"Yeah, but we'll be meeting in his office, not my bedroom. What ami supposed to do with a place that big?"

"You can run around the house and dance to show tunes for all I care-just keep a low profile until the trial."

"That could be a while." '

"We're well aware of that. We're just trying to make this as pleasant as possible for you."

"I still say shoot me."

"Not an option. The whole case against Guzman is built on your testimony about the year you and Steve spent inside."

"I know."

"Guzman has a million-dollar reward out for your head, Bellacera."

"I know."

"So if you don't disappear, you're a dead man. And years of hard work and countless taxpayer dollars are down the crapper. Not to mention you'll never get justice for Steve and his family. So you go. It's your job to go."

Joe said nothing for a long moment, and Roger watched the shadow of grief and rage pass through the agent's face. He hoped the downtime would allow Joe to come to terms with the murder of his partner, Steve Simmons, and his wife and son-as much as that was possible. Joe looked him straight in the eye and whispered, "When?"

"Three days. Stay in the safe house until then. Movers will come for your stuff day after tomorrow. Here." Roger handed him a manila envelope. "The usual-driver's license, Social Security card, retail credit report, passport, birth certificate, baptismal certificate, Visa, medical records, your airline ticket, and there's even a Clermont County Library card."

Joe peeked inside the flap, then grimaced. "Guess I'll have plenty of time to read."

"Good luck to you, Mr. Mills." Roger stood up to shake his hand, and he felt a big smile spread across his face. "And for God's sake, Joe-do us all a favor and stay away from the soccer moms."