“I hope you lie better than this when you’re on the job.”

He smiles-a real smile this time-and his shoulders lose some of their stiffness. He perches himself on the edge of the bed and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “It’s Martinez. They’ve lost him.”

“Lost him? How do they lose one of the biggest drug dealers in Mexico? I thought he was vacationing with his family in Columbia? Wasn’t somebody watching him?”

His shrug morphs into a hand dipping into a jacket pocket. His cell phone again. He opens the connection with a flip of his wrist and holds it to his ear. He listens for a minute, snaps the phone shut without saying a word and leans over the bed once more.

“Sorry, babe,” he says. “I really do have to go. I’ll call you when I get to Washington, okay?” His brows draw together in an expression of concern. “About last night? I didn’t mean-”

I reach up a hand to touch his cheek. “It’s all right, Max. You be careful, you hear? I’m not through with you yet.”

He smiles, relief softening the lines from his face. “Glad to hear it.”

I walk him to the door, noting as I pull the chair away from it that I’ll have to call building maintenance to get it fixed. They’ll want to know what happened, I’m sure, so I’ll have to come up with something.

I kiss Max and watch until he disappears behind the elevator’s doors. I have a bad feeling. Not about what happened between us last night, though it’s a concern. But if Martinez figured out Max’s role in the bust that dismantled his money laundering operation, he will come after him.

Not something I can do anything about. Max is a big boy who is certainly capable of taking care of himself. I push the door shut. My priority has to be Trish.

I debate whether to call Frey or go to the condo. My plan this morning is to track down Carolyn, but the urge to see for myself that Trish is all right is just too strong. And we have that shopping trip to plan. A quick shower, a tug of my hairbrush through wet hair, clean jeans and a cotton sweater, and I’m out the door. Trying to close it reminds me that I have one more stop to make first.

Burdick, the building maintenance supervisor, has a ground floor apartment. He’s a fussy little man with eyes too close together in a fat, round face. I’ve never liked him. He always looks at me as if he’d like to see me served up on toast. I won’t miss him when I leave.

But I needn’t have fretted about concocting a story for him. He neither asks nor seems to care how the door got broken. He just assures me there will be a hefty bill to pay, leering like he’s waiting for me to offer to work the damages off in trade.

His attitude snaps my temper like a rubber band, but I manage to rein it in before doing something stupid that would most likely land me in jail. For once, my brain engages before I put my impulse in gear. This sneering little man will never know how close he came to having something else to fix. Like the window I almost throw him through.

***

With the bad taste of my encounter with the building manager in my mouth, I head for Frey’s. This time, I hit rush hour traffic. I drive a Jag, low slung, low profile. I find myself behind a huge, diesel-burning pickup whose tail pipe is eye level to my windshield. I don’t breathe air anymore, but I can smell . The fumes are so noxious I look for an escape route. Behind me is a kid in a Toyota who is close enough that I can see the pimples on his face. There’s a bus on one side and a garbage truck on the other.

I’m trapped.

The knot in my stomach tightens.

Relax, Anna. I haven’t seen you this uptight in a long time.

The intrusion into my head is unexpected, but the voice is familiar.

Why, Casper. I haven’t heard from you for months. Where have you been?

Here. There.

That narrows it down.

There’s a chuckle. I’m scanning cars all around, trying to get a bead on the illusive voice that drops in and out of my head at will. The one thing I’m sure of is that Casper, the nickname I gave him because he’s like the friendly ghost in the cartoons, only shows up when I’m in trouble.

I give up trying to find him.It’s that bad, is it? I ask.

It could be.

Want to be a tad more specific?

I can’t be. Just keep your head.

If you mean that literally, I intend to.A spasm of alarm.You don’tmean that literally, do you?

Control your emotions. Don’t let them lead you off the path.

Control my emotions? I thought I’d been doing that. The building super is in one piece and Carolyn has her head. But before I can snap back, Casper is talking again.

You’ll be faced with some tough decisions in the days ahead. The choices you make will affect the lives of those you love most. Remember who you are.

Who I am? An image flashes in my head. Last night with Max and what almost happened. Is that what Casper means?

The spasm of concern becomes a full-blown paroxysm. Casper has never been so explicit or so agonizingly ambiguous.Who are we talking about? My parents? David? Max?

There’s no reply.

Damn it.I’m banging my hand against the steering wheel in frustration.Casper? What did you mean?

But there’s only a vacuum of silence left in the place Casper occupied in my head. He’s gone, dropping the kind of subtle hint he knows will get to me. A hint designed to set my nerves and teeth on edge.

A hint that I might be a threat to someone I love.

Great.

The kid in the Toyota behind me is leaning on his horn. Traffic is moving, finally. I put the Jag in gear and inch forward.

I expect Frey to answer right away when I reach his gate. He doesn’t. I try again and again. I keep punching his unit number on the keypad until a knock on the passenger window spins me, startled, toward the sound.

A uniformed guard has come out of nowhere to peer inquisitively into the car. He motions for me to roll down the window. Which I do.

“Is there a problem, Miss?” he asks.

I shake my head, too surprised to turn a coherent thought into coherent words.

He has a half-smile on his weathered, sixty-something face. “Who are you here to see?”

“Daniel Frey. Unit 7B.”

Now it’s his turn to shake his head. “Mr. Frey is gone. His driver picked him up about an hour ago. Same as every school day.”

Gone? Would he have taken Trish with him?

“Could you tell if he was alone in the car?”

This time a nod. “Just like always, Mr. Frey and the driver.”

It never occurred to me that Frey would leave Trish alone. What was he thinking? I assumed he would get a substitute for the day. Panic sparks, but it’s fleeting, to be replaced by a darker, more heated emotion. Anger. How could he leave Trish alone? She must be frantic, listening to that buzzer ring again and again and having no way of knowing who it is.

The guard leans toward me, waiting for some indication that I’ve heard him and will do the logical thing-leave.

So, I do. I thank him and back away to make a U-turn in the driveway. But I pull out only as far as the road. Dipping into my purse, I pull out my cell and dial the condo. After four rings, a machine picks up. I sit impatiently through the brief instructions to leave a message after the beep-blah-blah-blah.

At last.The beep.

“Trish? Are you there? It’s Anna. It’s all right to pick up, honey. I know Mr. Frey left for school. I just want to know you’re all right. Trish? Are you there?”

But the seconds tick by and the machine eventually clicks off. There’s no answer from Trish. What the hell is going on?

As soon as I disconnect from that call, another comes in. Without glancing at the incoming number, I open the connection with a terse, “Frey? This better be you.”

“No,” David says. “Sorry. It’s me. Your partner, remember? Though it would be easy to see how you might forget the number. You haven’t used it much lately.”