“She’s not my new girlfriend—”
“Oh, no, no, no. You are some genius at ops, but you couldn’t be more emotionally stunted. Especially about women. And please don’t tell me we’re the same. I’ve been married thirty years. Thirty years, one woman.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about this.”
“How about this, then? Call the FBI and be done with it.”
“Janice Robinson wants me to handle it.”
“I’m sorry. I missed the section of the criminal code that says the traitor’s ex-wife decides who brings him in. Anyway, she doesn’t want you to handle it. She wants you, period. I remember Jenny telling me, back in the day.”
“I have a plan.” Wells explained.
“You understand that’s not a plan. That’s five long-shot bets. Even if you’re right about where he is, what he’s doing, you have to find him. Then you have to get to him. Then you have to hope he doesn’t want to go out in a blaze of glory.”
“He’s a runner. Not a fighter.”
“Runners fight when they’re cornered. I understand why you’re doing this. But nothing’s going to make up for what happened last time. Let the Feebs”—Shafer’s unfriendly term for the FBI—“do their job.”
“Thanks for the advice.” Wells stood to leave.
“You’re going to be as pigheaded as always, do this on your own.”
Wells nodded.
“Then you want some help?”
Another nod.
“All right. But let me make one thing clear. I’m not doing this because I think I owe you, I should have quit with you, whatever. I’m doing it so you don’t blow it.”
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, JANICE led Wells to her kitchen. The counter was strewn with red horses, purple cows, yellow sheep, a menagerie of construction paper.
“Decorating?”
She laughed, the sound sweeter than Wells expected. “For my kindergarteners.”
“You like teaching?”
“You probably know this, it must be in a file. But Eddie wanted another baby. After our son died. I couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t. Maybe things would have been different if I…” She trailed off.
“Guys like your husband, they find excuses to do what they want. And if they can’t find one, they just make it up.”
Janice shrugged:
“Of course not.” Wells touched Janice’s arm and then realized he shouldn’t have. Her face lit like a winning slot machine. “You understand what I want you to do?”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“It’s the only way. Otherwise, I have to tell the FBI.”
“All right.”
“Good. So tomorrow, somebody’s gonna put a tap and trace on your phone. Keith won’t know it’s there.” Shafer had called in a favor he was owed from an engineer who used to work at NSA. “Tomorrow night, you call him. Sooner or later, he’ll call you back. Don’t ask him where he is. Unless he brings up a visit, don’t mention it.”
“Don’t push.”
“Right. You’ll make him nervous. Don’t be too friendly. Don’t forgive him. Don’t let him think you’re giving in too easily. Deep down he knows this call is a bad idea. You’ve got to make him focus on you instead of that.”
Janice turned away from Wells and opened the kitchen faucet all the way but held her glass a foot above the spout, as if somehow the water could defy gravity.
“He loved me,” she whispered to the window, her voice barely audible above the water sloshing down the drain. “It sounds stupid, but it’s true.”
“I believe you.”
“God. I hope you catch him.”
THE NEXT NIGHT, WITH Wells sitting beside her on her couch, Janice made the call, straight to voicemail. “Eddie. Is that you? I got your cards. Call me.”
Wells figured Robinson would wait weeks to call back. If he ever did. But a few minutes later, with Wells still in the house, the phone rang. Janice grabbed it. “Hello.”
Through the receiver, slow, steady breaths.
“Eddie. Is that you?” She waited. “Why did you send the cards, Eddie?”
“Are you okay, Jan?” His voice was raspy and deep.
“I had a liver transplant.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Go to hell, Eddie.” She slammed down the phone before Wells could stop her and slumped into Wells’s chest. They sat silently for a few minutes as Wells wondered why he’d ever trusted Janice.
“He’s never calling back, is he?” Janice finally said.
“I don’t know.” The phone rang again. Janice reached for the phone, but Wells put a hand on the receiver before she could answer.
“Like I said, he’s definitely calling back. Keep cool. Promise?”
She nodded. He let go of the receiver, and she picked up.
“I deserved that.”
“Why are you calling me?” Her southern twang thickened when she talked to Robinson.
“I wanted to talk.”
“That simple. Like you’ve been away on business instead of — I don’t even know how to describe it—”
“I miss you, Jan. It’s hard out here.” He sounded close to tears. Wells hadn’t understood until now that in addition to everything else, Robinson was simply a spoiled brat.
“Are you sick?”
“Been better. But I have a fine doctor taking care of me. Cuban. Viva Fidel. I’m gonna live forever. I’m gonna learn how to fly.”
“You need to turn yourself in.”
A hollow laugh from the other end. “Not a good idea.”
“What do you want?”
“To talk. To somebody who knows me.”
“I don’t know you. The day they came to the house, I realized that.”
Beside Janice, Wells twisted his hands:
Another laugh. “Could say I’m doing a little community service. Helping youngsters in need. I’ve got to go, okay?”
“Tell me how to get hold of you.”
“I’ll get hold of you.”
“Eddie. Are you still in Jamaica? Kingston?” Wells shook his head no, but he was too late.
“Are they there? On the call?”
“No, it’s just me. I swear.”
“Swear on Mark’s grave.”
She looked at Wells. He nodded.
“Don’t make me do that.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Wells wasn’t sure whether she was talking to him or
