Split Second

"So what? The FBI doesn't have a monopoly on solving crimes.And Bruno's people flatly don't trust the government. In case you haven't been reading your newspaper, some of them think their candidate was set up by the Service."

"They said the same thing about me and Ritter, and it's as crazy now as it was then," said King.

"But it presents a wonderful opportunity for us."

"Us? And what exactly is my part in all this?"

"If you help me find Bruno, I'll pay you forty percent of what I get; it'll be seven figures to you."

"I'm not rich, but I really don't need the money, Joan."

"But I do. I left the Service before I did my twenty-five years, so I'm sort of screwed on the pension. I've been here a year, making a lot more money, and I've socked most of it away, but I'm not enjoying myself. In my years at the Service I worked the equivalent of a forty-year career. I see in my future white beaches, a catamaran and exotic cocktails, and this score will allow me to do that. And maybe you don't need the money, but what you do need is something good to happen to you. Where the newspapers tout you as a hero instead of the fall guy."

"So you're now my P.R. person?"

"I think you need one, Sean."

"Why me? You've got all the resources of this place."

"Most of the experienced people are pissed that I landed the deal, and they won't work on it with me. The ones who are left are young, overeducated and street-stupid. Your fourth year in the Service you broke the largest counterfeit ring in the Northern Hemisphere working solo from the field office in Louisville, Kentucky, of all places. That's the sort of investigative talent I need. And it also helps matters that you live two hours from where Bruno was snatched."

He looked around. "I don't even work at this place."

"I can use anyone I want in the investigation."

He shook his head. "I haven't done this stuff in years."

"Like riding a bike." She sat forward and stared at him intently."Like riding a bike, Sean. And I don't think I'd be making this proposition to you if I'd set you up to take a murder rap. I need you with me if I want the payoff. And I want the payoff."

"I have my law practice."

"Take a sabbatical. If we're going to find Bruno, it'll be sooner rather than later. Look at it this way. It's exciting. It's different. It might not be like old times. But maybe it'll be like new times." Her hand lightly touched his. Somehow it was a far more seductive gesture than the tacky stunt she'd pulled on his kitchen table.

"And maybe you can show me how to sail the catamaran, because I don't have a clue," said Joan quietly.

21

Loretta Baldwin lay in the bath and let the hot water take the chill off her bones. The bathroom was dark; she liked it that way, like a mother's womb, comforting. She chuckled; she had to, every time she thought of it. About that girl that had come by asking all those questions pretending to be making a film about Clyde Ritter, as if anyone would bother. The girl was probably some sort of police officer or private investigator, though why anyone would be digging up the Clyde Ritter mess was beyond her. Yet Loretta would take the money, every cent of it. Just like she had all these years. She'd told the truth, at least to the questions the girl had asked; she just hadn't asked the right ones. Like what Loretta had seen when she was hiding in the supply closet. What a nervous wreck she'd been getting it out of the hotel, yet no one really noticed her in the chaos. She was just one of the maids, invisible really. And she knew ways out of the hotel that not even the Secret Service had been aware of.

At first she thought to go to the police with what she'd found and seen, but then decided not to. Why get messed up in something like that? And she'd tired of spending her life cleaning up other people's messes. And what did she care about Clyde Ritter? A man like that was far better off in the grave, where he couldn't spread his poison.

So she had done it. Sent the note and photo to the person tellingwhat she'd seen and what she now possessed, and arranging for money to come to her. And it had come and she hadn't broken her silence and the person she was blackmailing never knew her identity, right up to the end. She'd been real tricky, using a series of P.O. boxes, fake names and one close friend, now dead, to help her cover her tracks. She hadn't been greedy. It wasn't a whole lot of money, but with no steady work all these years the cash had come in real handy, let her keep her home, pay her bills, buy some nice things, help her family. Yes, it was all right.

And that girl had never thought to ask; yet how could she have known? And even if she had, Loretta would have lied, just like the girl had lied to her, because if she was a documentary filmmaker, Loretta was Lena Horne. That thought made her laugh so hard she started to choke.