“I will. Actually, I left him in pretty good spirits. I can’t get into details-grand jury secrecy and all-but I think we’re pretty close to an indictment. With the victim’s family in south Florida, the case has been assigned to the Miami office.”

“I was wondering about that,” said Jack.

“Yes. Alejandro asked me to handle the case personally. It’s sort of unusual for the U.S. attorney to actually try a case. But Alejandro’s a good friend. I told him I would.”

“That’s nice of you,” said Jack.

“Least I can do,” said Torres.

Outside the house on the back patio, on the other side of the opened California doors, the band suddenly stopped playing. The lead singer grabbed the microphone and announced, “We’re about ready for cake. Could the birthday boy start making his way toward the stage, please?”

“I guess that’s our cue,” said Harry. “Great to see you again, Hector. Thanks for coming.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

Jack said, “And thanks again for the nice words.”

Harry started away, and Jack was about to follow when Torres grabbed him by the sleeve and stopped him. He spoke slightly above a whisper, softly enough so that no one but Jack could hear him amid the party noises. “I hate to have to say this at your father’s birthday, but it needs to be said. Stay the hell out of the Pintado case.”

“Is that coming from you or Alejandro?”

“Both. And if need be, I’ll make sure you hear it from your father, too.”

Jack chuckled lightly. “You really think that’s going to stop me?”

“Only if you’re as smart as he says you are.”

“You’re out of line, Mr. Torres.”

“And you’re out of your league, Mr. Swyteck.”

Jack met his stare, finding not so much as a trace of a smile on the prosecutor’s face. “We’ll see about that.”

Jack turned and worked his way through the crowd, passing one smiling well-wisher after another as he headed toward his father on stage. He wondered if Torres knew something-if somehow he’d discovered Jack’s personal stake in defending Lindsey Hart. Or was he just protecting his old friend Pintado, playing the typical prosecutor’s mind game, trying to screw with the mind of the opposition? It wasn’t clear.

His stepmother hugged him as he reached the stage. Jack hugged her back, but he turned her body just so, allowing himself one last glimpse of Hector Torres amid a jubilant crowd.

The man still wasn’t smiling.

Jack met Lindsey for breakfast at Deli Lane, a popular sidewalk café in South Miami. The street and sidewalk were paved with Chicago brick, and a tidy row of young oaks, each of identical height and limb span, planted at regular-spaced intervals, lent a Disney-like precision to the thoroughfare. The humidity had driven most customers inside, but they chose an outdoor table beneath the shade of a broad umbrella. Every few minutes, an exercise enthusiast jogged or walked past them, while a hungry stray terrier sniffed around for fallen scraps of bacon or French toast. Jack couldn’t help overhearing the cosmetically enhanced supermoms at the next table, one of whom wanted to sue her plastic surgeon for making her a full cup size larger than she’d requested, and she was just, like, so totally pissed, darling, because her husband had blown her entire malpractice claim by sending the doc a two-page thank-you letter and a bottle of Dom.

The women finally finished off their three hundred calories for the day, divided the bill down to the last penny, and sped away in their respective gas-guzzling SUVs, leaving Jack and Lindsey in sufficient isolation to talk privately. Over coffee, Jack laid his concerns on the table.

“Everyone tells me you’re guilty.”

“I told you they would,” said Lindsey. “It’s because they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Oscar’s father got pretty specific.”

“Pardon my language, but Oscar’s father is an asshole.”

“I don’t know enough about him to debate you on that point. But he does know some influential people. And he doesn’t want me representing you.”

“Of course not. He never fights fair.”

“He did lose his son, which can skew your perception of fairness. I’m not saying he’s in the right, but he does seem genuinely concerned about his grandson.”

Her voice shook as she said, “He’s evil, Jack. I don’t think Alejandro has come right out and told him that I did it, but it seems like every time he sees Brian, I end up having to explain to my own child why so many people are saying that I killed his father.”

Jack drew a breath, reminding himself that every homicide was really about the innocent victims. And there was always more than one victim. “How is Brian doing?”

“Brian is a great kid. He’s like his dad. He’ll be fine.”

For a split second, Jack thought she was paying him a compliment, but then he realized that she’d meant Oscar. Or had she?

“Has to be tough on him,” said Jack.

“More than you know. Not only did he lose his dad, but then Guantánamo gave us the boot. Bad for morale to have a homicidal wife on the base, you know. So Brian doesn’t even have any friends to lean on.”

“Have you found a place to live yet?”

“Yeah. I got a month-to-month rental in Kendall. Brian will be starting middle school next week. We even went to Disney World a couple days ago. Thought that might help take his mind off things.”

“How did he like it?”

“He loved it. I survived it. Don’t take this the wrong way, but in certain respects I think that’s the one place on earth that’s actually better if you’re deaf.”

“I know what you’re saying.” He started humming “It’s a Small World After All.”

She actually smiled, and Jack noticed a little sparkle to her personality that, to this point, had been nonexistent. It suited her well.

Jack said, “Now that you’ve brought it up, I guess we’ll need someone to sign when I speak with Brian.”

“I can do it. I did it when the military police questioned him.”

“I’d rather meet with him out of your presence.”

She did a quick double take. “Why?”

“Getting a child out from under the influence of his mother is just a sensible interview strategy. It has nothing to do with you or me or our circumstances. It’s the way I’d do it in any case.”

She didn’t immediately take to the suggestion, but his point slowly seemed to register. “Okay, but…”

“But what?”

“Give me a day or so to sort some things out.”

“What things?”

“Look in the mirror, Jack. I showed you his photograph at our first meeting. Brian is bound to see the resemblance. And then he’s going to start asking questions.”

“Does he have any idea that he was adopted?”

“No. Oscar and I never told him. I think I should have a long talk with him before he meets you and figures it out for himself.”

“Okay. It’s not my place to tell you how to handle that. But it is my job to tell you that we have to move fast. I think an indictment is coming down soon, so I need to make a decision about representing you.”

She pushed aside her egg-white omelet. She hadn’t taken a bite. “Which way are you leaning?”

“Brian is the only person who was in the house at the alleged time of your husband’s death. So I need to talk to him.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Jack surrendered his last piece of toast to a golden retriever that had been staring at him for the past five minutes with the eyes of a starving child. The dog left, and Lindsey was still locked onto him like radar from across the table, waiting for her answer. “Lindsey, I told you at the outset: I don’t want to represent Brian’s mother if it looks like she killed Brian’s father.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to represent me?”

“Your father-in-law gave me some troubling information. Seems Oscar had a trust fund worth seven figures. It kicked in when he was thirty-five, but he was career military. He thinks you killed him to get off the base and get your hands on the money.”