I know that’s not why my husband, why Special Agent Benton Wesley has come for me. He didn’t show up to pass along information about my event with Briggs but to haul me away because the U.S. government wants what only I can give. Or give up, and that’s the more likely story. Whatever the FBI demands won’t be in my best interest. It never is one hundred percent of the time.

“I’m sorry,” Benton says as I reach down to pull off my dirty grass-stained shoe covers. “I didn’t want you hearing this from somebody else.”

“Ruthie tried to get hold of me and sounded upset.” Blood pounds in my head. “That’s what I thought she was calling about.” But it wasn’t, and I should have put more effort into finding out what she really wanted.

“He’s gone,” Benton says. “I’m sorry, Kay.”

“FUCK!” MARINO VIOLENTLY TWISTS the cap off a bottle of water, handing it to me as his face turns a deeper shade of red. “What the hell are you talking about?” He glares at Benton. “He’s gone? General Briggs is dead?”

“I’m really sorry,” Benton says to me, and how ironic that he would resort to a euphemism.

Gone. As in passed away. No longer with us. Not here anymore.

That can’t be right. That’s not what he means. But it is, and dread nudges harder. It throws an elbow into my solar plexus, knocking denial right out of me.

Dead.

Briggs went swimming at six P.M., and forty-five minutes later was found facedown in the pool, and I try to comprehend it.

Dead.

The stagnant foul air seems smoky as if I’m looking through a veil. I take another sip of water warm enough to bathe in. I pour it into my hands. I splash it on my face. I dribble it over my bare arms. I dig my fingertips into my temples as my head aches miserably, looking up and down, blinking several times.

I get back on my feet as Marino machine-guns questions, demanding to know if the FBI is thinking that what happened to Briggs is connected to the dead lady here in the park. It’s unwise for Marino to ask that. He just made it easier for the rug to be pulled out from under him, and he does that a lot.

“Kay? You should sit.” Benton’s face is blurry. “Please take it easy. I want to make sure you can walk back. We probably should have you transported. What about a wheelchair?”

“Good God no. Just give me a few minutes.” I’m a little queasy.

“Sit and drink water please.”

“I’m fine.” But I’m wobbly on the way to worse if I’m not careful.