“Sure. After lunch. What’s your address?”

She gave it to him, hoping she hadn’t made a big mistake, then hung up and returned to the foyer.

“I’ve got some appointments to keep,” she said, thrusting out her hand. “But I do want to thank you again, Detective Matthews. This is all very kind of you.”

“Call me Will,” he said, taking her hand and holding it.

Alicia pulled away and opened the door. “Okay… Will.”

She felt terribly awkward, shooing him out like this, but she had a sudden, overwhelming urge to be alone.

“You’ll be hearing from me,” he said as he stepped outside.

“With good news, I hope.”

She made a stab at a smile as she closed the door. Then let it fade as she pressed her forehead against its rough surface. Suddenly she felt exhausted.

Criminal charges… a civil suit… complaint to the hospital board. What else could go wrong?

And this visit from a police detective—what was that all about? He could have called and told her all this. Why go to all the trouble to come over and tell her in person?, Alicia groaned. “I hope he’s not interested in me.”

But the more she thought about it, the more she was sure that was it. Detective Matthews’s personal interest in this case was just that… personal.

“Forget about it, Will,” she muttered. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

2.

Jack bounded up the stairs and knocked on the sturdy oak door—or more precisely, on the countless coats of paint that blunted the details of the door’s carved surface. Four A was spelled out in brass at eye level, and he wondered why the “A?” This was the only apartment on the floor.

He’d pushed to meet her here because he wanted to get more of a handle on the enigmatic Dr. Alicia Clayton—treater of children with AIDS, buster of child-molester skulls, and would-be burner of ancestral homes.

The door swung in and Alicia stood there, staring at him—a little tentatively, he thought—with those steely eyes. Her black hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, giving her an almost girlish look. She was wearing dirty gardener’s gloves.

“You’re not breathing hard,” she said.

“Well, I admit you’re attractive, but I don’t think—”

She smiled. “No-no. I mean, the walk up the steps. Most people are winded by the time they get here.”

Winded? Why?

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Me too. Really winded. Can I come in and rest?”

She hesitated.

“I won’t bite,” he said. “Promise.”

“Sorry,” she said, and stepped aside to let him in. “It’s just that you can’t be too careful, you know?”

As she closed the door behind them, Jack popped the Semmerling out of his sleeve and held it out to her. She gasped when she saw the tiny pistol.

“Take it,” he said. “It’s loaded. The world’s smallest four-shot.45. Keep it handy while I’m here.”

She stared at it as if it were alive and going to bite her. “That’s okay. Really.”