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slept on, a lifelong jailbird who coveted you. Staying alert was one way to stay alive. You developed a sixth sense. Mine was sending signals before I heard her voice—but the FBI suits and Mulholland blocked the door. Nowhere to run.
    The voice came from above, halfway up the curved staircase. Its steely sharp edge sliced down my spine. I never expected to hear it again. I certainly never expected to hear it here. I’d spent a decade and a half building a new life. It had its faults, but it was mine by design, and I was largely content with it. It took only an instant for her to cut it to shreds.
    “Rory? What’s going on? Who are these men? Rory! Are those handcuffs?”

 
    CHAPTER 4
    They teach you in spy school how to keep control, never show emotion, especially surprise, regardless of circumstance. I’d actually learned that lesson years before, playing cards with the urki scum in the Gulag, where losing the game could mean losing a pound of flesh—literally, of the winner’s choosing. I don’t think anyone saw the double, triple, or quadruple take I did as she came down the curved stairs. My head didn’t move. At least I don’t believe it did. Just my eyes—and my brain, which started vibrating as if plugged into an electric socket.
    Mulholland took a step in her direction, but two suited arms held him back. Bernie hurried across the hall instead.
    “Don’t worry, Felix. Everything’ll be fine. There’s been … There’s been a misunderstanding. It’s all going to be worked out.”
    “Misunderstanding? I’m not a fool, Bernie, don’t treat me like one. These men are police, aren’t they?”
    Bernie nodded as she brushed past until she was a few feet from the group of suits. She moved with purpose. She hadn’t seen me yet. I was out of her field of vision, standing by the library door.
    “I’d like to see some identification, please,” she said.
    The big man took a wallet with an ID card from his breast pocket and held it in front of her face.
    “What’s the charge against my husband?”
    “Mail fraud, wire fraud, securities fraud, obstruction, lying to federal officers in pursuit of an investigation. And money laundering. So far.”
    I could have been imagining things, but her face changed at the words “money laundering.” Something—surprise? fear?—passed through, and she all but stepped back as if shoved. Whatever it was vanished as quickly as it appeared.
    “Where are you taking him?” she said.
    “Downtown. Foley Square.”
    “What about bail?”
    “Not my department, ma’am. You’ll have to talk to the judge.”
    “Rory…”
    He took her hands in his. She wore two rings—a gold wedding band and a rock the size of an onion dome. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay, like Bernie says. I’ll be home for dinner.”
    “But…”
    “Bernie’s already got lawyers on the way. They’ll take care of everything.”
    “Let’s go, Mulholland,” the FBI man said. “People are waiting to talk to you.”
    Mulholland nodded and let go of his wife’s hands. She stood aside.
    The FBI man took a long look around the manor hall room. “Nice shack,” he said as he pushed Mulholland toward the elevator.
    I stayed in my spot, waiting for the inevitable, thinking I’d gladly change places with Mulholland if it got me out of here. She turned toward the library and froze when her eyes got around to me. Twenty-plus years hadn’t changed her at all.
    It’s a little-known fact, because it’s such a little-known country, but Lithuania produces way more than its share of the world’s most beautiful women. Polina was Exhibit A, maybe even more beautiful because she was a Russian-Lithuanian mix. Tall, blond, and slender in a pale violet sleeveless dress, tucked at the waist, that set off her eyes, which were deep indigo. Red lips that didn’t need the gloss she’d applied. Hair, cut to look like it hadn’t been touched, fell well below her shoulders. They were square, her back straight,