“I know the lawyer,” he said. “But I won’t give up the name until I’m positive about her guilt.” He could see that the detective wanted to push it—force the issue and get the name. Ted forced himself to relax and waited for the other’s next move.

Kasabian finally nodded. “Okay for now. Maybe we find out on our own. If we don’t, though, I will want that name.” He handed Ted his card. “I want to hear from you. Anything you find out, you call. Don’t make me come find you. Meanwhile, I’ll get a couple of uniforms to keep an eye on the girl. What about you?”

“Me? As in police protection?” Ted hadn’t considered asking.

“I don’t know that I can make it happen, but I’ll try,” Kasabian said. “Of course, if you were to give me the name of this lawyer . . .”

Ted wondered how far he was willing to go to keep Jackie’s name out of it. “I’m mobile. Ms. Zielinski is not. I can do without. She can’t.” First, he needed to talk to Jill. If she’d take his call. In the long-ago world of the day before, Ted would have trusted her with his life. But the world had changed.

-46-

-46-

Mohammed showed up early. Ted and Lester had pushed their luck and spent another uncomfortable night sleeping on pews at the church. Lester was already grumpy, sipping lukewarm coffee through a straw and eating mashed bananas from a squeezable foil pouch.

“It says here they’re organic. I believe ’em.”

“Why’s that?” Ted asked.

“’Cause it tastes like dirt,” Lester said.

“Take it with you. Time to go.” Last night’s late call to Jill had gone straight to voice mail. Not surprising, given the hour, but Ted wouldn’t feel easy until he heard her voice.

“You hired the man for the day. What’s the hurry?”

Ted wanted to swing by his apartment for a change of clothes. He also needed to check his mail—despite the distractions of this case, he had a business to run. Then he wanted to find the Preacher and a more comfortable place to hole up. More comfortable and safer. But his main priority was to get to the hospital to check on Kenzie.

“Come on. Mohammed’s waiting.” Ted stuffed his toothbrush and disposable razor into a jacket pocket.

“That’s what you pay him for,” Lester muttered as he pulled himself upright. He jammed the almost-empty foil packet into the fully empty paper coffee cup. “He’s probably eating real food and slept on a bed last night, not an oak church bench.”

“You’re feeling better,” Ted said.

“I’m aching everywhere.”

“How’s the teeth?”

“Taking hold; thanks for asking.”

“You’re talking a lot more and slurring a lot less.”

“I suppose you think you’re being kind to notice.” He held the door for Ted.