Deadlock

TEN

"GOT IT." EMILY TENSED, HER fingers moving carefully over the surface. "Circular, and the drywall is thicker in the center."

"Great." Garrett was beside her, his knife out. "Step aside, and I'll see what we have." He started cutting into the drywall. "Did I ever tell you that you're pretty fantastic? My kind of woman…"

"Because I know how to burgle a safe?"

"Among other things. Definitely a cavity." He carefully widened the hole and shined his flashlight into it. "Bull's-eye." He reached in and drew out a shallow box. He opened it to reveal a single sheet of paper. "Nemid evidently wanted it well protected." He grabbed her arm and headed for the front door. "Let's get out of here before it's too late. We've been here too long already."

It was already too late.

As they reached the courtyard, a car screeched to a halt at the curb behind their own.

"Shit. Back way." Garrett took her hand and ran back into the house. "Straight down the hall." He opened the door at the end of the corridor, turned left, and darted down the next corridor.

Kitchen.

They tore toward the door across the room.

"THERE THEY ARE," FERGUSON said, exultant, as he caught sight of Garrett and Emily disappearing back into the house. "I knew we'd get them." He jumped out of the car and ran toward the front door. "Moore, you come with me. Dietrich, you go around back."

Ferguson drew his gun as he ran through the front door. "Garrett, come out. You can't get-" His gaze froze on the two bodies on the li¬brary floor. "Holy shit."

"STAY BEHIND ME." GARRETT ran down the steps, and Emily followed close behind. "Ferguson will have sent someone-" He caught sight of Dietrich as he came around the corner of the house and ran toward him. "Keep going."

Dietrich was drawing his gun.

Emily stopped, then started to follow Garrett.

Garrett braced and went low, tackling Dietrich. He gave the CIA man a karate chop to the neck and leapt to his feet as the agent went limp.

"I told you to go on." He grabbed her hand and half pulled her with him as he ran out of the back courtyard into the street. "Run." They ran. Down the block. Turned right, then turned left.

"Can't we double back to the car?" Emily asked, her breath com¬ing in gasps.

"Too risky. Ferguson might have left someone there in case we did." "Only one man?"

"Yes, but he'd be good. I might have to kill him. I don't think you want that to happen."

She remembered the vicious violence he'd used on the man in the courtyard. "No. But we're on foot. Ferguson must be after us by now in his car."

"Probably." He saw the gleam of headlights as a car turned the cor¬ner three blocks down. "Definitely." He pulled her into the deep alcove of a shop and pressed her into the shadows against the wall with his body. "Not a word," he whispered. "He's moving slow."

She couldn't speak if she wanted to do it. She was holding her breath. Her heart was racing. Slow? It was taking that car forever to cover those three blocks.

Then out of the corner of her eye she saw a beam of light.

Would they catch sight of them? Would the car stop?

The car was alongside them now, only several feet away.

Lord, they were creeping.

Then the car passed them, and Emily saw the red taillights as it moved down the street.

Her breath escaped in a rush of relief.

Garrett shook his head and put his finger to his lips.

She nodded.

A moment later he took a step back. "They turned at the next cor¬ner. We'll double back and make our way down to the market on the cross street."

"Is it safe?"

"No, Ferguson will be searching the entire city, and if he turns the locals loose, it will be worse. But we need to get to somewhere safe, and I know someone who runs a jewelry shop in the market. That's as close to safe as we're going to get." He started down the street. "Move."

She was already half-running to keep up with him. "Should we be running away? It's Ferguson. He's CIA. He should be able to help us."

"If he chooses to do it," Garrett said. "And if he gets his hands on us, he doesn't have to make a choice. He'll be in charge." They'd reached the corner, and Garrett turned right. "We'll have to make sure that doesn't happen. Ferguson likes control, and he's not above sacrific¬ing a few scruples to get it. Believe me, I know. I've seen him operate, and it's not pretty. He once abandoned me to the mercies of drug run¬ners in the jungle in Colombia when he knew the chances of my getting out were slim to none. He didn't even try to save me."

"So what are we going to do? You said I could be accused of the murders." She still felt the same shock she had when Garrett had said those words in the library. "There has to be some way that-"

"There is a way," Garrett said, his pace increasing. "But not until I get to a place where I can make a safe call. And it has to be fast. Fer¬guson is going to have to make a decision soon, and we have to get in under the wire."

"WE NEED TO MAKE A DEAL," Garrett said when Ferguson picked up the phone an hour later.

Ferguson felt a swift surge of satisfaction. "I don't have to do a damn thing. I've got you, Garrett." He made a motion to Moore to trace the call.

"You haven't got me, or I wouldn't be calling you. And you may not want to have me if it means that you're going to have to bring Emily into this. So let's talk deal. Providing you still have anything with which to deal. Have you informed the Afghan government about Nemid's death?"

"Not yet."

"I didn't think you'd be in a hurry. First, you'd send a team back to make sure that there isn't anything interesting lying around there that could be of interest to the Company. You didn't find anything, did you?"

"I'll have to get a report. It's early yet. What were you after, Gar¬rett?"

"I was after whatever the person who killed Nemid was after." "And did you get it?"

"Maybe." He paused. "But I don't know what it is yet. I have to have time to find out."

"You're not going to have time. I'm going to have your ass, Garrett. None of this bullshit about deals. I'm on top now."

Moore was shaking his head. No trace.

Ferguson muttered a curse.

"Irritated?" Garrett said. "That must mean you've found out you're not going to be able to trace me. I took the trouble to relay the call several times around the world. It made me a little nervous taking the time, but I knew it was necessary. Now let's talk deal. You don't want to pull Emily into this."

"I do if she shot Nemid. I figure she was pissed at having been sent up to those mountains by Nemid and decided to blow his head off. She was unstable and took revenge on an innocent man."

"Only he wasn't innocent. He was dirty as hell. He wouldn't have been killed if he hadn't been in on the raid. Staunton killed him to keep his mouth shut and to get something he was holding."

"Staunton?"

"The man who killed Levy."

"Why are you telling me about him now?"

"Because I'm very much afraid we have to be partners. Extremely limited partners." He paused. "You don't want them to go after Emily. We both know how that would look for you. You told everyone she was ill and in seclusion and that it was you who put her there. Any way you look at it, you're going to look bad if she turns out to be a killer. Either she's a victim who should have had treatment and didn't receive it. Or she killed her friend's murderer because she couldn't get any satisfaction from the authorities, namely you, and had to do the job herself. Either way, you're not going to look good."

"I can work around it."

"Even if Emily tells the media that you told her that killing Ne¬mid was the only way she'd get justice? The Afghan council doesn't trust the CIA anyway. They'd just assume you had your own agenda and used her to kill off Nemid because he was causing you problems."

No, Emily Hudson could give him headaches galore if Garrett primed her to cause him trouble, Ferguson thought bitterly. He might have to deal. "You didn't kill Nemid?"

"They were dead when we got there. And Nemid must have known his assailant, or the guard wouldn't have let him into the house."

"He would have known Emily Hudson."

"True. But he would have been on the alert since he'd be afraid she suspected him." He paused. "She didn't kill him, Ferguson. The son of a bitch deserved it, but she didn't do it. Neither did I. It was Staunton or one of his men."

"Why?"

"I don't know yet. I'll find out. But I need time, and I can't do anything if you or the Afghans come after me." "So what's the deal?"

"You do a cleanup job at Nemid's house and make sure that there's no evidence linking us."

"That could spark an international incident if they tumble to what I'm doing."

"And you never do anything that's not safe and aboveboard? Come on, Ferguson."

He didn't answer for a moment. "Not unless it's worth my while."

"You want to clean all the mud off your coattails and you want the director and the whole world to think you're a hero. That would make it worth your while."

"And you're going to do that?"

"I'll do it. I'll find Staunton, and I'll make sure that you're in¬volved. I'll make you shine, Ferguson. You'll get the credit for bringing the bad guy to justice."

"Why should I trust you?"

"I give you my word." He added sarcastically, "You'll remember, I keep my word. I've never left you in the lurch."

"It was necessary." Ferguson was going over his options. Whatever he decided, he'd have to move fast. Garrett did keep his word. He could count on that either way. He'd either make Ferguson a hero or find a way to sting him big-time. "Maybe I don't need you now that I have a name. I can go after Staunton myself."

"And now we're back to Emily and her ability to cause you an in¬finite amount of trouble."

Yes, there was that stumbling block. Emily Hudson was a heroine and a martyr, and the media would jump at the chance of crucifying him. He thought about it for another moment. "Okay. Deal. But if you try to screw me, I'll hang you out to dry."

"I won't screw you. Now call off your guys. Tell them it was all a mistake, and Emily and I are pure as a child's first prayer. I'll be in touch." He hung up.

He'd better be in touch, Ferguson thought as he hung up. I'm go¬ing to be walking a tightrope, and I'm not going to be on it alone. He turned to Moore. "We need to order a cleanup."

"HE TOOK THE BAIT." GARRETT turned to Emily. "I think. Un¬less he wants us to feel safe, then scoops us up."

Emily shook her head. "He's that deceptive?"

"He's that self-serving. But if he believes that he'll be better off playing ball with us, then he'll go along." He looked out the shop win¬dow. "But we'll know if he cleans up the Nemid scene. I don't think we'd better try to move until we get word on that." He turned to Fatin ben Lufti, a small, plump man with dark eyes. "I thank you for shel¬tering us. I don't believe there will be any trouble now. Is it all right if we stay here for a little longer?"

"It is my pleasure. I've been waiting for a long time for you to ask a return," Fatin said. "May I get you food? Drink?"

"Food would be good. But not now. Maybe later." Garrett turned to Emily as the small man left the room. "It may take hours before they discover the bodies. Ferguson will want to make sure it's done by someone who has no connection with him. Try to relax."

"That won't be easy. I feel as if my every nerve is wired." She sat down in a damask-draped chair by the window and looked around the shop. It was like an Aladdin's cave with gold chains and jewelry hang¬ing from display shelves all around the store. "Who is Fatin?"

"I told you, he's a friend. I've known him for years. He used to live in the mountains, but he came to the city to make a better living. He did well."

"He said something about a return. You did him a favor?"

"I did a favor for his sister. I managed to get her out of the coun¬try to Switzerland before she could be stoned. She made the mistake of being unfaithful to the man she married. It didn't matter that he beat her and treated her like dung. Fatin couldn't help her himself. He'd have been ostracized by his family."

Emily knew that the situation was not uncommon, but it still sick¬ened her. "I thought the government was making strides to give women more freedom."

"They can't stop what they can't see behind closed doors. They're taking baby steps."

"So there's a reason why your friend is willing to risk his neck for you."

"I wouldn't ask it if I could help it. He knows that." "You seem to have a lot of friends who are willing to go to the wall for you." "Yes."

There was a note in his voice that caused her to glance at him. Then it hit home to her what she had said. "That was thoughtless. Your friend, Karif… I didn't mean-" She shook her head. "I didn't intend to hurt you. I guess I'm not thinking about what I'm saying."

"Never apologize for speaking the truth. Karif died because I asked him to help." His lips twisted. "This won't be as dangerous for Fatin. I'll tell them I broke into the shop if we're caught here." He sat down in the chair opposite her. "But I don't believe there's any danger of that. I'm just being careful, Emily."

She nodded. "I guess I'm just… shaken." She laughed ruefully at the understatement. "I'm not accustomed to dead bodies and chases and having to make deals to keep from being thrown into jail."

"I'd never know it." He smiled. "You take to it like a duck to water."

"I don't want to take to it." She shivered. "It's terrible. Death and blood and…"

"The death of a man who didn't care if you and your whole team died."

"I know that." She tried to think of something besides Nemid with his head half blown off. "I felt too helpless back there. I want you to get me a gun."

He nodded. "I'll make sure that we pick one up for you in New York. It would be a little difficult here. Any preference?"

"I usually like the.40-caliber Glock."

His brows lifted. "Usually?"

"Usually," she repeated emphatically. She hadn't liked the way he had assumed that she was to stay safely in the background at Nemid's. She had to set the record straight before they went any further. "You persist in thinking that I'm helpless and unable to protect myself. That's not true. I traveled with my father to some pretty wild places, and he would never have let me go if he hadn't thought I'd be able to take care of myself. I learned to shoot when I was eight. By the time I was twelve, I was pretty damn good. When I was sixteen, my father and I fought off a truckload of ivory poachers at an elephant reserve in Africa. Since then I've had to deal with thieves and guerrillas who thought museums were only for plundering. I don't need you because I'm helpless. I need you because you're more familiar with this kind of battleground, and I have to be sure I'm going to get Staunton."

He smiled. "The Glock will do very well for Staunton."

"That's what I thought," Emily said. "And why was Nemid killed? What's in the box that was in the wall?"

"Let's see." He drew the box out of his jacket pocket. It was ap¬proximately four inches by eight inches and intricately carved. "Beau¬tiful box. Very ornate. It might say that he regarded what was inside to be just as important." He opened the box and carefully took out the folded sheet of paper covering a velvet-wrapped object and studied it. "It's a map of Russia and central Europe. Pretty old but nothing spe¬cial. It's just the kind of commercial map you'd pick up in any shop or train station." He handed it to her. "But according to the script on the top it was published in St. Petersburg in 1913."

She shook her head. "Russian script? Does it say anything else?"

He nodded. "No. I can read Russian. As I said, it appears to be just an ordinary commercial map." He took back the paper and un¬folded the cloth. He gave a low whistle. "Well, what do we have here?"

It was a hand-painted amulet of a man with a full black beard and burning dark eyes. Emily had seen that face in too many history books not to recognize it. "Rasputin."

Garrett nodded. "You can't say that face isn't memorable. Those words under his picture are a prayer and blessings on the wearer. And it's much smaller and more delicate than the usual amulet." With one finger he traced the delicate gold frame and intricate scrollwork sur¬rounding it. "But who was the wearer?"

"There's no inscription?"

Garrett shook his head. "It's pretty generic. I wonder if Rasputin gave them out to his fans like the Pope does rosaries. From what I've read, Rasputin had that kind of ego."

"Rasputin was in power just before the Russian Revolution when Nicholas II and his entire family were assassinated. But even if it be¬longed to someone in the royal family, it couldn't be that valuable. It has no jewels, and it's not inscribed to anyone. Or maybe it's the map that's important."

"I'll check it out and put it through a few tests, but it looks pretty common."

"I suppose I'm reaching for answers." She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I was hoping for more."

"You mean Zelov's hammer handed to us tied up in ribbons?"

"It wouldn't hurt." She watched him put the amulet and map carefully back in the box. "Staunton wanted that amulet. He killed Nemid to get it."

"Or he didn't want us to have it. If he knew Nemid had it, why didn't he go after it before? Unless it wasn't that important to him."

Emily frowned. "Why wouldn't it be important? Nemid believed it was important, or he wouldn't have hidden it."

"You're right. Maybe Staunton made a deal with Nemid, and the amulet was a payoff. It could be he was biding his time before he took it back."

"But what did this amulet have to do with anything? It's obvious that this isn't the artifact that was supposed to be in the hammer. Staunton thought the hammer was probably at that museum, or he wouldn't have gotten Nemid to send us there." She rubbed her temple. "It's all crazy. Nothing makes sense."

"It will all come together." He leaned back in his chair. "We'll make it come together. But you can't force it. Close your eyes and rest. Try to sleep. I'll wake you as soon as I know if Ferguson is lying or playing straight."

"I won't be able to sleep." But she closed her eyes anyway. It had been a rough night, and she could still see the bloody bodies of Nemid and his bodyguard. Totally unexpected. Totally shocking. Not only their deaths but the fact that Garrett was right, and Nemid had delib¬erately sent her into that hell. What could have meant enough to make anyone-?

"He deserved to die," Garrett said as if reading her thoughts. "If Staunton hadn't killed him, I would have done it myself."

She didn't open her eyes because she didn't want to see the darkness in his expression. She knew it was there. She shouldn't mind. She was accustomed to it now.

She did mind. She didn't want the darkness there because of her. It hurt her in some way. She wanted to push it away, push him away.

No, she only wanted to push away the darkness.

Her eyes were still closed as she reached out her hand to him.

She could sense his sudden stillness.

Then he leaned forward and took her hand. "What's this for?" She shook her head. What could she answer when she didn't know herself?

"Okay. That's fine. I won't push it." His grasp tightened. His hand was warm and strong holding her own.

And even though her eyes were still closed, she knew the darkness was no longer there.

"SHE SLEEPS?" FATIN ASKED several hours later as he came back into the room. "I brought you food. I thought you might need it before you left me."

Emily opened her eyes. "I'm not sleeping." She looked at Garrett, who was leaning against the wall. "When can we leave?"

Garrett gazed at Fatin. "Yes, when can we leave? Have you heard anything?"

He smiled. "According to the radio, it seems our honorable council¬man has been butchered by thieves or the Taliban. His body was discov¬ered by his secretary, who came early to help him with a speech he was to give before the council." He set the tray on the inlaid table in front of Emily. "Such a pity. It's a terrible, brutal world, isn't it?" He turned to Garrett. "But sometimes we can skip away from the brutality with the help of friends." He turned and moved back toward the door. "It is only bread, cheese, and pastry. I will bring tea."

"Thank you."

"No, I repeat, it is my pleasure." He flashed a smile that lit his round, dark face. "Do you need clothes? Transportation?"

Garrett grinned. "We seem to be losing our shirts at every turn. But I imagine Ferguson had the rental car taken away from Nemid's house and our suitcases with it. We're not about to knock on Ferguson's door to get them. That might be entirely too tempting for him. I'll ask that clothes be brought by the pilot Dardon arranges to pick us up, but we still need to get out of the city without Emily being recognized." He nodded. "So yes, if you can get Emily some clothes, I'd appreciate it. Preferably something including a veil. Anything will do for me." He turned to Emily as Fatin left the room, "It will just be until we get out¬side the city."

"You don't need to give me explanations. I don't like the fact that men keep women veiled and under their heels, but it's a disguise that would work." She took a bite of cheese. "I should probably try to wear it on the plane to the U.S. It's only during security that I'd have to shed the veil."

He nodded. "But we'll arrange a private jet to get us to the New York area. I know a small local airport in Connecticut that's safe."

"Safe? Does that mean under the radar of Homeland Security? An echo from your shady past?"

"What else is a shady past good for?" He sat down across from her and reached for a piece of bread. "We'll whisk you away from the air¬port as soon as we hit the ground in New York."

"I brought you clothes." Fatin came into the room carrying an armful of voluminous black garments. "I hope they're suitable." He set the clothes down on a stool. "If you have trouble with the proper way of wearing them, tell me and I will send my wife to help you."

"Your wife?"

"Yes, they belong to her." He shrugged as he saw her expression of surprise. "It is tradition."

"I didn't mean-You've been very kind. Thank you."

Her gaze went back to the smothering black veils of the burqua as he left the room before looking at Garrett.

"You take what you can get." He repeated as he started to eat, "Baby steps."

IT WAS DARDON WHO GOT 0 U T of the helicopter when they ar¬rived at the same poppy field where they had landed the day Garrett had gotten her out of the mountains.

"I told you to stay with Irana," Garrett said as he opened the car door for Emily. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Irana didn't need me. She decided to stay in Morocco and work with another doctor who was developing a new vaccine for malaria."

"And Morocco is supposed to be safe?"

"She has an army around her." He lifted his hand to his forehead in a mocking salute. "As commanded. She told me to get out of her way and go somewhere that I could do some good." He gave a low whistle as Emily got out of the car. "Quite an outfit. I don't even recognize you beneath all that drapery."

"I can't breathe." She took off the veil. "I don't know how they stand it." She started to strip off as many layers as she could. "That's better."

"I brought you more clothes and a computer."

"Good," Emily said. "I want to check and see if I can find out any¬thing more about Nicholas Zelov and his place in Connecticut."

"I dug a little deeper and found out a few things about him while I was with Irana," Dardon said. "When he was on the verge of bank¬ruptcy, he hired an accounting lawyer, Donald Warwick, to go through the family's affairs and see where they'd gone wrong in the corpora¬tion and how to correct it. It took a little of your money, Garrett, but I managed to get Warwick to talk to me. Evidently he was pretty thorough because he went way back to the start of the corporation in 1925." "And?"

"He found sizeable amounts deposited in Mikhail Zelov's corpo¬rate accounts every six months on the same dates until 1943. Then they stopped."

"Where did they come from?"

Dardon shook his head. "First mail, then electronic transfers from somewhere in Belgium. Untraceable." "Belgium?" Emily asked.

"Don't take any stock in that," Garrett said. "If you don't want someone to know where a deposit is coming from, you can reroute halfway around the world."

"But Warwick said that Nicholas Zelov was very interested in those deposits. Nicholas said that old bastard, Mikhail, must have had some¬thing on someone, and it was too bad that the money had stopped."

"Blackmail?"

"Or payment for services rendered," Garrett said. "But Nicholas might have decided to do some searching on his own and come up with something that he thought might still be of interest. Hence the trip to Moscow."

"And his sudden reversal of fortune," Dardon said.

Garrett nodded. "It does seem a probable connection."

"I'm tired of probable," Emily said. "I want to find out. Where do we go from here?"

"Pakistan," Garrett said. "We'll change to a jet and head for New York."

"That's what you said in Rome." To Emily it seemed a hundred years ago that she'd found out that they were going to Kabul instead of New York. Murder and pursuit and the discovery of that amulet that meant absolutely nothing to them right now.

"This time it's a promise." Garrett lifted her into the helicopter. "I just had to check Nemid out after what you told me."

She braced herself. "You said that I'd said other things that you thought might help. What were they?"

He was silent a moment. "At one point Staunton was asked to come and talk to someone who had driven up to the camp to see him. He left you and Levy for a few moments."

She gazed at him blankly. "I don't remember…" But now she vaguely recalled muttering something last night in that fever of memories. "Why would I blank that out? Why couldn't I remember he-"

"You were sort of-" He shrugged, then said, "You couldn't focus on anything but Levy. That was the night that Staunton had given Borg the order to burn out Levy's eyes."

Her back went stiff as if he'd struck her. The memory of that night was right before her. "And Borg didn't stop," she whispered. "Staunton left the hut, but Borg didn't stop. And then he came back and said to Borg. 'Let me help. You're not doing it right.'"

"Stop it." Garret shook her gently. "I told you that I'd never ask you to remember again. But I had to answer when you asked."

She nodded jerkily. "I know." She remembered something else. "That next day Staunton was probing, digging at me, saying some¬thing about my blanking out things. It might be that he was trying to find out if I'd paid any attention to his leaving. Why… do you think that visitor was important?"

"Because Staunton cursed, and said, 'Damn Babin. He's always nosing around, checking up on me.' "

"Babin?"

"Yes." He climbed into the helicopter. "It's important, but it was going to take too much time to make the connection right away so I called Dardon and told him to start checking for a Babin. But I could see the link with Nemid that had possibilities, and we acted on that lead." He turned to Dardon. "Take off."

"In a minute. I have something more. I want to reveal my super-sleuthing and get praise heaped upon me."

"You found out something more about Zelov?" Emily asked. "No, more important. Staunton." "What?" Garrett asked.

"Do you remember I told you that Staunton might be a pseudo¬nym for a Robert Hurker?" "And is it?"

"Yes, it's only one of many. I had time when I was with Irana to buckle down and dig deeper. He doesn't use Staunton very often. He seems to save it for the times when there's no danger of him being booked. That's why I wasn't able to trace the name."

"Tell me about Hurker."

"Born in Melbourne, Australia. His father was a fisherman, his mother a whore until his father took her off the streets. He grew up in Sydney. He was booked for burglary and assault with a deadly weapon when he was ten. After that it was straight downhill. He almost beat a shopkeeper to death when he was fifteen and got off because he was a minor." He paused. "His mother and baby sister fell overboard off his father's fishing boat and drowned when he was sixteen. He pretended to be heartbroken. The social worker who had his case said that there was a possibility he did it himself. It got too hot in Sydney, and he dis¬appeared for a while. He was going to the university and when he came back, the only thing he'd learned was how to be smarter and more vicious. He took off for France, and has been hopping about the world and doing what he does best."

"Murder," Emily said. It was strange thinking of Staunton as a child, even the vicious child painted by Dardon. It was as an adult that he had dominated her life and imagination.

"Evidently he does it well enough to earn a sizeable income," Dar¬don said. "And attract very affluent clients."

"Where does he live?"

Dardon shook his head. "No address. He moves around a lot." "Can we contact any of those clients and see if they know any¬thing more about Staunton than we do."

"If we have the time," Garrett said. "I'm not sure we will. We'd do better to concentrate on having him come to us."

"I'm still checking." Dardon started the engine, and the rotors be¬gan to spin. "I'll let you know if I come up with anything."

But they knew more than they had moments before. They could see the pattern, where he had come from. Staunton had been a mon¬ster who had dominated her thoughts and emotions since the first mo¬ment she had seen him. Now he was being made into a human being.

"He did kill his mother," Garrett said. "He told me that he'd taken care of the bitch. He didn't mention the baby."

"It probably wasn't important to him." Emily said. "What differ¬ence does the life of a little baby make?" Her lips tightened. "I want to show him how much of a difference it makes. I want to-" She stopped. Control. Keep cool and calm. "How long before we'll reach that airport in Connecticut?"