The ground seemed to pitch beneath his feet. The walk to his car seemed more a controlled fall. He leaned against the door to catch his breath. The metal stung his palms, and he found himself thinking how when it came to heat, the whole world was a battery, sucking it up, then releasing it in a slow burn. A convertible rolled past, filled with teenagers shouting over subwoofers. He glared at them in a disconnected-from-consequences way.

Neil and Nora.

The Acura's interior was amniotic, the air was so hot.

He placed trembling hands on the steering wheel, caressed the leather. Then he punched the dash five times in rapid succession.

'FUCK!' he roared.

It seemed the world was ending. That the Argument—

'Professor Bible?' he heard someone call. A woman.

He squinted up at her beautiful face. 'Agent Logan,' he managed to reply.

She smiled cautiously.

'Professor Bible, I think we need to talk.'

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

August 17th, 11.56 a.m.

Thoughts like wasps at the beach, nagging, threatening, never really stinging. That's what it had been like. Of course he'd worried about Neil and Nora on occasion, but he had always decided to err on the side of trust. Trust.

And now look at him: stung beyond sensation.

Agent Logan had followed him back to his house so that he could drop off his car. Now he sat beside her in her Mustang, numb in more ways than he would have thought possible. A wool-haired kid with a squeegee cleaned her windshield at an intersection, and Thomas found himself comforted by the sight of her rummaging through her purse for loose change. He even smiled at her gentle curses.

'Why you?' he asked after she had handed the kid several dimes and quarters.

'Pardon?'

'Why send you after me?'

'The boss thought I was your kind of people.'

'And what kind is that?'

'Honest,' she said with a wry smile. She looked away to make her left turn. 'Honest and confused.'

The bar was local, the kind of place that depended on the ebb and flow of the work day as much as the regularity of blacked-out sporting events. A TGIF, or something similar—Thomas literally couldn't remember. They paused at the entrance so that Sam could slip a five-dollar bill into a plastic Salvation Army donation bubble. Inside, one waitress stood at a faux-antique till, chatting with a woman who looked like the manager. It was completely deserted otherwise. Thomas followed Agent Logan to a front booth, feeling like an intruder despite all the signs of heavy human traffic. Compared to the sunny clamor of the street, the place seemed like a cave with dropped ceilings. It smelled of beer and sour cushions.

'So what happened back there?' Agent Logan asked, propping her elbows on their table.