“You have a publisher?”

“I’m the writer, editor, and publisher, and it’s ready to go.”

“If you’re self-publishing, you’re still going to need a printer.”

“There is new equipment that can print, bind, wrap, and put postage on a book. All I have to do is to plug a thumb drive into its computer, then walk around to the other end and collect the finished books in envelopes, already stamped.”

“How are you going to distribute it?”

“I have a mailing list of two hundred opinion makers. All I have to do is take the boxes to a post office. You’re on my list, so you’ll get a copy, so will Holly Barker.”

“And when can I expect it?”

“When I think the moment is right.”

“And how will you decide that?”

“By weighing all the factors in play. I don’t have any trouble making decisions.”

“Something else I don’t understand, Ed.”

“What’s that?”

“Why are you suddenly living openly in your own home, where anyone can walk in, kill you, and take your strong case?”

“They’ve found me three times,” Rawls said. “In Maine, at your house, and now at my house, and I’m still alive. They’re being run by a man named Erik Macher, out of his security business office in D.C. Have you ever heard of him?”

“No. Who is he?”

“He’s Christian St. Clair’s personal policeman. He’s offered me half a million dollars for the strong case, and I think I told you he has more people than a lot of police departments. Two of them showed up in the house, escorted by a real estate agent with whom I had listed the place. Another turned up yesterday, clumsily disguised as a window washer. I’m just tired of running.”

“When are you going to print the book, Ed?”

“I printed it this morning,” Rawls said. “It’s ready for mailing.”

“Do you think this Macher guy knows that?”

“No. I got it all done without being rumbled.”

“And where are the books?”

“They’re at a packing and shipping place in D.C., which is waiting for my call. I dropped them off an hour and a half ago.”

“Are you going to be able to stay alive until you can make that call?”

“I expect so. I can text them in less than a minute.”

“Ed, why did you call me?”

“To give you the phone number of the shipping place. If you hear that something has happened to me or that I’ve disappeared, I’d be grateful if you’d make the call for me. I’ve told them you could be the one to give them instructions.”

Stone didn’t say anything for a minute.

“I can hear the lawyer’s wheels turning in your head,” Rawls said. “You’re trying to figure out whether making that call might make you liable.”

“Not legally liable.”