NINETEEN

Monk lowered his fork with the lamb still attached.

Where had Bethany come from?

As he did every time he was in a public place, Monk had scanned every face in the room as he and Lisa had come in, but he hadn’t seen Bethany sitting alone in that booth in the far corner. Until just now. He leaned in her direction, suddenly unsure he wasn’t imagining her, that seeing William again hadn’t set him up for conjuring Bethany. It wasn’t dark in here, but just dark enough to make him wonder.

Then she turned face on to him, and he realized he was wrong. He’d never seen Bethany without her long red hair sweeping to her shoulders. This woman’s hair was pinned back behind her ears. Bethany wore glasses—for some reason she couldn’t wear contacts or have laser surgery—and this woman wasn’t wearing glasses. Monk smiled at her anyway, but she turned away as though she hadn’t even seen him.

“Puller?”

Monk felt Lisa’s hand touch his.

“Puller?” she repeated.

He turned back to her.

“See someone you know?” she asked.

“I thought I did, but I was wrong.”

“The redhead in the corner?”

“She looks like someone who used to date a friend of mine.”

“She’s pretty.”

“I prefer blondes.”

Lisa grinned. “You’d best learn to live with disappointment.”

He squeezed her hand, ready with a wisecrack that died on his lips as the redhead slid out of her booth. Christ, he thought, those have got to be Bethany’s legs. She was walking toward them now, and Monk couldn’t take his eyes off her. She glanced his way, her green eyes on his for a moment, but she didn’t react at all, just kept walking toward the front door. Monk felt a warm flush climb his face. He didn’t want to make a fool out of himself, but he couldn’t just let her walk by without knowing for sure.

“Bethany?” he called. “Bethany Randall?”

She turned to him, her eyes puzzled, before she stepped closer to their booth.

“Puller?” she said, in that voice Monk could still hear in his head when he wasn’t careful. “Is that you, Puller?”

Monk rose from his chair as Bethany approached. He stuck out his hand, but she put both arms around him and hugged him. Monk couldn’t see Lisa, but he felt her eyes on them before Bethany stepped back. Dressed in a black tailored suit, with a dark green silk scarf at her throat, she looked nothing at all like she had the last time he’d seen her. That night. That night in William’s …

“Bethany,” he said. “I thought it was you, but your hair is different, and you’re not wearing glasses.”

“And I can’t see five feet in front of me. That’s why I didn’t see you earlier.” She smiled. “What’s it been? Gotta be five years.”

Five and a half, Monk could have told her. “Has to be,” he said.

“Do you come here often?” she asked. “We—the three of us—used to eat here, remember?”

Monk nodded. He did remember now, although a Freudian might have tried to convince him it was the only reason he kept coming here.

Behind him, Lisa coughed quietly. Monk turned to her.

“Lisa,” he said. “This is Bethany Randall. She used to date a friend of mine.” He swung back to Bethany. “This is Lisa Sands. We … we work together.” Somehow that didn’t sound quite right, but before he could revise it Bethany extended her hand. Lisa took it, held on a moment too long, Monk thought. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

Bethany said pretty much the same thing, then turned to Monk.

“How is William?” she asked. “Are the two of you still working together?”

“No … no, we’re not,” Monk told her. A small lie, the kind so often necessary in his line of work.

Silence fell awkwardly, the three of them standing next to the table, until Lisa broke it.

“We like this place, too,” she said. “I didn’t get much Indian food in Texas.” She laughed. “If you can’t grill it or deep-fry it, a Texan doesn’t have a whole lot of interest.”

Bethany smiled. “Ohio wasn’t much better.”

Monk was trying to think of something to add when Lisa’s cell phone rang. She bent to grab it from her purse, talked into the phone for a few moments, then dropped the phone back into the purse.

“Damn it,” she said. “I’ve gotta go.”

“What’s going on?”

Lisa glanced at Bethany before answering. “Believe it or not, the same thing we just did. But it’s Baltimore-Washington International this time.”

Monk frowned. “Why isn’t the Baltimore field office handling it?”

“Because of what happened at Dulles. They want me there.” Again she glanced at Bethany, clearly uncomfortable about talking in front of her, even in terms as inexplicit as these. “But you don’t need to come this time, Puller. Stay and finish your dinner.” Lisa hesitated. “Catch up on old times with your friend.”

Monk nodded. “If you’re sure you won’t need me.”

Lisa’s smile included Bethany this time. “Listen to him,” she told William’s ex. “All he’d do is slow me down.”

She grabbed her purse, then stepped up to Monk and kissed him on the lips, something Monk had never known her to do in public. “See you at home, sweetheart,” she said. “I shouldn’t be all that late.”

“I hope this isn’t a problem,” Bethany said, after Lisa was gone. “Lisa doesn’t look too pleased.” She paused. “And I gather the two of you do more than just work together.”

Monk ignored the last part. “Lisa’s fine,” he said. He hoped she was. Because there was no way to explain Bethany to her. No way even to start. “Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“I’d love one … but can we walk across the street? I feel like a brandy, but they don’t have anything decent here.”

Monk looked at her. It wasn’t brandy that had started their problem that night, but something damned close. He opened his mouth to beg off, and was shocked to hear what came out.

“Great,” he said. “Brandy sounds great.” He hesitated. “I think I could really use one.”

Half a block from the restaurant, Lisa slid behind the wheel of her bureau-issue Grand Prix, shoved the key into the ignition and started to crank the engine, before dropping her hand into her lap and sitting back for a moment. Two shipments of C4 intercepted in the same day, she thought, both on their way to Washington, both in containers addressed to Digital World.

Puller had mentioned getting some help from the assistant director in charge of WFO, and he was right. The ADIC might very well turn out the whole field office for something like this … not that such a move would guarantee success. The frustrating part of her job was its near impossibility. Even with a hundred agents it would take weeks to run any sort of investigation on every employee of Digital World, and the overwhelming probability was that it wouldn’t turn out to be an employee at all. Whoever was shipping the plastique wouldn’t address the stuff to anyone the bureau could trace so easily. Which left any one of the scores of other people who’d have access to the boxes of DVDs before they ever got to the stores. But that didn’t mean she could shortcut the process. She and her people had to eliminate Digital World before they could go on to the next step.

Lisa stared through the windshield and admitted something even more frustrating. These wouldn’t be the only two shipments, Dulles and BWI wouldn’t turn out to be the only two entry points. If Customs agents had caught these two, how many others would get through? How many had already gotten through?

She started the car and looked over her shoulder, let a black convertible go by, then pulled out into the heavy traffic. Reaching for the air-conditioner switch, she turned it up to high. It was a quarter to nine, she saw on the dashboard clock. She’d be at the airport well before ten, but she wouldn’t get back to the loft until after midnight, and wouldn’t be able to go to sleep until at least one. Tomorrow morning would come way too soon, and with the Digital World leads ahead of her she wasn’t sure when she’d ever get back to bed. Christ, Lisa thought. Sometimes she wondered what she’d been thinking when she quit her job in the DA’s office to come to Washington. Sometimes a life in Texas didn’t seem all that …

She hit the brakes when she saw them.

Puller and Bethany, walking across the street ahead of her.

Puller offering his arm and Bethany taking it. Bethany turning to him and brushing something off the sleeve of his shirt. The two of them heading for the front door of a bar as she slowed down to avoid having to wave to them.

Lisa felt a surge of … she wasn’t sure what … anger most likely … trepidation maybe, or … or premonition. Something. From behind, she heard the bleat of an angry horn. She stared into the rearview mirror and resisted the urge to raise her middle finger, then hit the gas hard. The car surged forward. The last thing Lisa saw was Monk holding the door for Bethany, a smile creasing his big fat face.