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private investigator hired for the purpose."
    "A private investigator too dim to realize his target or targets were FBI agents?"
    "Maybe that's why we only found shots of Hollis. Maybe whoever it was decided that it was just too risky to follow and photograph agents of the federal government."
    "More maybes."
    Bishop was keenly aware that he was, as he had been for many months now, dealing with a powerful man who had nothing left in his life except a raging grief and an obsession for revenge.
    Not justice for his murdered daughter, not anymore. Abe LeMott wanted revenge. For the loss of his daughter. The loss of his wife. For the destruction of his life.
    Which made him hardly less dangerous than the man they both wanted.
    So Bishop chose his next words carefully. "Whatever he may or may not know about members of the SCU, what we know is that he does have at least one weakness, one vulnerability. Where there's one, there's more. That's been true of every criminal, every evil, we've ever fought. It's true of Samuel as well. We'll find those weaknesses. And we'll find a way to exploit them."
    "Before you lose any more of your people?"
    "I don't know. I hope so."
    LeMott's eyes narrowed. "You haven't seen the end of this, have you? No vision of how it all turns out? You and your wife?"
    "No. We haven't."
    "But you won't let that stop you."
    "No."
    The senator conjured another smile, just as faint as before, and this time there was a hard, flat shine to his eyes. "I could hardly ask for more than that, could I?"
    Bishop was silent.
    "I trust you'll keep me advised, Agent Bishop. I do appreciate that courtesy." LeMott didn't rise or offer his hand, but it was clear nevertheless that the meeting was over.
    "Of course, Senator."
    Bishop didn't wait to be shown out; after so many months, he knew his way and as always took the less-public exit that bypassed both the senator's secretary and his assistant. The door led to a short, infrequently traveled hallway, which in turn led to a wider, brighter, much busier space. People passed in both directions, some carrying briefcases or folders, many talking on cell phones, and all wearing preoccupied expressions.
    A tall, gorgeous brunette with electric-blue eyes stood half screened from many of those passing her by a big plant on a pedestal, and as Bishop emerged into the busy hallway he saw her open the I.D. folder she was holding in one hand and flash her badge in the face of an obviously crestfallen young man. The admirer took two steps back, saw Bishop approaching, and managed a weak smile before continuing hastily on his way.
    "I never know if it's the badge or the wedding ring," Miranda said thoughtfully as Bishop joined her.
    "Combo," Bishop told her. "You always hold the badge in your left hand, so they see both."
    "Ah. Well, as long as it discourages them. Do you have any idea just how many married men in this building are looking for a little action?"
    "I think I'd rather not know." Bishop took her hand, and they joined the flow of traffic moving toward one of the main exits. "I take comfort in the sure knowledge that my very hot wife is not only disinterested and able to read minds but is also a black belt and a sharpshooter."
    "That would probably give them pause."
    "If they're thinking with any body part north of their belts, yes."
    "One can only hope. This is a government building."
    Both their voices had been a little amused and wholly casual, and anyone not also telepathic couldn't have imagined that a much more important and far more grim conversation had also just taken place.
    How far do you think he's gone?
    God knows.
    You couldn't read him?
    I couldn't read him quite well enough to get details -- and it's getting more difficult to read him at all. He avoids even shaking hands with me now, and I don't think it's because he's pissed at the lack of progress. But given his history, his background, and the emotions driving him right now, my guess is that the senator's gone as