladio Cruz, a student reported missing on November 21, 1963. (Yes, you read that right.) Cruz was never seen in the U.S. again. We’re now trying to determine whether Cruz was pro- or anti-Castro. Don’t miss the meeting with Stone. I told him you were coming, and we may have a decision on getting protective custody for your father by then.

P.S. Keep your eyes open and stay indoors when possible. Caitlin, too. Snake Knox could shoot you both from 600 yards, maybe more, and we can’t be positive he’s in Texas. His flying skill gives him a lot of mobility.

Kaiser’s mention of Caitlin makes me wonder if he knows I’m with her now. Is there an FBI agent outside my house, giving Kaiser regular reports? Or possibly a static surveillance camera? Right now I don’t really care, but I don’t want to be followed all afternoon. Kaiser’s warning about the danger from the Double Eagles only strengthens my resolve to hide Annie and my mother somewhere safer. As soon as Caitlin and I separate, I’m going to call Sam Abrams and try to arrange a move.