THURSDAY, OCTOBER 13

Hadley’s notes for the morning briefing were about as abbreviated as she could get. 1. Tourists in town. 2. Check kiting IGA. 3. B and E 52 MacEachron Hill Rd. Cossayuharie, interrupted, no loss. She wrote more detailed grocery lists. Well, this was all penny-ante stuff. There was only one really big case going on in Millers Kill right now, and it wasn’t even theirs.

“I’ve been trying to get hold of Colonel Seelye, the Army CID who’s heading up their investigation. I’ve left her a couple of messages on her cell.” The chief squared his boots on the chairs again. “Here’s the deal. The theft from the army isn’t technically in our jurisdiction, as you all know.”

Hadley glanced at Flynn, who looked disappointed. The man was way too invested in policing. He needed a hobby.

“However. Both Wyler McNabb and Quentan Nichols, whom some of you will remember”—he nodded at Hadley and Flynn—“are in town right now. Nichols has admitted to direct involvement with the theft, and it’s a sure bet McNabb has some knowledge of it.”

“Wait a minute.” Lyle MacAuley rousted himself from his usual slumped posture against the whiteboard. “How do we know Nichols is back in town?”

The chief rubbed the back of his neck. “He came to St. Alban’s looking for Clare. Asked her to help him find the money.”

“I’ll be damned. Where is he now?”

The chief shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I faxed his name and description around to area hotels and motels last night before I left. Nothing yet.”

“That guy is better at disappearing than a bowl of shrimp at the all-you-can-eat buffet. You sure he’s not really a Green Beret or something?”

“I’m more worried about him reappearing. In Wyler McNabb’s driveway.” The chief pointed at Hadley. “Knox, I want you and Kevin to go by there and pick him up for questioning. I was willing to wait for Seelye, but she’s dragging her tail. I want to find out what he knows before something bad happens.”

Hadley felt her face heating up. He knew she had lied. He didn’t trust her to pick up the guy by herself.

“Both of us?” Flynn asked. “I didn’t think he was in any shape to put up a fight.”

“I’m not worried about him resisting arrest. I’m worried about him being alone with an officer and no witness to say what happened or didn’t happen. I don’t want to give McNabb an opportunity to lodge a false complaint on top of the real one he’s got going.” The chief pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses.

“What do we do if Colonel Seelye is already there?” Hadley asked. “She’s going for a warrant to search the place, right?”

“If she’s there, tell her unless she’s immediately placing McNabb under arrest, we’re taking him in for protective custody. She can come over to the station and question him here.” He slid off the table and thudded to the floor. “That’s all. Lyle?”

Kevin drove. She took shotgun. It was the first time they’d been alone together in at least a week. So of course, he led off with “What happened with you and Eric at this guy’s house?”

“You know what happened. The guy swung at Eric, they got into it, eventually the perp was subdued.”

“Right into the hospital. You know, I might have bought that story—might have—if I hadn’t seen Eric go medieval on that emergency room doctor.”

She looked out the window. “It doesn’t matter to me what you believe. I made my statement. It’s on the record. I’m not changing it.”

“Hadley. Jesus. You’re not a coward.”

She turned on him. “Eric McCrea is a red-white-and-blue, yellow-ribbon war hero, Flynn. He’s been on the force for nine years, and everybody knows if MacAuley retires, he’s getting the deputy chief’s slot. I’m the girl. The new girl. Who’s going to get burned if I turn him in?”

“I’d back you up!”

She smiled a little. “I know. I knew. Now tell me who else will.”

“The chief. He suspended Eric on the spot, and he’d stand by you against anyone in the department.”

“Yeah, and what happens when he’s not around? You know MacAuley and Noble and the other guys are Code Blue, all the way. I heard about what happened to the guy who was here before me. He got frozen out because he called the state police in on a murder case. He had to leave town to get another job!”

“Mark Durkee.” Flynn shifted in his seat. “That was different.”

“No, it wasn’t. Let it go, Flynn. I made my choice, and I’ll live with it.”

His hand tightened on the steering wheel. “I just hate to see you forced to compromise yourself.”

She almost whooped. “Compromise myself?” She leaned back into the seat. “Flynn, you’re a world too late to stop that from happening.”

He opened his mouth as they drove into view of the McNabbs’ house. The driveway was empty, both her Navigator and his Escalade gone. Flynn changed whatever he had been about to say into “In the garage?”

“There wasn’t room last time. Let’s check.”

They parked. She peered into the garage. He banged on the door. They both turned up empty.

“Now what?” Hadley said over the hood of the squad car.

“Could he be at work?”

“I don’t think he’d be physically able to after—” She couldn’t say it. “What happened. I’ll check. Do you still have your notes from the interviews we did right after the suspicious death?”

Flynn brandished his pocket-sized notebook.

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. “Okay. I’ll call BWI while you drive to the closest friend’s house. He’s gotta be around somewhere.” She didn’t have to point out that McNabb wasn’t well enough to take off for another casino vacation.

The BWI Opperman receptionist transferred her to the construction department, where she hung out on hold for two minutes, three, four, while boring classical music tried to lull her into a stupor. “God.” She turned to Flynn. “They must be hauling some poor guy off his bulldozer to talk to me.”

The line went live. “Hi! What can I do you for?” The man was shouting over the sound of machinery grinding in the background. Her guess about the work site must have been correct.

“I’m looking for Wyler McNabb.” She tried not to raise her own voice. “Is he working today?”

“Naw, he’s off for a few weeks. Try him at home.” The line went dead.

She stared at her cell, frowning. “Talkative guy.”

“Don’t worry about it. At least we know he’s not on the job.” Flynn handed her the notebook. “Do me a favor. Figure out who on the list is closest to us if we strike out on the first contact.”

The first person listed was a co-worker. When they got to the address, a small house on Meersham Street, the only person home was a harried wife with a baby on her hip and a toddler shrieking behind her. Her look of alarm melted into an expression of relief when they asked about McNabb. “Don’t know, and don’t care,” she said. “We didn’t move in the same circles.”

The next person on Flynn’s list was labeled “drinking buddy.” He lived in a much rattier house on South Street, and his expression wasn’t so much alarm as it was sullen suspicion. He, too, looked relieved when they asked about McNabb, although in his case, Hadley figured it was relief that they weren’t after him.

“I dunno where he is. I heard he was feeling pretty lousy.” The drinking buddy rubbed his chin. “I wonder if he mighta gone to Tally’s mom’s house? She’s a LPN. What with Tally being gone, she mighta taken him home for a little whaddaya call it.”

“TLC?” Flynn said.

“Yeah. They always got on well. Mrs. Walters is pretty laid-back. Not like Wyler’s mom.” He shuddered.

Hadley glanced at Flynn. It sounded like a solid lead. “What’s her address?” she asked.

“Fifty-two MacEachron Hill Road. Up in Cossayuharie.”

Hadley kept her face neutral while Flynn thanked the guy. They got back into the cruiser. Buckled up. Pulled away from the curb. As soon as Hadley was sure she couldn’t be seen, she turned to Flynn. “Did you hear that? The same place with the B and E last night!”

He grinned at her. “Oh, man. Maybe we’ll have a major theft fall right in our laps.”

“You know what the chief says.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” they chorused.

Flynn’s notes had more details than hers, including the complainant’s name, Evonne Walters. Paul Urquhart had taken the call last night around eleven. A search of the area turned up nothing—knowing Paul, the search probably consisted of him waving his flashlight around the yard—and the complainant believed nothing had been taken. There hadn’t been any mention of a connection to Tally McNabb, which didn’t surprise her. She had heard Paul say that asking questions only led to more work.

They drove through fields and woodlots as they wound their way up MacEachron Hill Road. Most of the residences they passed were slightly sagging farmhouses, where solid nineteenth-century construction managed to keep the worst ravages of time and poverty at bay. Tally McNabb’s mother’s house, on the other hand, looked like something out of Traditional Homes magazine. The roof was so new it gleamed like fresh blacktop in July; the deep, wide gutters emptied into neat gravel beds; the windows were period reproduction, with built-in storms and freshly painted shutters.

“Geez,” Flynn said.

Hadley nodded. “Unless LPNs get paid a lot more than I thought, I think we know where some of the stolen loot went.”

They got out of the cruiser. At the door—also recently painted, with bright hardware and a fancy, chime-playing bell—Flynn stepped back, letting Hadley take point.

The woman who answered looked as if she belonged in one of those other houses—shabby, weathered, but with strong bones. She blinked at them. “May I help you?”

“Ms. Walters? I’m Officer Knox of the Millers Kill Police, and this is Officer Flynn. May we come in?”

“I already talked with one of your officers last night.” Even as she spoke, the woman opened the door wider and made space for them. “There wasn’t anything missing. I was more scared’n anything else.” Flynn tucked his hat beneath his arm as she ushered them into the kitchen. “I guess you always think nothing bad can happen out here in the country. Tally told me I ought to get a security alarm, living out here on my own.” Her voice cracked.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Hadley said. “I can’t imagine anything worse than the death of a child.”

The woman nodded. Glanced at Hadley’s ringless finger. “You have children?”

“Two. A boy and a girl.”

There was a clatter on the stairs, and a young man in his late teens or early twenties loped into the kitchen. “Ma? What’s going on?”

“My youngest, Danny. These officers came about the break-in.”

“Did you find out who did it already?”

Hadley shook her head. “It’s under investigation. Are you the only other person living here, Danny?”

“I don’t live here. I’m a sophomore at Kenyon. In Ohio.”

His mother put her arm around him. “First in the family to go to college.”

He hugged his mom back without embarrassment. Hadley liked that. “I was planning on heading back this weekend, but I hate to leave Ma alone with this hanging over her head.”

“Danny’s worried it might’a been one of those crazy people who thinks God kills soldiers ’cause we got gay people in the USA.”

Hadley decided to fudge a bit. “We think it’s more likely someone who read that your daughter died and was hoping to steal some valuables in the confusion. It happens sometimes.” The first time she had dealt with one—the burglary of a house left empty for a funeral—she had thought a human being couldn’t go much lower.

Evidently Ms. Walters agreed with her. The woman’s face screwed up in disgust. “Well, if that don’t beat all.”

“Did your daughter ever use your house for storage? Leave anything here for safekeeping?”

“When she was deployed, yes. I was the one kept her checkbook and paid what bills came due while she was in Iraq.”

“Not her husband?” Kevin asked.

Mrs. Walters hesitated. “He’s not so good with that sort of thing.” She smiled a little. “Those two were together since tenth grade. Ten years later, Mary was still head-over-heels for Wyler. Never mind in some ways he’s still in high school.”

Danny made a face that suggested he minded his brother-in-law’s immaturity.

“Anything else?” Hadley asked. “Other than the checkbook?”

“The cars,” Danny said.

“Well, if the burglar was after the cars, he wun’t too smart, now, was he? Looking in the house instead of the garage.”

Flynn glanced at Hadley before looking at the Walterses. “What vehicles are you talking about?”

“Wyler and Tally’s cars. They keep them—” Danny caught himself. “They kept them here when they were both overseas. Wyler and I brought them up here yesterday.”

“I want you to have her SUV. It’ll be a load off my mind to not have you driving halfway ’cross the country in that old beater of yours.”

“Ma—”

“You brought both their cars here?” Hadley frowned. “Why?”

Danny looked at them. “Wyler’s gone back over. To join the construction team in Iraq. He left yesterday.”

*   *   *

Clare hadn’t intended to swing by the Stuyvesant Inn on the way back from the Infirmary. Her plan to fit in a short visit with two of her elderly parishioners expanded as she saw one senior that she knew, and then another, so that twenty minutes became an hour and a half of looking at photos and holding hands and listening to stories. Then the nursing director, Paul Foubert, had dragged her into his office to complain that she and Russ weren’t registered anywhere and to unsubtly interrogate her about the perfect wedding gift.

“Nothing, Paul. We don’t need anything. Make a donation to a good cause in our names if you have to do something.”

“Hmph,” he rumbled. “You only get married once, knock on wood. You ought to milk it for what it’s worth.”

When she finally emerged into sunshine and a brisk easterly wind, she realized she was never going to make the diocesan development committee lunch scheduled for noon in Schenectady. She had to admit giving up boxed sandwiches and a tedious meeting wasn’t a hardship. Plus, she now had a legitimate couple of hours free before her afternoon counseling sessions.

She considered going back to the rectory for a nap. Trip’s prescribed ten milligrams of Dexedrine was clearly a much lower dosage than she’d been taking out of her go-bag. She felt like she was wearing an overcoat of fatigue. Trip surely wouldn’t call her in for a blood test this soon. He wouldn’t know if she upped her dose for a day or two. She climbed behind the wheel of her Jeep and headed toward Millers Kill.

She thought about the therapy group. If she could get hold of Colonel Seelye, she could ask the others what they thought about the situation. Get their take on Quentan Nichols’s surprise visit, too. He was obviously in it up to his neck, as Russ would say. In town and looking for his money. Which was … where? Who knew? Had Tally had someone helping her stateside? There must have been other people involved in Iraq, if only to move the cash from point A to point B. What if Nichols knew the other accomplice? Knew, and had struck a deal with him. Or them. After all, taking even one person out of the pool left considerably more money for everyone else to divide.

Clare drove over a hill and blinked at the sight of the Stuyvesant Inn. She had driven the entire way on autopilot. So much for her vaunted observational skills—and so much for her nap. She turned into the drive and pulled into one of two empty parking places. The leaf peepers must have decamped to the city.

The inn’s enormous maple was half-stripped of leaves, the remainder looking like the tattered red pennants of a defeated army. The wind across the valley, which cooled the sprawling Victorian all summer long, was a cold slice against her back as she got out of her car.

The door opened while she was climbing the porch steps. “You must be psychic,” Ron Handler said. “We just got another fax from your mother.” He stepped to one side and let her into the wide front hall.

“Lord help us.” Clare shucked her jacket off. “What is it now?”

“Oh, a bunch of stuff. She wants to make sure we’re coordinating with the baker and the patisserie. A rundown on the linens. She has a sketch of how she wants the presents displayed—what’s a ‘sip and see’?”

“A party for silver fetishists.” She glanced at the hallway’s étagère, where an authentic nineteenth-century feather bouquet bloomed eternally beneath a glass bell. “Don’t worry about it, though. There aren’t going to be any presents.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, Your Reverence, but they’re already arriving. Your mother’s been forwarding the ones sent to your parents’ house.”

“Oh, for…” She scrubbed her hands over her face. Wished she had some cold water to splash there. “Look. I didn’t actually come over here to discuss the reception. I was hoping to talk to Colonel Seelye. She never returned my phone messages.”

“Rude, but not unexpected. I’m sorry, but she’s gone.”

“Any idea when she’ll be back?”

Ron shook his head. “I mean she’s gone. Checked out. Took her luggage, her car, and her life-sized GI Joe doll with her.”

*   *   *

Russ was negotiating the turn off of Route 57 when his cell phone rang. He picked it up without looking. “Van Alstyne here.”

“Hey. It’s me,” Clare said.

“Hey, you. Are you feeling better?”

“I guess so.” She paused. “I think I know why we’ve been so snippy with each other lately.”

“Snippy” wasn’t the word he would have used, but what the hell. “Why?”

“Because we’re not having sex.”

He grinned. “I sure am thinking about it a lot, if that’s any consolation.”

“Oh, yeah? What sort of things are you thinking about?”

“Stop that. Are you calling about Nichols?”

“What? No. Why?”

“Didn’t you get my message?”

“No. Sorry. I didn’t check before I called you. What’s going on?”

“Wyler McNabb has flown the coop. He left his car with his in-laws and told ’em he was off to join the BWI Opperman construction team in Iraq.”

“Wasn’t he out on bail?”

“Uh-huh.”

“With a broken cheekbone?”

“Plus a hairline fracture in his skull.”

“And they let him go to a construction site in a war zone?” Clare’s voice carried all the disbelief his had when Knox and Flynn had reported in.

“That’s what I’m about to find out. I called the construction depot in Plattsburgh, but the guy there didn’t know anything except that the monthly flight to Iraq left yesterday evening. All the operations-level stuff is handled at headquarters. I’m headed for the Algonquin Waters to get the truth out of somebody.”

“I’m at the Stuyvesant Inn. I’ll meet you there.”

“No. Do not go to the resort. I don’t want you anywhere near there if you can help it.”

“Why were you calling about Nichols?”

He hissed frustration as he swung his squad car onto the Sacandaga Road. “Clare, I mean it. I don’t want you—”

“Oh, honestly, Russ, you’re not going up against a terrorist cell holding the hotel with guns and explosives. You’re going to ask the human resources manager if they authorized McNabb to get on their plane. I think I can survive the danger. I’ll see you over there.” She hung up.

He swore under his breath. The wedding, which she had just been complaining about, was in nine days. She was carrying her usual overfull schedule at St. Alban’s. On top of it all, he knew, despite her being less than forthcoming about therapy, that she was still struggling with her experiences in Iraq. So what does she do? Go chasing after Tally McNabb’s nonexistent killer.

He switched his light bar on and stepped on the gas when he hit the resort’s road, causing a car speeding down the mountain to brake hard enough to spew dirt and leaf mold into the air. He was going to have to lobby the aldermen to install a traffic light on the Sacandaga Road, or sooner or later there was going to be another fatality like this summer’s. Of course, the aldermen, who liked spending money as much as Clare liked sitting quietly at home, would make him choose: traffic control or a new officer’s position.

He saw Clare’s ratty old Jeep as soon as he drove into the parking lot. That was another thing on his list. The first weekend after they were married he was marching her over to Fort Henry Ford and buying her a reliable four-wheel drive with all-weather tires and side-door air bags.

She hopped out of her clunker when he got out of the cruiser. She tugged a wool cardigan over her clerical blouse. “So why were you calling me about Nichols?”

He zipped his jacket up. “I wanted to ask you if you had any idea where he might be. If he said anything to you. Why are you so keen on Wyler McNabb’s whereabouts?”

She looked up at him. “I told you. I think Tally McNabb was killed for a million dollars. I want to find out everything I can about the money, because if I know that, I’ll know who murdered her.”

It came to him as he spoke the words. “You know, distracting yourself by playing private eye won’t make the bad stuff in your head go away.”

She opened her mouth. Shut it. “Is that why you became an MP? Because focusing on other people’s problems helped you ignore your own?”

His breath hitched in his chest. Jesus. Sometimes she pulled truth out of him like a magician conjuring scarves. Then he saw her eyes, wide and white-edged, and realized she was feeling the same way he was right now. Because he had done the same thing to her. Truth for truth. He took her hand, holding her palm open as if he could see the future there. “You know what’s scary about being with you?”

She shook her head.

“There’s not anyplace to hide. For either of us.”

She smiled a little. “You chickening out?”

“Not a chance.” He started for the hotel’s entrance. She fell into step beside him.

“So,” she said. “Nichols.”

“I figure there are three possibilities behind McNabb’s disappearance. One, he really was shipped off to Iraq as a BWI contractor.”

“That sounds flat-out strange to me.”

“Yeah. Two, he told people he was going to Iraq on a job and skipped town for places unknown.”

“Let me guess the third. Nichols took him out in a bid to be the last man standing.”

“Like you said, a million bucks is a powerful incentive to murder.”

They thumped through one of the revolving doors and crossed to the gleaming reception desk. A cute young woman with dark hair perked up at them. “Welcome to the Algonquin Waters Spa and Resort, Reverend. Chief.”

Clare’s title was self-evident, but how had she known he was—he spotted her first name pinned to her chest. “Christy McAlistair,” he said.

“Yup. It’s Christy Stoner now, though.”

He knew Wayne and Mindy Stoner’s boy had gotten married between deployments, but he hadn’t put that fact together with the name on the Bain accident report. “How are you doing?” He glanced at her trim waistline. “Everything, uh, okay?”

“You mean after the accident? I’m fine. Zachary—our baby boy?—came early, but he was already almost six pounds, so my OB said it was probably just as well he was born at seven months.” She laughed. “Then—because the driver who caused the accident had been working up here?—Mr. Opperman offered me a job. Wasn’t that amazingly nice of him?”

Amazingly smart of him to avoid a lawsuit. Ellen Bain had been drinking at the lobby bar before taking her fatal drive.

“Zach and I are living with my parents while Ethan’s in Afghanistan, so everything I earn can go toward a down payment on a house when he gets out of the marines.”

“You’re Ethan Stoner’s wife.” Clare put the pieces together.

Christy’s eyes lit up. “Do you know Ethan?”

“We haven’t met, formally. I know of him.”

The girl laughed again. “Yeah, he was kind of wild when he was young. He’s settled down now.”

Clare glanced at him, and he knew just what she was thinking. When he was young? For all that she was a wife and mother, Christy Stoner looked to him like she ought to be cheering on the Minutemen football team. God, he was old.

“Well.” The voice behind him was as smooth as a well-oiled gun. “What have we here? The Church and the State. Together.” Russ and Clare turned around. Opperman’s mouth curved up as he looked at them. “How unconstitutional.”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Christy said. “I didn’t know you were waiting for them, Mr. Opperman.”

“That’s all right, Christy.” Opperman gestured toward the elevators. “My office is this way.”

Russ threw out his arm, blocking Clare’s way. He didn’t want her anywhere near the resort’s CEO. Irrational, but there it was. If he had kept Linda away from Opperman, she never would have gone to the Caribbean with the man, never would have been driving home from the resort in a blizzard, never would have died—and he never would have been marrying Clare, which brought him back to irrational. “We don’t need to take up your time,” he said. “I came here to speak to your HR director.”

Opperman gazed at him coolly. “It’s no bother. I should be able to answer anything you might ask her.”

“Look, I just need to know—”

“Let’s not keep our paying guests from the desk.” Opperman strolled across the expansive lobby toward a riverstone fireplace big enough to roast an ox in. The small fire burning in its center made it look like the entrance to a prehistoric cave. Opperman sat in one of a group of chairs clustered to the side of the hearth. He held out his hand toward the remaining chairs.

Russ grudgingly sat down. Clare settled beside him.

“You just need to know…” Opperman began.

“If Wyler McNabb was transferred to your operation in Iraq.”

“Yes. Employees working on the Provisional Authority contract are on a six-month cycle, six months in-country, six months at home. Wyler returned in mid-April, and so…” He spread his hands. His nails were clean and shining.

“Were you aware Wyler McNabb was out on bail?”

Opperman’s eyebrows went up. “I was not. What are the charges?”

“Resisting arrest and assaulting an officer.”

Opperman nodded. “Does he have a trial date?”

“Sometime in January.”

“We have a monthly flight to and from Balad Airport. If you let us know the exact date, I’ll have the crew supervisor make sure he’s on it in time to make his appearance.”

“Just like that.”

“Even highly skilled construction workers tend to be, shall we say, rough around the edges. This isn’t the first time one of my employees has been extra-jurisdiction, and it won’t be the last.” He placed his hands on the chair’s arms and prepared to rise. “If that’s all—”

“Were you aware McNabb was released from the hospital five days ago with several broken bones in his face?”

The hands relaxed. “I was not.”

Russ waited, but Opperman didn’t seem to have anything else to say. “Don’t you have some sort of basic health requirement for your construction workers?”

“I’m moved by your concern, Chief Van Alstyne. Since you seem so much better informed than I, perhaps you can tell me how Wyler was injured.”

Russ tried to keep the tension out of his voice. “As I said, he assaulted an officer and resisted arrest.”

“And as a result, someone in your police department smashed his skull in?” Opperman shook his head. “Funny. You see it in the news, but you don’t expect something like that in a small town like Millers Kill.” He laced his fingers together and looked straight at Russ. “I hope this is an isolated incident of police brutality. The tourism-dependent businesses in this area can’t afford to have their customers frightened of the very men and women they rely on for protection.”

A scalding cloud of shame and rage surrounded Russ, burning his chest and face, tightening his throat. Clare laid her hand on his arm. “Mr. Opperman, have you met Lieutenant Colonel Seelye? She’s an Army CID investigator.”

Opperman blinked at her. Then looked at Russ. “Are you delegating your work to the clergy these days?”

“It’s a simple yes or no question,” Clare said. “Have you met the colonel?”

“Yes.” Opperman’s voice was short. “I met with Arlene Seelye a day or two ago. She was investigating something to do with the unfortunate Tally McNabb, and she wanted to know what kind of employee Tally was.”

“All right. Thank you.” Clare got up. Russ frowned. He wasn’t certain what she had been after, but he stood with her.

Opperman rose as well. He smiled broadly. “I understand you two are planning to get married.” He captured Clare’s hand in both of his and raised it almost to his lips. “I imagine you’ll be a ravishing bride, Reverend.”

Russ balled his hand into a fist to keep from reaching over and tearing out Opperman’s throat. Clare snatched her hand away.

“I hope you’ll consider the Algonquin for your reception,” Opperman continued smoothly.

“We’ve already booked the Stuyvesant Inn.” Russ’s voice was harsh.

“Now that’s a shame.” Opperman looked at him regretfully. “You’re settling for second best.”

Clare went pale. Russ put his hand in the small of her back and steered her toward the hotel’s entrance. “Come back anytime,” Opperman called.

Walking out into the cold mountain air was like bathing in a clear, clean fountain after wading through muck. “Are you okay?” he said.

“Yeah.” She twitched her shoulders, a movement that became a full-body shiver.

“I’m sorry. God.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“He was playing you. When he almost kissed my hand? He was trying to stir you up.”

“It worked.” He kept his arm tight around her as they descended the steps to the parking lot.

“He knew about Wyler McNabb’s injuries. Before you told him. It’s unlocked,” she said to his outstretched hand.

He opened the Jeep’s door. “What makes you think that?”

She climbed into the driver’s seat and swiveled to face him. “He didn’t ask anything about Wyler’s condition, or about how you knew. The only thing he asked was the one thing guaranteed to embarrass you and throw you off balance.”

“Hmn.” He braced his arm on top of her door and leaned forward. “Why’d you ask him about Arlene Seelye?”

“She’s gone. I went to the Stuyvesant Inn to talk with her, and she had upped stakes. I wanted to know if she’d investigated Opperman first.”

“Gone? Huh. Although if she got a lead on Tally stashing the missing loot elsewhere, there wouldn’t be any reason for her to hang around. Especially at what the Stuyvesant charges for a room.”

“Do you think Opperman is involved? I mean, Wyler McNabb was working for him, then he hired Tally.”

“What, with the theft? I’d like to think so, because I can’t stand the smug sonofabitch. I believe right down to the bottom he got control of that company by killing off his partners.” He shook his head. “That was for high stakes. Huge money. To you and me and Tally, a million bucks would be life-changing, but to a guy like Opperman? It’s a couple months’ salary. Not worth the risk.”

“Shame.” She smiled a little. “He makes such a satisfying bad guy.”

“He is a bad guy. Just not the one we want.”

“Who is, then? Wyler McNabb? Are you going to try to get him back?”

“Extradite him from Iraq? Hell, no. I can’t even imagine what kind of hoops I’d have to jump through for that.”

“Oh, come on. He’s got to be in on the theft.”

“Agreed. Unfortunately, it’s not my case. It’s the army’s. If Seelye wants him, she can try to reel him in. He’s left town, and she’s left town, and if there’s a merciful God—”

“There is.”

He smiled at her. “Then Quentan Nichols will also have left town. Let ’em all chase their money somewhere else. We’ve got more important things to do.” He kissed her, slow and easy, an apology for mixing her up in this business. Pulled away and looked at her, her lips parted, her eyes half closed. He kissed her again, harder, wrapping one hand around the back of her head, the other tracing the barrier of her collar until he found the tiny button in the back. He twisted, tugged, and her neck was bare.

“Smooth,” she gasped, as he put his teeth and tongue to her throat. The sound she made jacked him up even higher. Beneath his coat, she clutched at his shoulders, his chest, his sides. Even through his uniform blouse and undershirt, the bite of her fingers into his muscles sent electric jolts skittering over his skin. She took hold of his rig, pulling him closer, rattling the baton, clinking the magazine pouch.

“Damn.” Her voice was husky. “This thing is worse than a chastity belt.”

He broke off, panting, hard, and realized they were still in the Algonquin’s parking lot. Any guests looking out their windows were going to see a lot more than foliage. “Shit.” His own voice was pretty far gone, too. “I’m sorry.” He laughed harshly. “So much for discretion.”

She shook her head. “It’s Opperman.”

He reached down to adjust himself. “Darlin’, I can guarantee you it’s not Opperman did this to me.”

“No, I meant—” She grinned at him. “Never mind. Come back to the rectory with me. I’ve got a couple of hours before my afternoon appointments.”

“No.”

“Your mother’s place.”

“God, no.”

“Your truck.”

He paused at that one. Sighed. “Regretfully, no. Nice idea, though.” He searched her face for a safe spot and settled for kissing the tip of her nose. “I’ve got to get back to the station. Hold that thought.”

*   *   *

At his desk at the end of the afternoon, his vision blurring from the small print the state used on its crime stats reporting forms, his mind kept going back to Clare. Not the good stuff: He packed the image of Clare, nude and in his pickup, into a box labeled LATER. Instead, he thought about her exchange with Opperman. Something about it was sticking in his brain.

Lyle came in without knocking, which made him grateful he hadn’t been sitting there trying to figure out how to fit a mattress in the bed of his truck.

“I finished the rest of the midmonth stuff we gotta send on to CADEA for you.” Lyle tossed a folder on his already overcrowded desk before collapsing in the one chair still empty of booklets, bulletins, and circ sheets. “Kevin says in Syracuse they got two full-time civilian employees to deal with the paperwork. Think about that, will you?”

“First another officer. Then a second-shift dispatcher. Third, Tasers. A paper pusher comes fourth after that.”

“Tasers.” Lyle snorted. “When I started out, all you needed was a club. My first sergeant taught me how to break open hippies’ heads with a nightstick. Good times.” He sighed. “You find out anything about Wyler McNabb?”

“According to John Opperman, he was, in fact, sent back to Iraq to join the construction team. They get six months on, six off, and his time card was punched.”

“With a busted jaw. Right.”

“Opperman claimed he didn’t know the guy was out on bail.”

“You believe him?”

“I did at the time. Now I’m not so sure. I don’t doubt Opperman could have sent McNabb off and lied about it just to make my life more difficult.”

Lyle shrugged. “No skin off his nose. He’s not the one posted bail.”

“Yeah. Here’s the thing. He said Arlene Seelye had interviewed him. Asked him about Tally McNabb.” Russ crossed his arms on top of the drifts of paperwork. “Wouldn’t she have also asked him about Wyler McNabb? He was her biggest lead. She knew he worked for BWI Opperman.”

Lyle nodded. “Makes sense. I would’ve.”

“But she also knew McNabb was under arrest.”

“So she told Opperman. You already said he might have known, and sent the guy off to Iraq anyway. He doesn’t care if he takes a dump on Seelye’s investigation.”

“Maybe, but think about it. He’s got a lucrative contract with the army. Why would he chance jerking them around?”

“What chance? When was the last time somebody complained and got rid of Halliburton? Or Blackwater?”

“Those are the big boys. The T. rexes of the contracting world. Opperman’s one of the little guys, comparatively speaking. He’s got to make nice and deliver the goods and keep his accounts clean, because there are five other guys just like him waiting to take his place if he goes down.”

“Then what? It can’t be the money. Opperman’s the CEO and majority stockholder of BWI Opperman. The damn company’s estimated worth is five hundred million.”

Russ raised his eyebrows. “And here I was, thinking you were just a pretty face.”

“I read more’n Guns and Ammo, you know.”

“I’m agreeing with you. A million’s small potatoes for him.” He folded his hands. “It’s a hell of a lot for a lieutenant colonel, though.”

“Seelye?”

“The way things played out doesn’t make a lot of sense if she went in there asking questions like we would, right?”

Lyle made a noise of cautious assent.

“What if she never mentioned Wyler McNabb because she had already suborned him? Or because they were already accomplices? She was in Iraq. She told me so herself.”

Lyle sat for a moment, his woolly eyebrows drawn down in thought. “That’s a mighty thin thread to hang her on.”

“What if I told you she left town yesterday? The same day Wyler McNabb did?”

“I’d say it’s likely her investigation petered out here and she went after the next lead. We’re talking cash, stolen overseas by a bookkeeper. It’s probably sitting in an account in the Cayman Islands right now.”

“Which is one of the reasons Seelye wanted to search McNabb’s house so bad. We were just looking for evidence pointing to suicide. She’s a financial crimes specialist. If there’s anything to lead her to an offshore bank or some other money-laundering operation, she’s going to find it at Tally’s house. Or at her place of employment. Or at her family’s or friends’ houses.” He reached for the phone. “Hang on. I want to check something out.” He dialed the courthouse.

“H’lo Washington County Courthouse Lila Greuling speaking may I help you please.”

“Lila, it’s Russ Van Alstyne.” When he had worked for her dad back in high school, he’d always let talkative little Lila follow him around, “helping.” His patience with an eight-year-old paid off when she became a clerk of the court.

“Well, hel-lo, handsome. What can I do you for?”

“I’m looking to find out if Judge Ryswick issued a residence-and-accounts warrant on Wyler McNabb, 16 Musket Way, Millers Kill.”

“Not through me, he didn’t. When would this have been?”

“Sometime in the past week. The investigating officer was an army MP, but it might have come through the DA or the Feds.”

“Lemme check with the other girls.” The line went to music. She was back in less than a minute. “Last thing fitting that description came out of your own department on the thirteenth. Deputy Chief MacAuley got a warrant against Mary McNabb’s Allbanc accounts.”

“Okay. Thanks much, Lila.” He hung up. “Seelye never searched the house.”

“Legally,” Lyle said.

“Or the accounts. A suspect has money hidden away. What’s the first thing you do?”

“Search all the accounts I can find.” Lyle rubbed his lips. “Damn, I wish I’da spread the net wider when we asked Ryswick for that first warrant.”

Russ shook his head. “Not your fault. We didn’t know McNabb had stolen the money at that point.”

“We’ll never get another warrant out of him. The case is in Seelye’s jurisdiction, not ours.” Lyle straightened in his chair. “Wait a minute. If she’s looking for the money for herself, how come she didn’t go ahead and search those accounts?”

“Maybe she already found out where it’s hidden. She might have talked to McNabb. Or like you said, she could’ve searched his place illegally.”

“Or she might have been behind the B and E at Tally McNabb’s mom’s place.”

“Maybe. If she’s dirty, everything’s up for grabs.”

“Your fingers are twitching.”

Russ looked down to where his hands were resting atop paperwork. “Yeah?”

“You do that when you’re trying to figure something out.”

Russ sighed. “Yeah.”

“Army property. Stolen in Iraq. No way it’s our case.” Lyle buffed his nails against his pants. “Officially.”

“It’s definitely not our case.”

“So there’s no call for us to do any investigating.” Lyle looked up at him again. “Officially.”

“Nope.”

“It sure is interesting, though.” Lyle grinned at him.

Russ found himself grinning back at his deputy chief. “It sure is that.”

*   *   *

Russ picked up and put down the telephone three times after Lyle left. He had been an MP for a long time, but he was a civilian cop now, and he knew the kind of runaround he would get if he tried to trace Colonel Seelye through the usual channels. If he was going to ignore his good sense and pursue this, he had to figure a different way in, but it was getting late, and his brain kept stalling out. The mental snapshot of Clare in his truck had become a motion picture, complete with interesting sound effects. He’d have thought after all those years of holding himself in check, he’d be able to do without for a few lousy weeks, but Jesus, he was going cross-eyed from wanting her.

The hell with it. He shelved the problem of the out-of-his-jurisdiction theft in favor of loading the pickup with quilts and driving over to Clare’s place.

Unfortunately, when he got home he discovered a dead furnace, a rapidly cooling house, and a mother who had been waiting for him to play handyman.

“I’m sorry, Russell, but you know the repairman charges sixty dollars just to come out, let alone the cost of fixing up the old beast.” His mom fussed around him as he disassembled the pilot light, looking for the problem. “You didn’t have any plans, did you?”

“No, Mom, it’s fine.” He managed a quick call to Clare between flushing out the draw line and his trip to Tim’s Hardware for new spark plugs. She commiserated with his oil-stained, thwarted lust, told him he was a good son, and then hammered the nail in his coffin when she said she was headed out the door to the Foyers’ dinner, and no, she didn’t expect to be home before ten or eleven.

As a result, he went to bed as frustrated physically as he had been mentally, and he woke up like a man who had been bitten by bedbugs, his involuntary abstinence transformed into an itch to find out the truth about Arlene Seelye.