Jeffery Deaver - The Devil's Teardrop

High-density tac op. Tactical operation, Phillips knew. He also knew that Timothy had probably learned the phrase not at FBI headquarters but from a Tom Clancy novel.

"Sure. But add that to the other rumor…"

"What other rumor?"

"That Kennedy wanted to pay the perps but the Bureau set up some kind of trap. Only they fucked up and the shooter found out about it and now he's killing people just to kill them."

"That's bullshit."

"I'm not saying-" Phillips began.

"That's not fair." Timothy came close to whining. "I mean, we got agents all over town ought to be home with their families. It's a holiday. I've been taking faxes to people all night…" His voice faded as he realized the veil covering his true function at FBI headquarters had slipped.

Phillips said quickly, "I'm not saying I feel that way. I'm just saying that's the story they've got planned. This asshole's killing people. They need to point fingers."

"Well…"

"Is there anything else to focus on? Something other than the Bureau."

"Oh, that's what you meant by focus."

"Did I say focus?"

"Yeah, earlier you did… How about the District metro police? They could be the screw-up factor."

Phillips wondered how much money Wendy Jefferies would pay for a story that the District police, which ultimately reported to Mayor Kennedy, was the quote screw-up factor.

"Keep going. That one doesn't excite me."

Timothy thought for a moment. Then he smiled. "Wait. I have an idea."

"Is it a good idea?" Phillips asked.

"Well, I was at HQ? And I heard something odd…" Timothy frowned, his voice fading.

The anchorman said, "Hey, that moussaka does look good. How 'bout we get some?"

"Okay," said Timothy. "And, yeah, I think it's a good idea."

The capital of the free world.

The heart of the last superpower on earth.

And Cage nearly shattered an axle once again as his government-issue Crown Victoria crashed into another pothole.

"Goddamn city," he muttered.

"Careful," Parker ordered, nodding toward the glass sheets wrapped carefully and sitting on his lap like a newborn baby. He'd looked briefly at the yellow sheets. But they were badly damaged and he couldn't see any reference to the third and fourth targets. He'd have to analyze them in the lab.

Over crumbling pavement, under streetlights burnt out months ago and never replaced, past the empty poles that once held directional signs, which had long ago been stolen or blown down.

More potholes.

"I don't know why I live here." Cage shrugged.

Accompanied by Parker and Dr. John Evans, the agent was speeding back to headquarters through the dark streets of the District of Columbia.

"And it snows, we're fucked," he added.

Snow removal wasn't one of the District's strong suits either and a blizzard could hamper Jerry Baker's tactical efforts if they found the Digger's hidey-hole or the site of the next attack.

Evans was on his cell phone, apparently talking to his family. His voice was singsong, as if he were talking to a child but from the snatches of the conversation it seemed that his wife was on the other end of the line. Parker thought it was odd that a psychologist would talk to another adult this way. But who was he to talk about relationships? When Joan was drunk or moody Parker often found himself dealing with her the way he would a ten-year-old.

Cage juggled his own phone and called the hospital. He asked about Geller's condition.

When he hung up he said to Parker, "Lucky man. Smoke inhalation and a sprained toe from jumping out the window. Nothing worse than that. They're going to keep him in overnight. But it's just a precaution."

"Should get a commendation," Parker suggested.

"Oh, he will. Don't you worry."

Parker was coughing some himself. The pungent taste of the smoke was sickening.

They continued on for another half-dozen blocks before Cage gave Parker a telling "So."

"So," Parker echoed. Then: "What does that mean?"

"Wooee, we having a good time yet?" the agent said and slapped the steering wheel.

Parker ignored him and tucked a tiny scrap of burnt paper back under the glass protecting the unsub's notes.

Cage sped around a slow-moving car. After a few moments he asked, "How's your love life these days? You seeing anybody?"

"Not right now."

It had been nine months, he reflected, since he'd been going with someone regularly. He missed Lynne. She was ten years younger than he, pretty, athletic. They'd had a lot of fun together-jogging, dinners, day trips to Middleburg. He missed her vivacity, her sense of humor (the first time she'd been over to his house she'd glanced at a signature of Franklin Delano Roosevelt and, with perfect deadpan delivery, said, "Oh, I've heard of him. He's the guy started the Franklin Mint. I've got the thimble collection"). But the maternal side of her hadn't blossomed even though she was nearly thirty. When it came to his children, she had fun going to the museums and the Cineplex but Parker could see that any more of a commitment to the Whos-and to him-would soon become a burden to her. Love, like humor, Parker believed, is all in the timing. In the end they drifted apart with the agreement that in a few years, when she was ready for children, they might reconsider something more permanent. (Both knowing, of course, that, as lovers, they were saying goodbye for good.)

Cage now said, "Uh-huh. So you're just sitting at home?"

"Yeah," Parker said. "With my head in the sand like Ozzie the Ostrich."

"Who?"

"It's a kids' book."

"Don't you get the feeling there's stuff going on around you and you're missing it?"

"No, Cage, I don't. I get the feeling that my kids're growing up and I'm not missing it."

"That's important. Uh-huh. I can see where that would be kind of important."

"Very important."

Evans, still on the phone, was telling his wife he loved her. Parker tuned the words out. They depressed him.

"Whatta you think about Lukas?" Cage finally asked.

"What do I think? She's good. She'll go places. Maybe to the top. If she doesn't implode first."

"Explode?"

"No, implode. Like a lightbulb."

"That's good." Cage laughed. "But that's not what I'm asking. Whatta you think about her as a woman?"

Parker coughed. Shivered at the memory of the bullets and the flames. "You trying to set us up, Lukas and me?"

"Of course not." Then: "It's just I wish she had more friends. I'd forgot that you're a fun guy. You could hang out together some."

"Cage-"

"She's not married. No boyfriends. And, I don't know if you noticed," the wily agent said, "but she's good-looking. Don't you think?"

Sure, I think. For a lady cop. Of course Parker was attracted to her-and by more than just her appearance. He remembered a certain look in her eyes as she watched Robby run up the stairs earlier in the day. The way to a man's heart is through his children…

But what he told Cage was, "She can't wait till this case is over and she doesn't have to see me again."

"You think?" he asked, but cynically this time.

"You heard her-about my weapon."

"Hell, she just didn't want to send you back to your kids with your ass in a sling."

"No, it's more than that. I've been stepping on her toes and she doesn't like it. But I've got news for her. I'm going to keep on stepping if I think I'm right."