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  “Then you’re missing something.”

  “Look, I’ve been around this basically all my life. On the force my beat was white-collar crime. Twenty years for the good guys, another eight with your brother’s firm. I know the signs. And I’m telling you, the only reason Adrian is fighting so hard is because it’s his wife’s company.”

  Ethan did not bother arguing. There was only one way he was going to convince Gary. He checked his watch and felt his heart rate surge to double time.

  Ninety-eight minutes and counting.

  The courtroom was as sterile as it was frigid. There were no other observers and nothing really to see. Adrian and another attorney stood in front of the judge’s dais, talking too softly for Ethan to hear. The judge was a stern-faced man whose unblinking glare tracked the attorneys with molten intensity.

  Gary followed Ethan’s gaze and murmured, “Judge John Jacob Durnin. Been on the bench since Eisenhower, seems like. Adrian claims Durnin is on their side, which would be a first. The man’s got a hide of pig iron.”

  The courtroom’s silence only fed Ethan’s rising tension. Despite the chill, he felt perspiration trickle down his spine.

  Even the lawyers up front seemed subdued. Then the opposing counsel turned and walked back to his table. He was a heavyset gentleman with a receding hairline and a neck that spilled over his collar when he leaned. He flicked through several files.

  The judge had a deep voice with a sandpaper edge. “We’re waiting, counsel.”

  “One moment, Your Honor.”

  A blonde-haired woman sat directly behind the opposition attorney’s empty chair. She leaned forward and whispered something. When the lawyer responded, she opened her briefcase and extracted a sheet of paper. The attorney examined it briefly, nodded once, and returned to the judge’s dais.

  Ethan asked, “Who’s that?”

  “Jimmy Carstairs. He’s top dog in a firm his granddaddy founded.”

  “Not him. The woman.”

  Gary shrugged. “Ask your brother. He’s the one with the inside track.”

  “I’m asking you,” Ethan replied. “See what you can find out about her and who she represents. And remember what I said about confidentiality.”

  Ethan watched as Adrian continually shook his head at whatever the other lawyer said, then responded softly, one hand curled over the front of the judge’s dais. Finally Ethan could remain still no longer. He rose and slipped from the row. He thought he heard Gary snort softly as he left the courtroom.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  During his early investigation, Ethan had spent hours wandering around the courthouse. At least once each day he had stood where he was now, at the top of the courthouse stairs. The newspapers and television stations had repeatedly shown this very spot, with his brother’s blood staining the concrete. He shifted over to the shadows formed by the columns and the high front portico. The stifling midday heat and humidity cast a languid blanket over the city. The sidewalk fronting the courthouse was empty. Even the traffic along the boulevard seemed mired in the sullen heat. Or perhaps it was just Ethan’s racing heart that made the day appear to move in slow motion.

  Gary stepped up beside him and asked, “You okay?”

  “Tell me the Sinclair team is in place.”

  “Three seasoned officers. I’d trust them if my own life was on the line.” Gary squinted into the empty distance. “I’m not going to point them out because I don’t want you staring their way.”

  Ethan checked his watch. The news articles had been very precise about the timing, witnessed as it was by the two guards inside the front entrance. Nine minutes to go. He told Gary, “Let’s say it’s not a lone gunman with a grudge. Say it’s the case. Say it’s the case now. Today. What has changed?”

  Gary showed him the same stare as in the courtroom. “You’re getting yourself all worked up, and over what?” When Ethan remained silent, he pressed on. “If this source of yours is so solid, why won’t you reveal it? Give me something I can take to the cops.”

  Ethan checked his watch again. Seven minutes. He knew Gary wasn’t listening. But talking helped. “Say something just happened. Adrian struck a nerve.”

  Gary kept on watching. “Same question, same comment. I’m still waiting.”

  Fear and adrenaline squeezed his thoughts like a vise. “Say Adrian is approaching a secret they will do anything to protect. Even kill him.”

  “Kid, you’re so far out of reach I doubt you can even hear me. Nothing has happened.”

  Another check of his watch. Four minutes. The more he tracked down this mental path, the more it resonated. “So they go for him. They figure killing Sonya’s husband would be a sure way to strong-arm her. Make her give up the company. Especially if somebody else was assigned this case. Like you said, they wouldn’t fight nearly so hard.”

  Gary shook his head. “This beats all I’ve ever heard of.”

  Ethan went back to scouting the street and the empty courthouse steps. Gary continued to complain, about Ethan’s silence and the day’s heat and the lack of anything concrete to go on. Ethan found it increasingly difficult to pay him any attention. He felt his awareness reaching out, probing unseen distances.

  Abruptly he had the distinct impression of a hurricane on the approach. Every Florida waterman knew the signals—the gathering humidity, the oppressive stillness, the clear and breathless air. Somewhere in the distance, clouds massed and swirled and sucked in nature’s force, growing into the most powerful maelstrom on earth.

  Just like now.

  But the attack did not happen.

  Four o’clock on the nose, the moment stated by both guards, came and went. Ethan did not move. He had nowhere else to go. His shirt was plastered to his skin now. His face was covered with sweat. Nothing mattered. He would stay there all day if need be.

  Ninety seconds later, Adrian appeared through the courthouse doors. He was deep in conversation with a younger man Ethan had never seen before. The younger attorney nodded and wrote hastily as Adrian spoke. Ethan could see his brother was angry. Furious, in fact.

  Gary leaned against the neighboring pillar, looking bored and hot and increasingly angry. Which was why he missed the attack when it came.

  The shooter did not climb the stairs. He emerged from inside the courthouse. He wore a tan jacket over dark slacks and carried a white paper bag with the blue RX symbol from some drug chain. He was middle-aged, not short or tall, almost bald but with long, greasy strands of grey-black hair combed over a deep indent in the middle of his skull. Ethan only noticed him because of two distinct traits. The man’s eyes darted about, a rapid-fire search that touched nowhere for very long. The only place he didn’t look was directly in Adrian’s direction.

  What focused Ethan’s attention was the man’s speed. He was the only part of the day that moved fast. He was not running, but he was not far off. And he headed straight for Adrian.

  Ethan did not risk alerting Gary, who watched the empty stairs and sidewalk with cop-like patience. Gary’s view of this ordinary-looking guy was blocked by the pillar.

  Ethan rounded in front of Gary, which meant the attacker went out of sight for two seconds, perhaps three. Long enough for him to reach inside the white pharmacy bag.

  Ethan saw a metallic glint catch the sunlight as the bag dropped to the stone. And he knew that this was his move. It had been all along.

  The gunman’s pistol looked big as a cannon. Big as the hole it had blown in so many lives.

  Ethan leapt down, covering three steps and thirty feet in half a heartbeat. He clawed at the gunman’s back and neck and arm. And he snarled.

  The gun went off, impossibly loud.

  The air became filled with shouts and screams.

  Ethan was on top of the gunman, climbing over his head and shoulders in an attempt to wrest the weapon free. The attacker shouted obscenities and flipped Ethan. When Ethan refused to let go, they tumbled down the steps together.

 
Ethan caught quick glimpses of fractured action as he fell. Two security people shouted and raced up the stairs. Gary shoved Adrian down and yelled something and raced after Ethan. The gun kept firing, so loud it sounded like the shots were inside his head.

  Then he bounced wrong, and his head struck a corner of the stone step. As Ethan’s vision flashed brilliant, the gun went off again, only this time a bright flame seared its way across his left shoulder.

  And the world went away.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  When Ethan opened his eyes, he viewed a scene utterly removed from everything that had come before. Adrian and Gary and Sonya stood outside a glass-walled hospital room. Gina was there as well. The room was semi-dark, and night was draped over the exterior window. They listened as a doctor spoke. The middle-aged man was dressed in surgical blues and gestured with long pianist’s fingers as he talked. His mannerisms were easy, and he smiled as he listened to something Adrian said. As the doctor responded, Gina glanced over and saw that Ethan’s eyes were open.

  She rushed into the room, clearly wanting to throw her arms around him. But she stopped a pace away and offered a tremulous smile. “How are you?”

  “You’re here.”

  “I’m here. Please don’t send me away. Please.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Gina.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s good to see you. Wonderful, in fact.”

  His words only made her appear sad. “Nothing’s changed, though, has it.”

  “Not how you mean.”

  “The doctor says he can’t find anything wrong that might lead to you dying—”

  “Tell Sonya I need to speak with her.”

  “Don’t you want to know what . . .” Gina stopped talking as the others entered.

  Up close the doctor had the dark shadow of a heavy beard and long hours. His eyes were red-rimmed, but his manner was friendly enough. “How do you feel?”

  “All right. Sore. My head hurts worse than my shoulder. And my shoulder hurts a lot.”

  “We’ll get you something for the pain. But first I wanted to check your reflexes.” He had Ethan track his light, then inspected the throbbing point behind his right ear and finally his left shoulder. He straightened and slipped his flashlight back in his jacket pocket. “You’ve probably had a minor concussion. You needed a few stitches to close the skin. Our initial X-rays showed no sign of serious damage.”

  Adrian asked, “And his shoulder?”

  “As I was saying, it appears your brother was struck by a ricochet. The bullet penetrated less than a centimeter. We cleaned the wound and repaired the musculature.” To Ethan he said, “I want the physical therapist to give you some exercises, but I don’t think you’ll suffer any lasting damage.”

  “That’s great to hear.”

  “I want you to remain with us over the weekend, just to be certain there’s no lasting impact from either injury.” The doctor hesitated, then went on, “Your friend tells me you have recently received some serious news.”

  Ethan nodded, then wished he hadn’t. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That seems a rather odd attitude to take. And dangerous.”

  “You don’t know, you can’t imagine, how many doctors and tests I’ve been through.”

  He stared down at Ethan for a time, then said, “Will you at least tell me what your diagnosis was?”

  “Cancer.”

  “Do you remember the name?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  “Can I request your records?”

  “I won’t be here that long.”

  The doctor looked ready to argue, then changed his mind. “I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

  As soon as he left, Ethan told the others, “I need to speak with Sonya. Alone.”

  Adrian put up a fuss, of course. He was a lawyer, it had been his life that was threatened, his brother had been wounded, and so forth.

  But Sonya revealed a new side to her personality, as different from the face she had always shown Ethan as everything else about the night. Ethan watched his brother’s resistance melt away under Sonya’s firm insistence. She was wise and she knew things, her attitude said, and Adrian needed to trust her. So he left and took Gina with him. They stood outside the doorway and spoke in somber tones, observing the two of them through the interior window.

  Sonya asked, “Should I close the drapes?”

  “No. Let them watch.”

  She seated herself next to his bed. Took her time. When she was ready, she released the words carefully, one by one. “Was this why I sent you back?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you couldn’t tell me.”

  “No.”

  “Whatever else you need to say, I will accept. I have to. Because you saved my husband’s life.” She stared at her hands. “Before, he died?”

  “Yesterday.”

  She pursed her lips and breathed softly. In and out. “I owe you . . . everything.”

  He gave her a moment. She wiped her face twice. Otherwise there was no sign that she was weeping. Ethan saw Adrian watching his wife and knew they did not have much time. “I need you to handle the doctor. And Adrian. And Gina.”

  “Handle . . .” She straightened and gathered herself. Another quick swipe of her eyes, and Sonya was back in control. “What should I tell Adrian?”

  “He needs to know what’s going on.”

  “I agree.” A pause, then she asked what Ethan knew she would. “And Gina?”

  “For the moment, only that I don’t have very long to live.”

  He half expected her to argue. But Sonya’s combative nature had been erased, at least temporarily. “You are certain you only have a few weeks?”

  “No, Sonya. You were.”

  “Yes. All right . . . Anything else?”

  There was. A lot else. But just then his head hurt so badly he had to stop. “Go ask the nurse for my pills.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  Ethan next woke to bright sunlight and the duty nurse offering him a cheerful good morning. There was a dual pounding in his head and shoulder, but the pain was far more manageable. The nurse ignored his declaration that he was feeling better and stood over him as he downed his meds. Only when she canted his bed up and left to get his breakfast did Ethan notice the figure in the far corner. Light streaming through the exterior window draped the man in shadows, but Ethan knew from the way he held himself that it was Adrian.

  His brother continued to read the file open in his lap until the nurse returned with Ethan’s tray. When the door closed once more, Adrian slipped the file back into his briefcase, rose, and pulled his chair closer. “How do you feel?”

  “Better.”

  “You should. You’ve slept around the clock.”

  “So today is . . .”

  “Friday.” Without being asked, Adrian filled a plastic cup from the pitcher by his bed and handed it over. Since childhood, every morning both brothers woke parched. When Ethan drained the cup, Adrian asked, “More?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  Adrian refilled it and set it on the bedside cupboard. He seated himself and watched his brother eat. “Someday I’m sure the words will come to me.”

  “You don’t need to say a thing. Not now, not ever.”

  “We both know that’s not true.”

  “Adrian, you have made a profession of being there for me.” When Adrian did not respond, Ethan asked, “What time is it?”

  “Just gone nine.”

  “Don’t you have to be somewhere, off fighting the good fight?”

  “The battles are put on hold this morning.”

  Ethan watched his brother cross his legs and adjust the knot of his tie, and he felt a flood of relief and affection for the guy. Adrian was preparing himself for the formal deposition, the verbal struggle that he had been born for. Ethan’s heart swelled from the simple pleasure of being there in Adrian’s company. Today.


  He said, “It’s good to see you.”

  Adrian nodded. “Sonya told me . . . everything.”

  “Sonya doesn’t know everything.”

  Adrian smoothed an invisible crease in his trousers. “That’s why I’m sitting here instead of putting out fires. So you can tell me everything.”

  Twice during the telling, Adrian rose to refill Ethan’s glass. Ethan could have done it himself, but it would have meant reaching his good arm across his wounded shoulder. So he let Adrian serve him. Then he resumed describing to his brother how he had volunteered to end a lonely life in order to return and save Adrian’s.

  As he finished, lightning flashed a long illumination. Rain spackled the window. The flickering light turned the drops into liquid prisms. Both men turned to watch the storm’s arrival. The move granted Ethan a chance to study his brother and remember other storms from long ago. Back when they were two orphans, dealing with a world that had stripped away the comfort of parents and redefined the word family. Ethan saw that Adrian’s cheeks were wet and wondered if he was remembering the same thing.

  Adrian cleared his face and turned back around in one smooth motion. “Might be a hurricane brewing.”

  Ethan nodded, then winced from the pain the motion caused.

  “You need something?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I can call the nurse.”

  “Later.” First Ethan needed to deal with the issues his brother was bound to raise. Two of them. And for that, he needed a clear head.

  Adrian’s gaze was lit by another flash of lightning. Grey eyes that burned with an electric force as potent as the storm. “You told Sonya you don’t have long to live.”

  That was one issue. “Back before the transition, she was pretty definite on that point. She said the present me would reject the old consciousness. Like a transplant gone bad.”