She thought how incredible it was that she should be here on this Christmas Eve, in so lovely a place. What an amazing year it had been. How could anyone have forseen, in the gloom of last January, when she had first faced Riley Grogan in the humiliating courtroom debacle that had brought her already-precarious financial world crumbling down, that she would end the year in this gracious and happy home with a man she utterly adored, her precious children, Helen and David, safe and happy, and all the animals, too-although for their own immediate safety, Beatle the Chihuahua, Peggy Sue the ancient and cranky Persian cat, and Cleo the African Gray parrot had been banished to their various and separate quarters until after the holiday.

Yes, thought Summer, everything was ready-for Christmas, and for whatever else might happen this night…

The week before, Jake and an army of FBI surveillance experts in brown coveralls, under the pretext of putting in a new sound system, had installed hidden cameras and microphones in every room of the house, and throughout most of the grounds, as well. With the exception of the children, and Sonny and his two henchmen, everyone had been shown how to cover the camera lenses and turn off the microphones, although they’d been asked not to do so unless there was a serious need for privacy. A command post had been set up in the house, in a cubicle of a room in the unused attic. In addition, a van containing a second surveillance unit lay hidden in the woods not far from the estate’s front gate, and teams of armed agents had been posted, well camouflaged, all around the perimeter of the grounds.

Everything that could be done, had been done. Every eventuality had been considered and prepared for. They were ready. Summer just prayed it wasn’t all for nothing.

The elements were in place for a final showdown. Eve and Sonny had arrived this morning; they and the two “bodyguards” had been assigned three of the six spare bedrooms. Two of those remaining had been taken over by Mirabella and Jimmy Joe and their children, who had come earlier in the week to help with the preparations.

The last one had, until a couple of hours ago, been reserved for Troy and Charly. Unfortunately, around noon today, Charly had begun experiencing what was at first thought to be acute indigestion. By midafternoon it was apparent that she was in the early stages of labor, and given her difficult and troublesome pregnancy, Troy had decided to take no chances. Rather than trying to drive back to Atlanta, especially with the weather forecast predicting freezing rain, he had taken Charly to the hospital there in Charleston. He had called a little while ago to report that they were settled in and things were proceeding slowly, and had offered to come back if he was needed. In spite of the fact that they’d been counting on Troy’s training and experience as a SEAL in the event of an emergency, Riley had told him to stay where he was.

So far, other than the weather, that had been the only glitch in the well-laid plans, and even that had its upside. At least having Charly in labor provided an excuse for the tension that permeated the house like an electronic squeal… a hum of sound just off the register of human hearing.

As the antique clock on the mantelpiece launched into the Westminster chimes, Summer automatically checked her watch. Soon it would be time to set out the Christmas Eve buffet, but before that there were still a few last-minute things she had to do. A few more presents to be pulled from their hiding places and wrapped and put under the tree-which was already in danger of being buried beneath the mound of packages heaped around it. All day long people had been tiptoeing and scurrying, scuttling in and out of rooms, giggling behind closed doors, the children whispering in each other’s ears, beckoning for help from the adults while sneaking stealthy sideways looks at each other.

Which was, Summer thought with a sigh, just as it should be on Christmas Eve. Like almost every other in the country that night, theirs was a house full of secrets.

Chapter 15

From their command post, Jake and Birdie followed Summer’s progress through the beautifully decorated house. They watched her enter the bedroom where her sister Mirabella was wrapping packages, listened, with the volume turned low, to the faint background murmur of their voices.

It was quiet in the attic room, and a little too warm even though outside the dusty dormer window the long and early dusk brought on by the approaching storm had finally given way to full darkness. The volume on all the mikes had been turned off, with the exception of the rooms occupied by Sonny and his thugs, and there was very little sound even from those. One of the bodyguards-Ricky-sat hunched on the foot of a twin bed staring intently at a NASCAR recap on television. The other, the Russian, Sergei, was sprawled on his back on his own bed with headphones on. His eyes were closed; whether asleep or absorbed in what he was listening to was impossible to tell. The room next door-Cis-neros’s room-was empty; Sonny, at the moment, was in the library enjoying a brandy with his host.

Eve was in her host and hostess’s bedroom, doing something mysterious with a dual-deck VCR. Everyone else, Jake noted after a cursory check of the monitors, appeared to be engaged in last-minute preparations for the holiday-wrapping presents, tiptoeing in and out of rooms like characters in a French farce.

He pushed back his chair, reaching for the thermos Summer had thoughtfully left for them that morning. He poured the last few teaspoons of coffee into his cup, screwed the cap on the bottle and sighed. “Helluva way to spend Christmas.”

“Yeah…” Birdie rocked back his chair for a bone-cracking stretch. “‘Course, Margie being Jewish, our really big celebration was a while ago.”

Jake grunted a reply. He was wondering how he could have been partners-and friends-with a man for almost five years and not know his wife was Jewish. He wondered how many other things he didn’t know about Birdie-or Don Coffee, or Agent Franco, or any of the other people he worked with, for that matter. That made him think again about what Eve had said to him that day in the hospital in Augusta, about this case being like a cancer in his life. He’d thought about that a lot during the last couple of weeks. That, and a whole lot more.

He drained the last of the coffee and gave his head a brief shake. “Partner, I’ve got to tell you, I am impressed.”

Birdie looked at him in surprise. “What for?”

“You and Margie. I mean, you’ve got a great marriage. That’s hard enough to manage in this line of work, you’ve got to know that. Okay, so on top of that, you’ve got the problem of two different religions to deal with?”

Birdie twisted uncomfortably in his chair. “Well,” he mumbled, “I guess we don’t really see it as a problem. It’s just…you know, part of who we are. No big deal.”

Jake didn’t say anything for a minute; personal conversations didn’t come easy for him, and he already knew this one was probably going to give away more about himself than he wanted it to. Then he decided there were questions he wanted the answers to badly enough to risk it, so he laced his fingers together behind his head and hauled in a breath. “It really isn’t difficult for you, is it? Marriage, I mean. You and Margie-you make it look so easy.”

“Oh, Lord, I wouldn’t say that.” Birdie’s bark of laughter brought his chair upright with a thump. “It’s never easy, partner. Don’t kid yourself. You’ve always got to work at it.”

“Okay, so how do you make it work?”

“Aw, hell.” Birdie was squirming again. “I don’t know. Why’re you asking me? I’m no expert.”

“When it comes to marriage you are. Especially in this business. Cops have a lousy record when it comes to marnage-it’s a known fact. You guys are known far and wide as the exception that proves the rule.”

Birdie looked pained. “What the hell does that mean? ‘The exception that proves the rule…’ There is no rule.”

“Then,” Jake persisted, “tell me how you do it.”

His partner leveled a long, thoughtful look at him. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” said Jake, returning the look, “I really am.”

“Yeah… okay, well.” Birdie cleared his throat; obviously, personal conversations weren’t all that easy for him, either. He leaned back and folded his arms above his expanding middle. “It helps if you marry the right person. For the right reasons.”

“The right reasons… love, you mean.”

Again Birdie grimaced as. if he’d felt a sharp pain. “Well…see, now, the trouble with love is, everybody’s got a different idea what that means. Who even knóws what it means? And some people are always gonna mistake it for something else.”

“Sex, you mean.”

Birdie gave a grunt of laughter. “Trust me, one thing you do not want to do is marry somebody because the sex is great.”

Well, hell, even Jake knew that. He nodded wisely. “Yeah, I guess that never lasts.”

Birdie smiled and looked away, kind of a smug and secretive look. “Well…let’s just say…it changes.”

After a vibrant pause, Jake cleared his throat and said impatiently, “Okay, so if not love, what do you consider the right reason to marry somebody?”

Birdie shifted around to face him and leaned forward, like someone about to impart a great truth. “Turn it around. Say you marry somebody who’s married you because she wants-or needs-something she thinks you can give her. Money, say. Security. Kids. Whatever. At the same time, she’s got no idea in the world about what you need, or giving anything back to you. Think you’d be happy?”

Jake gave a distracted snort. He was thinking that the scenario had all too familiar a ring.