Heidi undressed Sarah, carefully undid the oversize shirt one slow button at a time, unzipped the low-riding jeans, marveled as she ran her hands over Sarah's lean runner's body. Sarah was so strong.

"Your body is the next best thing to having a body like this myself," Heidi said.

"You're perfect. I love everything about you."

"That was my line. Get into the bed, now. Go on."

Heidi handed Sarah a glass and eased in next to her love, her sweetheart. The two women got comfortable in the iron bedstead under the eaves, Heidi putting a hand on Sarah's thigh, Sarah drawing Heidi closer under her protective arm.

"So what's on our travelogue tonight?" Heidi asked.

Sarah had a list of three places, but she had a special feeling about Palau. She told Heidi, "It's so far from anywhere. You can swim naked in these amazing grottoes. Nobody cares about who you are," she said.

"No problems with a quartet of two women, two kids?"

"We'll say we're sisters. You're widowed."

"Oh, because the family resemblance is so strong?"

"Sisters-in-law, then."

"Okay. And about the language? What is it?"

"Palauan, of course. But they speak English, too."

"All right, then. To life in Palau," Heidi said, touching Sarah's glass with hers. They sipped and kissed with their eyes open, then the glasses were put aside and they reached for each other, Heidi listening to the baby monitor, Sarah with an eye to the window, fear driving their passion into high gear.

As Heidi stripped off Sarah's panties, Sarah was thinking, We can escape as soon as the last jobs are done. As soon as the jewels are sold.

"Sarah?"

"I'm here, Heidi. Thinking of the future."

"Come to me now."

Sarah had a sudden thought. She should tell Heidi about that woman and child she'd heard about who were killed in a parking garage, warn her to be very careful-but a second later, the thought faded and another came into focus.

She would sell everything but that yellow stone. One day soon, she'd give it to Heidi.

Chapter 29

IT WAS EIGHT in the morning when Jacobi dragged his chair into the center of the room and called us together. Yuki sat beside me. Claire stood behind Jacobi, arms crossed over her chest, just as emotionally invested in the young, deceased Darren Benton as Yuki was in Casey Dowling.

I noticed the stranger sitting in a metal chair in the corner: suntanned white male, midthirties, narrow blue eyes, sun-bleached blond hair pulled back and knotted with a rubber band. He was maybe five ten, 160 pounds, and he looked buff from the way his blazer stretched across his biceps.

This guy was a cop. A cop I didn't know.

Jacobi picked up where we'd left off the day before. Chi reported on the Benton case, saying that there was no match to the slugs found in the Bentons ' bodies. He noted that the stippling pattern was still unidentified but that Dr. Washburn had sent photos out to the FBI.

Chi jiggled the coins in his pocket and looked uncomfortable when he said that the lipstick used to write the letters "WCF" was a common, inexpensive drugstore brand.

Bottom line: they had nothing.

I stood and briefed the squad, saying that we were going over the Dowlings' phone records and that there were many dozens of numbers that came up repeatedly on both lists. I said that we had found nothing unusual in either of the Dowlings' bank-account records.

"Casey Dowling owned a very distinctive piece of jewelry," I continued. "We're working on that, and we haven't turned up anything at all on Hello Kitty. All bright ideas are welcome. Anyone wants to work the psycho tip line, raise your hand."

Of course, no one did.

The meeting was wrapping up when Jacobi said, "Everyone say hello to Sergeant Jackson Brady."

The cop sitting in the back lifted his hand in a wave and looked around as he was introduced.

"Jack Brady is a new transfer," Jacobi said. "He's put in a dozen years with Miami PD, most of those in Homicide. Chief Tracchio has attached him to our unit as a pinch hitter in the short-term, pending his permanent assignment. God knows we need the help. Please make him feel welcome."

Jacobi dismissed us, and Jackson Brady came over to my desk and put out his hand. I shook it, told him my name, and introduced him to Conklin.

Brady nodded and said he'd heard about the firebugs, a case involving two boys who set fire to houses, killing the residents-a case Conklin and I had closed.

I saw Brady's sharp blue eyes raking the small squad room as I talked. I turned to see Claire speaking with Jacobi, Cindy huddling with Yuki, the TV in the corner of the room showing Marcus Dowling still chatting up the press.

"The more they talk, the less I believe them," Brady said, jutting his chin toward the images of Dowling.

"We've been working the case for a few days," I said. "We're just getting our teeth into it."

"I heard your report, Sergeant," Brady said. "You don't have a clue."

Chapter 30