I couldn't argue with the man. He was so sure of himself and his thinking was so bent. Where was this going to end? The contest between them had spiraled out of control and matters could only escalate. Beck had the upper hand. It was as simple as that. He had me.

He smiled slightly. "You're hoping she'll call the police, but she won't. You know why? Because it wouldn't be any fun. She's a gambler. She likes betting against the house. Poor girl's not nearly as smart as she thinks she is."

"I don't want to talk about this shit. The two of you can hash it out."

"I'm sure we will."

We sat, the two of us, waiting for the phone to ring. I'd given up trying to predict what either would do. My job was taking care of me. The problem was, I was tired and feeling panicky. The jitters were causing my hands to shake and I was having trouble marshaling my thoughts. Beck rocked back in his swivel chair, fiddling with a paperweight, tossing it from hand to hand.

I noticed a row of cardboard boxes, lined up along the wall, all of them neatly taped and ready to be shipped. His office was a mess – shelves half empty, numerous bulging files on his desk. It looked as if Beck was all packed and ready to go. No wonder he was hell-bent on reclaiming his computer and his floppy disks. The disks and his hard drive contained his entire enterprise, every nickel he owned, all the money he'd salted away, shell corporations, Panamanian bank accounts. He wasn't a man who remembered numbers or dates. He had to have it written down or it was lost to him. He knew as well as I did the data would be his undoing if it fell into the wrong hands.

I said, "I have to go to the ladies' room."

"No."

"Come on, Beck. You can tag along with me and listen at the door while I tinkle."

He shook his head. "Can't do it. I want to be by the phone when she calls."

"What if it takes an hour?"

"Tough."

We waited in silence. I checked my watch. The crystal was smashed, the hands permanently frozen at 11:22. I couldn't see a clock from where I sat. Time dragged on and on. If and when Reba called, I had one more chance to signal the agents recording Beck's calls. I wasn't sure how I'd manage it or what I'd say, but the possibility was there.