"Reheema, let's get real. You're a pretty girl, you know that. A woman as beautiful as you, it won't be nice. You'll be placed in the general population. You'll be somebody's bitch."

Bristow's perfect mouth remained closed, but Vicki kept squeezing. Bristow couldn't be completely sure the government didn't have other evidence against her. Vicki wouldn't be the first federal prosecutor to be stingy with what she disclosed before trial.

"That is, if you're lucky, it'll be one woman. It could be more. You could be the pass-around pack. You want that?"

Bristow didn't answer, and next to her, Melendez shifted his weight in his chair. Vicki was threatening Bristow, which wasn't permissible, but Melendez wanted to save his client.

"I'm not trying to scare you, I'm trying to tell you what you risk by going to trial. You bought two guns for somebody and resold them. All I want from you is the name of the person you sold them to."

Bristow didn't answer, and Vicki felt her cheeks hot with renewed anger.

"Reheema, if you're frightened, I understand. These are dangerous people, scary people. I can get you into the witness protection program. You lived in an apartment in West Philly, right?"

Bristow didn't answer, and Vicki checked her temper.

"Come on, you can answer that! It's on the indictment. Who did you live with?"

"Lived alone."

"No boyfriend or anything?"

"No."

If she couldn't get a date, I have no chance. "So you don't have the apartment anymore, do you?"

"No."

"Even better. I'll get you relocated to a new place, maybe even a house. I'll make sure you're okay, I swear it." Vicki meant every word, if it led to Morty's killer. "You don't have to be afraid of anybody or anything. Even if they're dealing drugs, even weight."

Bristow looked down, breaking eye contact, and Vicki felt her heart quicken.

"Reheema, if you give me the name, I'll tell the judge you're a cooperator. I'll give him the best possible recommendation for your sentence. I'll get you in ad seg, too, out of the general population. It's a completely different proposition."

Bristow kept her head down, and Vicki leaned across the table.

"Just give me a name. These guys are filth, they don't deserve your loyalty. Give me the name and you'll get back to your life. You had two jobs, you can work them. Meet a nice guy, I wish you better luck than me. You're only twenty-nine, as young as I am. Your life is in front of you, if you just say the word."

"No," Bristow answered, looking up. Her gaze was steady, two flawless brown orbs focused on Vicki, which only made her crazier. She tried another tack. Maybe if Bristow knew Vicki had her number, she'd talk.

"Reheema, who is Jamal Browning?"

Melendez's ears pricked up at the unfamiliar name and he wrote it on a legal pad, but Bristow merely looked down again and began examining her fingernails.

"Have you ever been at 3635 Aspinall Street? It's in West Philly." Vicki had looked it up on MapQuest this morning.

Bristow continued with her cuticle, and Vicki felt her frustration rising.

"Do you know a young man, a black male aged about fourteen, about five nine, who wears his hair in cornrows and is nicknamed Teeg?"

"Objection." Melendez raised a hand, though no formal objections were necessary, nor did they have any legal impact at a proffer conference, which this wasn't anyway. This was a mugging.

"I'm just asking her a question. She can decline to answer." Vicki's temper sharpened her tone but she didn't bother dialing it back. She turned to Bristow. "Who's Teeg?"

Bristow didn't answer.

"How about Jay-Boy, a young black male? Goatee? Older than fourteen, maybe sixteen." Vicki couldn't give further details of his description. He was the one who had killed Morty.

Her head pounded, and her chest felt tight enough to burst.

Bristow didn't answer, and Vicki was growing more furious by the minute.

"How do you know Shayla Jackson?"

Reheema's expression betrayed no recognition.

Melendez looked up from his pad, his forehead wrinkling. "Jackson. Isn't that the name of the pregnant lady who got killed last night? I remember because it's my neighbor's name."

"I'm just asking her, does she know Jackson?"

Melendez set his Bic pen down beside his pad. "What's the difference if she knows her?" he asked, suspicious.

"I'm curious. She didn't recognize me from TV, like you did."

"So?"

Uh. "I like to be recognized. It makes me feel good about myself."

Bristow cracked a sly smile, which made Vicki want to wring her neck. The woman was getting away with murder.

"Reheema, I know you know Shayla Jackson. She was my CI in this case. You know what that means, don't you? My confidential informant." Vicki leaned across the table, almost spitting. "She was going to dime on you and you know she was murdered last night with my partner. Teeg and Jay-Boy were the shooters, but they work for someone, and I want to know who. And how you're involved."

"Vicki, what are you doing?" Melendez rose slowly, but Vicki was too far gone.

"You had Jackson killed to prevent her from testifying! You killed her and her baby! And Morty!" Suddenly, Vicki's rage boiled over. She reached across the table and grabbed Bris-tow's upper arm.

"No, wait!" Melendez shouted, horrified. "Stop!"

"Yo, bitch!" Reheema bellowed, but Vicki exploded.

"Why'd you do it, Reheema! Why? To save five lousy years?" Vicki couldn't stop herself and she didn't want to. She yanked so hard that she dragged the handcuffed Bristow onto the table. "They killed an ATF agent last night! My partner!

My friend! And you know it!"

"HELP!" Melendez yelled at the top of his lungs.

The door to the proffer room flew open, and the ATF agent burst in, drawing his gun from his shoulder holster, ready to protect a prosecutor from a prisoner.

And, startled, discovered that it was the other way around.

"Get yourself a lawyer, kid." Bale bustled into his office, where Vicki had been told to wait for him.

"You have to be kidding."

"Not today. Strauss got a call from Melendez, Bristow's defense lawyer." Bale slid off his camel-hair coat, hung it carefully on a wooden hanger, and placed it on the wooden rack behind him, then sat down in his tall chair, shooting his cuffs by habit. "He's suing you-and the office-for official misconduct, assault, and battery."

"Assault and battery, on Reheema? She has six inches on me!"

"Melendez says she sustained a soft-tissue injury."

"But all her tissue is hard!"

"You twisted her arm, didn't you?"

"I couldn't! She was wearing handcuffs!"

"Not your best argument." Bale glared from behind his walnut desk, its surface marked by a clean leather blotter, stacks of correspondence, and a computer with the office's American flag screensaver, flickering madly. "You're missing the point. You shouldn't have put a finger on her, not a finger."

"I know. I'm sorry. But still-"

"No buts. You're a federal prosecutor. You behaved like a street brawler."

Vicki reddened. She was in the wrong, which sucked.

"And Melendez is filing suit on her behalf and on his own."

"What?"

"He doesn't have soft tissue, either?" Bale arched an eyebrow.

"I swear, I didn't touch him!"

"Says you pushed him. Your word against his."

"What about the ATF agent, at the door? He could tell you what happened."

"Oh, should we ask him? He wasn't even supposed to be there! Marshals bring prisoners up, not ATF. How'd you swing that?"

Vicki slumped in the chair. The ATF agent couldn't speak for her anyway. He had had to pull the three of them apart, like a group hug gone horribly wrong.