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home. I want to have a serious conversation with that man. The FBI can have whatever’s left.” Abe paused, tasting the violence implicit in his words. “And if I can begin to settle the books between you and me at the same time, then so much the better.”
    “You blame yourself.”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “Is that why Lombard fired you? Because of Suzanne?”
    “It is.”
    “Was it your fault?”
    Abe sighed and glanced out the window. Gibson thought the man shrank ever so slightly. When Abe spoke it was quietly, his voice sorrowful.
    “A very good question. One that I’ve never answered to my satisfaction. Security is a results-oriented profession. My job was to protect Benjamin Lombard, but his family was part of that responsibility. In the simplest analysis, Suzanne vanished on my watch.”
    If he didn’t know better, Gibson might start to like the guy.
    “So why now? Why this sudden desire to dig it all up? Because of the anniversary?”
    “Take a ride back to the office with me and see for yourself.”
    “See what? What do you have?” Gibson tried to read it off of him, but the only clue was Abe’s confidence. Was it possible? Could Abe have something new on a case that had stymied law enforcement for a decade? What desperate long shot was Abe playing? Did it matter? If there were only a 1 percent chance of finding Suzanne, Gibson knew he was in. It wasn’t even a question.
    Abe slid a thick envelope across the table. Gibson opened it and ran his thumb across the stack of money inside. He didn’t count it, but the bills were all hundreds.
    “What’s this?”
    “Either it’s an apology for interrupting your breakfast, or it’s a signing bonus. The choice is yours.”
    “A signing bonus?”
    “If you stay on and help, I’m offering twice your former salary plus another ten-thousand-dollar bonus if your work produces a substantial lead. Sound fair?”
    “More than.”
    “Good.” Abe slid out of the booth, gave the woman a nod, and left the Nighthawk Diner.
    Gibson didn’t see that he had any choice but to follow.

CHAPTER FIVE
    The motorcade knifed its way through downtown Phoenix like a warship crossing a concrete-and-metal ocean. More than a half block long, its bow was formed by a wedge of motorcycle police, sirens wailing as they plowed a path through the congested Friday-afternoon traffic. In its wake waited cars pulled hurriedly to the curb and pedestrians who stopped to gawk at the spectacle.
    Benjamin Lombard heard and saw none of it. He sat in the back of one of the limousines, always a different limousine, reviewing his schedule for the coming week. He was aware of his staff’s anticipation but took his time. He was accustomed to people waiting on his decision. Their time was, in point of fact, his time. Eventually, he made several minor corrections and thrust the itinerary back to one of his aides.
    He was tired and more than a little frustrated. Over the last twenty-five days, he’d watched Governor Anne Fleming eat further into his lead in the polls. What had begun as an amusing sideshow was becoming a real threat. A recent political cartoon depicted him as a hare sleeping under a tree while Fleming, the tortoise, passed him. He’d gone from the chosen one to the butt of jokes on late-night television. A year ago, the first-term governor from California hadn’t even been a name in the presidential conversation. Lombard had been such a heavy favorite that even major names in the party had chosen to sit out the election. And now he was running neck and neck with a novice. His advisers dismissed Fleming and believed she would fade, but he wasn’t so sure. So far she’d countered everything they’d thrown at her like an old pro and made him look foolish in the process. The big donors were starting to wake up to it. If she wasn’t neutralized now, the convention in Atlanta would be a dogfight.
    “Tell Douglass to scrub the Santa Fe leg,” Lombard said. “I want to go straight to