"My name's Bowie Richards. May I speak to you, Ms. Pulaski?"

"Why?" But she knew why. They'd found a witness who'd gotten the license plate number off her Hummer, or the guard had somehow seen her on a camera she hadn't known was there and she'd been identified by Carla Alvarez, who'd recognized her from the gym or-

"It's personal, Ms. Pulaski. It's about my daughter, Georgie."

What? Georgia Richards-Georgie-was the daughter of an FBI agent? No, more than that-Bowie Richards was the big-cheese FBI agent in New Haven. Why hadn't anyone said anything? She felt a huge black cloud moving swiftly toward her and she wondered in that moment if her family's legendary good luck was fast heading south.

She didn't want to, but she opened the door and stepped up to block the doorway.

Bowie Richards looked different in person-bigger, and harder, and to her panicked eyes, the Agent of Doom embodied in a dark suit, white shirt, red and blue tie, and black wingtips. He was young to have the position of Special Agent in Charge in an FBI field office, no more than early thirties. He was olive-complexioned, his hair dark brown, his eyes light blue, with a lean, rangy runner's body.

She didn't move from the open doorway. "You're Georgie's father?"

He stuck out his hand and she automatically shook it. A really strong hand that could twist her small .22 around her fingers, and laugh. "Bowie Richards. Ah, do you have a few minutes, Ms. Pulaski? It seems I'm badly in need of your help."

She couldn't let him in, he'd see all the Culovort pages, all the stuff she'd copied off the Internet about drug company scandals. All her work sheets were still spread out haphazardly on the dining room table. It wouldn't take him more than two seconds to realize he'd walked right in on a potential murder suspect. Five minutes later and all those damning pages would have been in folders and tucked away. Her good luck was indeed now traveling south at warp speed.