Thomas excused himself to make a call on his palmtop. He turned to watch Agent Logan from the middle of the abandoned dance floor. She stared out the window, the very picture of impatience and ambition—and all the more striking for it. Listening to the ring in the receiver, Thomas found himself wondering whether she had a significant other. Careerists tended to stay single—

'Hyu,' a rough voice answered.

'Hi, Mia,' Thomas said.

'Tommy, Jeeezus. I've been trying to reach you!'

A host of parental instincts came clutching. 'Phone was off. Why? What's wrong?'

'Nothing, really. It's just that Nora called and said she was coming to get the kids.'

'What did you tell her?'

'That I needed to talk to you first, and that I would call her back after.'

He heard Frankie shouting 'Daddy-Daddy-Daddeee!' in the background. He imagined Ripley sitting by Mia's picture window, coloring, then an image of Cynthia Powski blotted her out.

'Forget she even called.'

'You sure? She sounded all weirded out on the phone. Wasn't she supposed to be in San Francisco?'

'She was. It turns out she was fucking an old friend instead.'

So easily spoken.

'Oh…'

'I have to go, Mia.'

'Are you okay, Tommy?'

'Can't talk now, Mia.'

He clicked the palmtop shut, slipped it into his blazer pocket. When he glanced up Agent Logan was watching him, her smile the sad smile of those stranded at the perimeter of painful events.

'Just had to check up on the kids,' he explained as he slid back into the booth.

Samantha smiled. 'Beautiful kids.'

He looked at her sharply.

'You need to ease up on the paranoia, Professor Bible. I followed you from Columbia, remember? I saw them on your neighbor's porch. Like I said, beautiful kids.'

Thomas scratched the back of his neck. 'Forgot about that. Why did you follow me, anyway?'

'I was desperate. Desperate for leads. I wanted to tell you, by the way, that I loved how you dealt with us in your office.' She laughed. 'Showing you the Blue-ray like that was a mistake. I told Shelley she'd regret it.'

'Agent Atta strikes me as a hard ass.'

Samantha shrugged. 'She has to be. Not easy being an Arab-American woman in the FBI…' She trailed to take a healthy swig of beer, then with a guilty grin added, 'My dad used to say the only thing worse than a bitch was a woman angry for good reason.'

Thomas laughed. Either Samantha Logan was real people or she was trying to present herself as such. Was this a tactic of some kind?

'Are you always so open with your views, Agent Logan?'

Pained smile. 'I figure it's useless to BS someone with a PhD in bullshit.'

'That would be a philosopher,' Thomas said. 'Me? I'm a psychologist.'