CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

"I will miss being next door to you," Eva said

It was a nice sentiment, but Allison thought it wasn’t completely truthful. Things hadn't been the same between them in the past few weeks. The casual camaraderie and the shared meals in the kitchen had turned stilted and uncomfortable, then come to an end. Allison couldn't shake the feeling that Eva kept waiting for the moment when someone else would break into the apartment with a gun.

"Me, too," Allison said. "Without you right next door, I'm going to have to learn how to cook."

"No," Eva said. "You will have a fine cook. Perhaps you will learn something."

"And you'll still have Hector to mooch meals off of you. I'm glad he's going to live here. I'll miss the place, and it feels better knowing someone I like is moving in."

Hector had tried moving back home after the oldest living Cesare brother had gotten out of jail. He'd thought that Juan the Rattlesnake would be able to handle their drunken, abusive stepfather. As it turned out, Juan had handled him so thoroughly that the stepfather was dead. Juan was back in jail, having done one of the quickest turnarounds in parole history.

"Thank you for talking Teddi into it," Eva said. "And for helping him get the job at the bowling alley."

"That was Uncle Bob more than me. Uncle Bob's got connections." Allison looked around the room. It had a vacant, cavernous feel although she had left most of the furniture for Hector. Without her books, trinket boxes, clothes and other assorted personal effects, the place no longer felt homey or familiar.

She and Eva hugged, though it was the stiff and awkward hug of distant relations or old friends who had subsequently fallen far out of touch.

Allison picked up her trusty old duffel bag in one hand and her skateboard in the other. She headed out of the Dunley Apartments and onto the street.

Outside, the day was hot and sunny and the Dog Haus was giving off fragrant clouds of barbecue-smelling goodness. She saw Martha coming back from another successful Dumpster dive behind the craft store, Jake Oberdorfer and his friends throwing a football in the street, the Beekers on their way to the diner, Tina Wendmeyer headed for work up at the 7-Eleven. All well and good and as it should be.

No one even looked at her like she was the neighborhood pariah. Though Jon Wharton had eventually caved in under pressure from his mother and the detectives, the story he had spun was so bizarre that no one had given it any credence. They all thought that he was trying to muddy the waters, cover his tracks, pick-your-metaphor.

Allison hopped onto her board. She wasn't wearing the baggy jeans, the hat, and the windbreaker. She sped down 6th Street in white denim cut-offs and a snug cotton-candy-pink tee shirt, ponytail flying.

Her bruises had faded, her voice was back to normal, and she felt wonderfully alive and free. No more purses since Jade's, and no urge for them either. As for Jade, she was evidently keeping her end of the bargain.

She jumped off the curb, veered across the street, and flipped the board up into her hand as she made a running stop in front of the Greenview Apartments.

Jamie Tremayne, in his chair, met her at the door. She leaned down and kissed him, not caring that the people on the sidewalks had stopped to grin bemusedly at them.

"This is it, then?" he asked when she straightened up.

"This is it. I'm officially moved out. Too late to change your mind."

"Wasn't planning on it." He gave her a once-over as he backed into the apartment. "I like the new look."

"New look?"

"Without the disguise."

"Ah. Yep, I'm off the hook," Allison said. "I don't have to be Scoot anymore."

"That's kind of a shame. You were pretty cute dressed as a boy."

"Is there something you're not telling me? You prefer boys, is that it?"

"I prefer girls, thank you very much. Didn't I just tell you that I liked the new look?"

"You keep saying that, but I'm not seeing the proof."

"And what would you consider adequate proof?" he asked.

"Come here and I'll show you," she said, yanking the rubber band out of her hair and letting it spill over her shoulders.

**

THE END

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

A different crowd from the business-suited lunch-lemmings filled the Stag and Hound on Friday nights. Younger. Louder. Boisterous. Music thumped and throbbed from the speakers. In a vague attempt at keeping with the ersatz Olde English pub atmosphere, the songs were all by British artists. The waitresses wove their way among packed tables, carrying trays laden down with pint mugs of a dozen kinds of beer, and more baskets of the fish and chips.

In the same corner booth under the same print of riders in a foggy meadow, Jeanette sat drinking amber ale and munching on pretzels. She, however, was not quite the same.

Even if the place had been filled with the exact same people who'd been here that afternoon a week ago, they wouldn't have recognized her. The platinum pixie-cut bob was gone, replaced by a shorter, sassier strawberry blonde hairdo. Large gold spiral earrings hung from her lobes, and she wore a knee-length black skirt with a sexy slit up the side, a silky black off-the-shoulder blouse, smoke-colored nylons and strappy black high heels. The gold chain with the jade dragon pendant had been replaced by a choker of onyx beads.

"I like the new look," said a voice like rough velvet.

She arched an eyebrow at Rayburn. "Likewise."

He came to the table, scruffy with a week's worth of unshaven beard and a shorter haircut that really showed the silver … more George Clooney than Pierce Brosnan. A plain white shirt open at the throat showed a hint of chest hair, and he was wearing snug, faded jeans and a well-scuffed leather jacket.

"What are you going by these days?" he asked, sitting opposite her and signaling for a waitress. One appeared with such alacrity that she might have been a genie summoned from a lamp. He ordered his usual Guinness.

"Jade will still be fine," she said when they were alone again.

"No tape recorder?" He indicated her purse, a black faux-snakeskin number on a long gold chain-strap, too small to hold more than a wallet, keys and the barest essentials.

"Didn't think I'd need one." Jeanette passed him a thick envelope she'd been carrying folded inside a newspaper. "Here."

"So you're sure? You're turning down the offer?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that the job is still open, if you want it."

"I thought my run of bad luck put an end to that particular assignment. Are you telling me the Company is willing to give me a second chance after all?"

"Well …" He shot her a roguish smile that could have – and probably had – melted the resolve of sterner women than she. "Maybe they don't know about that."

"What are you saying, Rayburn?"

"Do you want complete honesty?"

"In our line of work?"

He turned serious. "My employers aren't involved this time."

"What?"

"Well, Jeanette … can I call you Jeanette?"

"Why?" She tried not to show the effect it had, hearing him purr her own given name in that smoky voice. It was almost enough to make her slither under the table in a boneless puddle.

"This is personal."

"Rayburn, you'd better start making sense pretty soon here."

"Michael."

"What?"

"My name. It's Michael."

"This is getting too strange even for me," she said. An uneasy feeling was creeping over her. This was not the way their game was supposed to be played. This was not in the rules. She didn't know how to react.

"My employers didn't arrange that last job. They never even knew about it. I hired you."

"You?"

"Just me," he said. "I'll understand if you're angry with me."

She was too stunned to be angry, at least not yet. "Let me make sure I've got this straight … you approached me just like always, through the usual channels you've used all those times before. But you were acting on your own this time?"

"That's right."

"Why?"

"I told you it was personal."

"Yes …?" She lifted her voice at the end, querying.

"I put it all together just like any of the other assignments we've given you, but the money was mine and the target was of my choosing. I hired you. Fletcher, Christopher, the others … none of them knew. Which means they don't know it went wrong."

Now she did feel a twinge of anger. "You set me up."

"No. No, nothing like that."

"If Fletcher had found out I was working independently for you …"

"But he didn't. They don't know. They never will. This was, and is, between the two of us. Just you and me, Jeanette."

Jeanette rubbed her temples with her thumbs. "God, Rayburn! What were you thinking?"

"Michael."

"Whatever! But what were you thinking?"

"I wanted him out of the way." He folded his hands on the table and sighed, looking down at them. "It was the only thing I could think of to do. I never dreamed it'd turn out like this. I know I shouldn't have involved you, but you are the best. I didn't trust anyone else to get it done."

"Maybe you should have," she said. The anger was rising now. Duped by a skateboard kid, and now to find out she'd been tricked by Rayburn right from the very outset? "Or maybe it's just as well that I failed. This is not the way I work. I never should have accepted it in the first place. I don't take personal cases. How many times have I said that? Now I find out that you were using me?"

"You are angry."

"Damned right I'm angry. I came closer than I ever have to being caught, and I didn't even get paid. Double my usual fee, my foot … you were going to cheat me, too, weren't you?"

He pushed the envelope back toward her. "Keep it. I'll see that you get the rest."

"No. I don't want it, and if you think I'm still going to take this assignment, you're out of your mind."

"Then keep the twenty-five. For your trouble. It's the least I can do."

"The least you can do is tell me exactly why you jeopardized everything like this. You owe me that much at least. Who is he? What's he to you?"

He bowed his head for a moment, then looked up at her with those striking cobalt eyes. They were darker somehow, darkened by pain, to the indigo of midnight sapphires. "I knew his reputation. A stud. A playboy. One girl after another, and when he was done he'd throw them aside like yesterday's news. I didn't want to see her hurt."

"Who?"

"Sophia."

An image of the gorgeous brunette in the red dress came to her … the brunette with the deep blue eyes …

"Oh, my God," she said. "I thought there was something about her, something that looked familiar. She's your daughter."

Rayburn nodded.

"And she's dating Westbrook."

"I've tried to talk her out of it. Tried to talk sense to her. But she wouldn't listen to me. She thinks it'll be different with her. She thinks that he'll treat her right, and won't abandon her like he has all the others. Jeanette, she's my little girl. She's all I have left. What kind of father would I be if I didn't try to do something?"

"So you decided to have him ‘dealt with’?" She made little finger-quotes as she said the last two words. "Jesus, Rayburn … you've been in this field for too long when that becomes your first solution to every problem!"

"What else could I do?"

"Talk to her!"

"I tried –"

"Talk to him!"

"And tell him what? That he'd better not hurt my baby?"

"It could work. And really, didn't you think it would hurt her to have him end up dead? Murdered? Shot by his own gun?"

"Better that than have him ruin her!" he said with a sudden fierce passion that rocked Jeanette back in her seat.

"You idiot," she said. "My God."

"Am I an idiot for wanting to protect my child?"

"What if they suspected her?" she shot back. "Did you even consider that? What if they decided she did it, and put her away? Is that your idea of protecting her? Sending her to jail for murder?"

He blinked several times, mouth unhinged. "I …"

"You didn't consider it, did you? Or what about the possibility she could have been hurt? What if she'd been with him when I made my move? I didn't know who she was. She might have ended up collateral damage."

"No," he said firmly. "No, I know you. You're precise. Like a surgical laser."

"Accidents happen."

Groaning, he propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. "I only want what's best for her. My Sophia. I never want her to go through what I did."

"You told me you were a widower," Jeanette said.

"I am."

"Then how in the hell would killing Westbrook keep your daughter from going through what you did? It sounds to me like you'd be putting her through the exact same thing!"

"Angela had an affair," he said. "It was brief. It ended. She came back to me repentant, remorseful, swearing that it had been a one-time fling, a momentary aberration. I should have known better, but I loved her so much … needed her so much. Sophia was still a child then, and needed her mother. So, God help me, I took Angela back."

Jeanette had a chill, knowing what was coming next.

"For a while, it was all right," Rayburn said. He spoke like someone finally unburdening something that had been weighing on him for years, which it probably had been. "Better than ever. But then, a few years later, she met someone else. It wasn't just a fling that time. She wanted a divorce so that she could marry him. She wanted to take Sophia away from me, too. I couldn't let that happen."

"Does Sophia know that you had her mother killed?"

"To this day she thinks it was an accident. She grieved. But she never had to know that her own mother would have abandoned her. I protected her from that, and I'll protect her from Westbrook the same way. I'll do it myself, if I have to."

"You can't protect her from ever being hurt by anything or anyone in her entire life," Jeanette said. "Rayburn, you can't. It's impossible. She's a person, not an exhibit you can keep under glass."

Even as she spoke, she caught herself wondering what it would have been like to have a father – or a lover, or anyone – willing to go to such lengths for her. Willing to kill for her. Not for profit, not for gain, but solely because it was personal.

"I can't sit back and do nothing."

"You can. You will. You have to."

"What you're saying is that you won't take the job. All right. I'll find another way."

"What I'm saying is that you aren't going to do this, Michael."

He raised his head, startled by her use of the name.

"You're going to leave him alone," she said.

"But Sophia –"

"Needs to handle this on her own. You have to let her lead her own life. That's all any of us want." She wasn't about to tell him that she'd just learned that herself, and from a damned skateboard kid, no less.

A terrible wrenching spasm of grief twisted his expression. Somehow, it didn't make him any less handsome. "She's all I have left."

"Does she know you love her, and that you're there for her no matter what?"

"Always."

"Then she'll be fine. Better than the rest of us." She rose smoothly from her seat, shaking her sassy new hairdo around her face.

"I don't blame you," he said. "Not many women would accept a dinner invitation from a man who'd just confessed to murder."

"Well," Jeanette said, sliding into the booth beside him, "luckily for you, I'm not like many women."

**

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

"She was here? Right here?"

Eva Cesare was pale and shaking. Hector was shaking, too, but his face was flushed dark with anger. They had just finished telling Allison about their sudden visitor.

"Did you call the police?" Jamie asked.

Allison felt like she was hooked to a helium balloon, drifting up away from the earth, away from conventional reality. This all kept getting weirder and weirder. It was like she had stumbled into someone else's life.

"No," Hector said. "I wanted to, but Eva told me not to call."

"Why?" Jamie asked her, incredulous. "Why not, Eva?"

"I did not think it would be a good idea," Eva said. "What would we tell them? Why would they believe us? It is crazy … this woman going around threatening people. Who is she? What does she want? Allison, what is all of this?"

"It's my fault," Allison said.

She looked around her single room, feeling violated and heartsick all over again. Her gaze fell on the magazine basket, and she caught her breath. She dashed to it and pulled out magazines in clumps. People with Jude Law on the cover. Entertainment Weekly with the cast of Big Bang Theory. People with the Kardashians. Entertainment Weekly with a montage of characters from upcoming children's movies. Cosmopolitan with a model in a slinky dress and "Ten Tips To Drive Him Wild In Bed." People with Will Smith, cute-as-a-bug.

No folder.

"It's gone!"

"What's gone?" Jamie wheeled closer.

"The folder. The one with the pictures."

"Allison, what is all of this?" repeated Eva. "What was in that envelope you had me hold for you? Who is that woman? You have to tell me!"

"God, she was here!" Allison wrapped her arms around herself.

"It's almost seven," Jamie said. "If we're going to call the police, we'd better hurry."

"What envelope?" Hector asked.

"I don't know what to do," Allison said.

"Please, tell me what is going on," Eva said.

"Everyone, be quiet," Jamie said.

For a moment, they were, and they could all clearly hear Mr. Kaminski's television through the back wall. It was tuned to Wheel of Fortune … whirr-clicky-click and the dismal down-spiraling noise of someone landing on Bankrupt. That sound summed up Allison's mood.

"I can't do this," Allison said, looking helplessly at Jamie.

"You know you can," he said. "You're tough."

"I'm not. I'm a wimp."

"I could never love a wimp."

Flustered as much by what he'd said as by the matter-of-fact tone in which he'd said it, she dropped magazines all over the place. Love? Had he really dropped the L-bomb on her? Just like that, out of the blue and in front of Eva and Hector and God and everybody?

She stared at him, momentarily robbed of the power of speech. His eyes were dark and deep and full of trust. That warm curve of patented Jamie Tremayne smile melted her like so much gooey chocolate on a summer day.

"Okay," she said. She went to the phone.

She would call the police. She would dump all of this on them and deal with the consequences as best she could. Then, maybe, if she got through it in one piece, she could see if there was still a chance for something to develop between the two of them.

Before she could pick it up and dial, another phone rang. This one was in her pocket, the chirping ring of the pre-paid cell phone. Her sunburst clock pointed to a minute past seven.

"It's her!" she said in a foolish stage whisper.

Jamie swore silently, looking grim. "You'd better answer, Allison, and see what she has to say."

"What is –" Eva began, but stopped at a stern gesture from Jamie.

The cell phone chirped again. Allison answered. "Hello."

"Hello, Allison."

"Look, I know you wanted to talk to Scoot –"

"Oh, enough of that," snapped Jade. "Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? Did you think you'd fooled me?"

"Um …"

"Now, Scoot, or Allison, or whatever you're going by, we have a problem here. Don't you agree?"

"What do you want?"

"I want this never to have happened, but unless you can turn back time, we'll have to make do somehow. We'll have to improvise. Where's my money?"

"I …"

"And don't lie to me, Scoot. Don't think you can get away from me. Even if you could, other people would pay."

"How can you –"

"Like your boyfriend in the wheelchair. Or those neighbors of yours, who seem like such decent people." Jade paused, while icy worms of horror burrowed into Allison's stomach. "Or your uncle … or even little Missy, your precious baby sister who writes you such adorable letters."

"No!" The word, blurted louder than she intended, drove a sharp jab of pain into her throat.

"The money?"

"I have it. I have it right here."

"And what were you going to do? Keep it? Turn it over to the police?"

"I hadn't decided," Allison said, then went ahead and admitted the truth. What did she have to lose at this point? "But I was leaning toward keeping it."

She had turned away from the open gawking curiosity of Hector and Eva, away from Jamie's steady and encouraging eyes. She saw the letter from Missy, the envelope with her family's address on it. Of course, she'd known from Jade's tone that it hadn't been a bluff. This was only conformation. The icy worms slithered and knotted.

"At least you're a criminal too," Jade said. "There's that we have in common. You know that if you go to the police, they'll have some very serious questions about your own habits and activities. Right, Scoot?"

"Right," she said, downcast, head hanging. She wanted to protest that she was nothing like Jade, nothing at all, but didn't want to anger the woman on the other end. "I have the tape, too."

"The tape." Jade let out a breath that sounded strained between clenched teeth. "I can't take your word for it that you haven't copied it, and there'd be no way I could know."

"I haven't!"

"I'd like to believe you, but like I said, I can't. And it doesn't matter, really."

"I just want this to be over," Allison said.

"There's another thing we have in common. You've caused me a lot of trouble."

"I'll give back the money."

"You certainly will. But what else am I going to do about you?"

"Oh, stop it! Don't play with me!" Allison surprised herself by raising her voice. It was coarse as a file scraped over metal. "If you're going to kill me, just go ahead and say so and quit dicking around!"

There was a long, thoughtful silence after this outburst. A long, thoughtful silence in which Allison could see her life slipping away like the last few grains of sand in an hourglass running empty.

"I'd really prefer not to have to do that," Jade said at last. "Despite what you might think, I am not some murderous maniac. It's all business, Scoot. Always business. What would I gain from killing you? I admit, you've been a pain in the butt and I've had my moments of revenge fantasies, but I can't afford to risk indulging them. Nobody would pay me for getting rid of you. There's no profit in it, even if it would be a measurable public service. So I'm prepared to leave you alone."

Her words hung in an expectant way.

"If …?" Allison prompted, not really wanting to hear the rest but knowing that she had to.

"If it goes both ways. If you're prepared to leave me alone."

"What's that mean?"

"That means, I get my money back, and you destroy that tape, and you don't go to the police. You forget that this ever happened."

"Boy, would I love that," Allison said, and she meant every word.

"Wouldn't we both," remarked Jade dryly. "That's my deal. You keep your end, and convince your neighbors to do the same. I'll keep mine. We'll never have to deal with each other again."

"What if I can't convince them?"

"Try," Jade said. "Try really hard."

"But what if I can't?"

"Like I said, if I'm unable to get at you, I'll start with your friends and your family. I won't enjoy it, I won't profit from it, but business is business and I'll do what I have to in order to keep my career afloat. You got that?"

A tear trickled down Allison's face and she wiped it away, thinking of Missy, and Jamie, and Uncle Bob, and everyone else whose lives were hanging on a thread thanks to her. "All right. But there's one other thing I want."

"Oh, and you're the one calling the shots?" Jade asked with bitter humor.

"Don't do it," Allison pleaded. "The guy … the guy with the sailboat … leave him alone, too."

"What's he to you?"

"Nobody. I just can't stand to see anyone else hurt."

"How many times do I have to say it? It's business."

"Please!"

Through the phone, she heard muffled traffic and street noises. She heard a gusty sound that might have been a sigh, and might have been Jade snorting in disgust at this display of soft-heartedness.

"Jade?" Allison ventured. "Are you still there?"

"I'm here."

"Can't you let this one go?"

"It's a moot point, you know," Jade said. "By now, the police will have tracked him down as the owner of that gun. It's evidence, so they might not give it back to him right away, but they'll have informed him where it came from and he will be suspicious. What did you tell them about where you got it? Not the truth, I know."

"No," Allison admitted. "I told them I bought it from a street vendor."

Jade laughed. "Clever. Lying to the police to save your own skin. Good job."

She said nothing, writhing inwardly with shame.

"But anyway, it is a moot point," Jade went on. "I couldn't get at him now. He'll be alert. The police might even be watching him, thinking that he had something to do with all of this. If we're lucky, maybe they'll even find a way to pin Weasel on him."

The admission, made so casually, sent a shudder twisting through Allison.

"So, I'll agree," Jade went on. "I won't kill him. I'll just have to repay my up-front fee and deal with some disappointed clients. This has put a serious blot on my record."

"You'll really leave him alone?"

"Yes."

"And me? And my friends, my family, my neighbors?"

"Yes to all of the above."

"So I just give the money back, and destroy the tape, and it's done?"

"It's done. Not that I expect you to trust my word, unless there is honor amongst thieves. Which is what we both are when you scrape away the veneer. You steal purses, I steal lives. Well? What do you say? Is it a deal?"

"It's a deal," Allison said. She didn't dare look at Jamie, Eva, or Hector, sure that they would be staring at her in contempt, not understanding that she was only trying to look out for and protect the people she cared about. "When and where do you want me to bring the envelope?"

Again, Jade laughed, and this time it was mirthless. "So that you can set a trap, and have the police there to catch me?"

"No!" Allison hadn't thought that far ahead, and once more felt hopelessly out of her depth.

"Let's not even give you the chance," Jade said. "Step outside on your balcony, why don't you?"

The slithering icy worms inside her froze into a solid tangled mass, which then plummeted as the bottom dropped out of her stomach. Her throat contracted into a pinhole again, and fine hairs stood up all along her arms and the nape of her neck.

She could easily picture herself drawing back the draperies and finding Jade there on the balcony. Phone in one hand, gun in the other. The last sight she'd see would be Jade's green eyes and cruel smile, and maybe a muzzle flash.

"Are you going to shoot me?"

"We've been through this already," Jade said impatiently. "If I'm going to shoot you, wouldn't you rather get it over with?"

Strangely, that relaxed her. She covered the mouthpiece while she dug around in her duffel bag for the envelope. "You guys go into Eva's apartment, okay? Stay there until I come back, no matter what."

"Allison –"

"Please, Jamie. Don't argue."

"You are making a deal with the devil," Eva said, shaking her head.

"I know, but I have to. Go on. I'll be right there."

"I don't want to leave you," Jamie said.

"Trust me," Allison said. "I know I don't deserve anybody's trust, but … please. This once."

"I do trust you," he said. "I'll go, but, Allison, I don't like it."

They went into the next apartment. Jamie looked back at her like she was on her way to the gallows or the guillotine. Maybe she was. If so, the last thing she wanted was for any of them to be hurt as well.

"You're too good for me, Jamie," she said.

Once the kitchen door was shut, Allison bolted it from her side. She went to the drapes. Steeling herself, she pulled them back.

The balcony was empty. Allison slid the glass door open and stepped out. She looked over the rail. There, in the alley where she'd been only a few hours ago, was Jade. She was wearing different clothes, but it was her, all right. Phone in one hand … gun in the other. But the gun was held low against her leg, not pointing up at Allison.

"Toss it down," Jade said.

"You promised, remember."

"I know."

Allison held the fat envelope of cash over the rail. Twenty-five thousand dollars. Enough money to help a lot of people. She found that her fingers didn't want to let go. She forced them to open.

The envelope fell straight down and slapped into the alley. Jade, still keeping an eye on her, bent and picked it up. She tore away the tape, riffled the bills, nodded. "It's all here?"

"Yes."

"And the tape?"

She tossed it down. The tiny cassette did not crack when it hit the ground.

Jade picked it up, examined it, and pocketed it. "Good. One more thing."

Somehow, Allison managed not to flinch. This was when it would come, the sudden raising of the gun, the whipcrack of the report, the flash, the impact.

But the shot didn't come. Instead, Jade cocked her head and surveyed her like she was a germ under a microscope.

"Why, Allison? Why do you live in a dump like this? Your family's got more money than I'll ever make and you threw all that away to live like … like these people. Why?"

The questions hit her almost as hard as bullets. "What does that have to do with anything? You got what you wanted. Now go!"

"Call me crazy, but I'm interested," Jade said. Her tone was grudgingly admiring. "You've caused me no end of trouble, dressing as a boy, riding around on that damned skateboard … you've got guts, I'll say that much. You're quick, too. The way you lied on the phone when you must've realized it was me … that whole 'Steffi' thing … pretty slick."

"Not so slick." Allison didn't know what to say. She didn't feel like she had guts … she felt like her guts running down her legs into her shoes. And she did not want this woman, of all people, to admire her.

"Maybe we're not so different after all," Jade said. "Maybe that's why I don't really want to kill you. Inside, we're the same. So, answer my question. Why?"

"If I stayed with them I'd never have my own life," she was astonished to hear herself say. "That's all I want. My own life."

"Yeah," Jade said. She put her gun away. "Me, too. Goodbye, Scoot. Steer clear of Century Plaza from now on."

"Count on it."

Jade headed for the mouth of the alley. At the end, she paused and looked back. "I'd tell you to stay out of trouble," she said. "But I don't think it would do any good."

**