As Tracy would say, Yeah, right.

The train was stopping, the doors whooshing open. She had to make a decision….now.


The instant the doors cracked open, Hawk squeezed through, stepped out onto the platform and headed for the escalators without looking back.

The one big advantage he had in this game was that he knew what Carlysle’s next move was going to be. A gallery in Georgetown, that was what she’d told him-assuming, of course, that she hadn’t thrown him a red herring. Which he was fairly confident she hadn’t, since he’d spotted and made note of the address her friend had jotted down for her and left on the dresser in her hotel room.

Plus, he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Jane Carlysle didn’t have a devious bone in her body.

Unless, of course, she was the most devious person he’d ever met.

In either case, his strategy was the same one he’d been following since leaving his room at the hotel. It was easy, since he knew his way around Washington so well, to get ahead of his quarry, find himself a hidden vantage point and wait and watch to see which way she went. There-he had her spotted now, in the crowd making for the GW University exit. So she’d told the truth this time, at least; Georgetown it was.

He was feeling pleased with himself as he stepped onto the escalator, figuring Mrs. Carlysle ought to be just about reaching the top. And then he got a nasty surprise.

Damned if that wasn’t her, coming back down the other side!

He was able to turn away before she spotted him, but not before he’d gotten a pretty good look at her face. And what he saw there didn’t make him happy. What he saw was fear. That was unmistakable. But he also saw purpose. No doubt about it, the woman was taking deliberate evasive action.

Dammit, how in the hell had she spotted him?

Roused and fuming and marooned on the Up escalator, Hawk could only watch helplessly while his quarry, his supposedly guileless innocent, dodged through the crowd like a broken field runner as she sprinted toward the exit at the far end of the station.

It was while he was silently and bitterly cursing the duplicity of women and his own gullibility that he gradually became aware of a commotion somewhere above him on the moving escalator. It merely distracted him at first; someone-a man-seemed to be pushing and shoving through the standees, trying with some haste to make his way to the top and generating considerable unhappiness among the passengers in his wake. It was only after the man had done a one-handed vault onto the Down side and was hurtling toward him at great risk to life and limb that Hawk got a really good look at the “rude commuter.” What he saw altered his frame of mind completely.

Campbell! So that was it. That was who Jane must have spotted. No wonder she’d taken off like a vixen with a pack of hounds on her tail.

Those weren’t good moments for Hawk. Another hunter was after his quarry, and he was stuck on the damn escalator!

But it was more than that, and something as yet unacknowledged deep within him knew it. The terrifying truth was, he was beginning to care what happened to Mrs. Jane Carlysle of Cooper’s Mill, North Carolina. He hadn’t counted on that.

At least he hadn’t lost her. Not this time. Thank God, he thought grimly as he tightened his grip on the handle of his briefcase, for high-tech toys.


Jane told herself that she was acting like a crazy person. She was jumping at shadows, behaving like a complete ninny. She’d never been paranoid before in her life. What she needed to do was stop a minute, get her bearings, get a grip on herself. Think.

Bursting out of the Metro station like a flushed pheasant, she found herself in the midst of a throng of camera-bearing tourists, all of whom seemed to be wearing Bermuda shorts, never mind that the temperature wasn’t likely to hit sixty. It seemed enough that it was Saturday, the sun was shining and spring was officially four days old. In spite of her not having a camera with her, Jane seemed to fit right in with her sunglasses and oversize tote bag, so she allowed herself to be swept along with the crowd toward the Lincoln Memorial.

No one paid the slightest bit of attention to the fact that she kept turning to look behind her, to the right, to the left, and behind again. After all, they were all doing much the same thing, jostling one another and pointing out landmarks along the way.

By the time she’d reached Constitution Avenue and there was no sign whatsoever of either Aaron Campbell or Tom Hawkins, she began to relax and even enjoy the sights a little herself. Walking through the park, with the pristine white columns of the Lincoln Memorial visible through the charcoal-gray skeletons of trees, she no longer felt fearful at all-merely foolish.

This is all so silly, she scolded herself as she settled onto a sunny bench with a sigh. I surprised a burglar last night-big deal.

And Mr. Hawkins was some sort of law officer on some sort of assignment that had nothing to do with her. No one was following her, nobody was trying to take her painting away from her. That was just…silly.

She was just plain Jane Carlysle who worked at a bank in Cooper’s Mill, North Carolina, divorced mom facing empty-nest syndrome, gardener, bird-watcher, closet romantic, day-dreamer… to whom nothing exciting ever happened.

But all the same, she checked to make sure the paper-wrapped parcel was secure in her tote bag, and looped the handles carefully over her arm as she rose.

Well, now. Since I’m here, she thought, why shouldn’t I see the Lincoln Memorial, at least? And The Wall, of course.

She could always go to Georgetown later this afternoon.

Besides, the Lincoln Memorial would be crowded with tourists; she’d be safe there.


What in the hell is she doing? Hawk wondered

The woman had been sitting on the Lincoln Memorial steps for a good twenty minutes. Just sitting there. He couldn’t figure it out. He’d even taken the risk of getting close enough to see her, to make sure she was actually there, thinking she might have found the tracking device in her purse and left it behind to throw him off her trail.

But no, there she sat, soaking up sunshine, enjoying the view, apparently waiting…for what? Or who? He couldn’t decide whether she was waiting for a contact, carrying out some sinister agenda, or whether, with the instinctive cunning of a hunted animal, she was merely seeking high ground in order to sniff the wind, to see who might be on her trail.

Campbell had spooked her badly; she had to be wondering whether he was still out there somewhere. Hawk was wondering about that, too. He hadn’t spotted him yet, but that didn’t mean much. Unless the guy was a complete idiot, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

One way or another, intentionally or not, Jane Carlysle was proving to be a lot better player at this game than he’d expected.

And why couldn’t he make up his mind about her? After giving himself a severe talking-to this morning, he was pretty sure he had the lust thing under control, but still the picture in his mind labeled Jane Carlysle remained cloudy and out of focus. His usually keen instincts didn’t seem to be functioning where she was concerned. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out who she was and where she fit in all this. And that worried him. In fact, it was driving him crazy.

For a long time Hawk sat still, hands resting on the GPS monitor lying open in his lap, with The Wall there at his back and the sun soaking into the leather of the old brown bomber jacket, like a warm hand resting on his shoulder.

Finally, like someone coming out of a doze, he shook himself, checked the monitor one more time to reassure himself that Mrs. Carlysle was still keeping her enigmatic vigil, then shut it down, and closed and locked the briefcase.

A young couple was moving down the paved walk in front of The Wall, close together, hands linked. Hawk watched them, for a moment envying their closeness. He wondered if it made it any easier, having someone there. Or if it was a thing better done with only one’s own ghosts for company.

Seeing as how he had no choice in the matter, he squared his shoulders, walked over to the directory, peeled back the pages and ran his finger down the endless list of names. Rapidly, at first, but then his trailing finger slowed…and paused. He felt a tremor deep in his belly.

He drew a long breath, then did an about-face and walked quickly down the slope, into the long black gash in the earth’s green skin known as The Wall.

He moved along without pausing, part of him noticing the details of his surroundings, as was his ingrained habit, taking in the tokens left here and there along the base of the black granite wall-American flags, flowers, photographs, hastily written notes-and the subdued presence of park security. He noticed that the casual visitors tended to keep a certain distance, strolling by quietly, almost reverently, on the outside of the walkway, now and then pointing, like polite strangers in church. Mostly it was those on a more personal quest who moved in close. Who seemed to feel a need to reach out and touch.

He found the name he was looking for at The Wall’s highest point, where the names were thickest, the numbers the most overwhelming. He was glad that it was only a little above head height and easy to reach. Slowly he lifted his hand and traced the letters: Walter T. Hawkins. Then the diamond that designated KIA-killed in action. He opened his fingers and placed his palm flat against the polished granite. He hadn’t expected it to feel so warm, almost like a living thing instead of polished stone.

In that moment something swelled and burst inside him, as unpreventable as an unexpected sneeze. It was a few minutes before he was able to mumble the words he’d waited so many years to say.