Burn- pigeon 16 (34 page)

For a while Anna digested the information. She hoped Blackie would cooperate with the FBI, hoped he would finger the rest of the ring, but had a feeling he might not live long enough to do it. Even if he lived and talked, Anna doubted he knew who the Magician was. That this creature was still out in the world sickened her. After a while she nodded toward the curtain. "Are the girls . . . okay?"

Clare nodded. "So far as it goes," she said tersely. "Vee and Aisha were in the nursery. It had been on Bourbon Street, but when an agent got too close, they moved to the fancy house. The littlest were saved for special occasions."

Anna waited.

"Medicinal uses," Clare said.

It took a second or two, but Anna got it. It was still believed in many parts of the world that sex with very young virgins cured AIDS and other STDs. This time it was she who called upon the Almighty: "God."

"Or not," Clare said.

Clare was but inches from Anna's face, breathing on her. Something was wrong, different. "You don't smell like an ashtray!" Anna exclaimed.

"Clare Sullivan, mother of two--now three--doesn't smoke," Clare said evenly.

"And Jordan?"

Clare winked solemnly. "He may sneak a fag now and then." With that she stood and shook out her skirts. "We should go. Give you some privacy to call your husband. Besides, the four of us need some serious nap time." To Anna's surprise, Clare leaned down and kissed her on the cheek before she left.

For a while, Anna stared at the phone beside the bed as if it were a snake about to bite her. It crossed her mind just not to tell Paul anything, but, as a good and attentive husband, he was bound to notice a new vicious scar on her middle. Then she thought of lying to him, feeding him the same line she did the doctor.

She was more afraid of losing him than of anything she'd ever been afraid of in her life. He would forgive her. Not only was he a good man, but he was, after all, in the business of forgiveness. Technically, the only promise she'd broken was to tell him beforehand if she planned on doing anything risky, but love wasn't about the technicalities. It was about the totality of who one was and the respect for the totality of the beloved. Anna had not been open or forthright. She'd let in the creeping darkness of half-truths, evasions, and secrets. She'd broken trust. That sort of break was long in the mending.

She picked up the phone and set it on her lap. Steeling herself, she dialed his number. When he picked up she told him everything, every law broken, every lie by omission, every move she'd made. Then she shut up.

And listened to the silence.