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“You really did this to test me. You son of a bitch.”

“Can I move now?”

I took my finger off the trigger and sat up on the floor. “Yeah, you can move.”

He eased back off the other side of the bed as I stood up on this one. “Did you see how fast you went for the gun? You knew where it was, you had the safety off and a round chambered, and you were looking for cover, and trying to target me.” Again there was that pride, like a teacher with a favorite student.

I looked across at him. “Don’t ever do anything like that again, Edward.”

“A threat?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No threat, just instinct. I came so close to putting a bullet through the bed and into you.”

“And while you were doing it, your conscience wasn’t bothering you. You weren’t thinking, ‘It’s Edward. I’m about to shoot my friend.’ ”

“No,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking anything but how to get the best shot possible before you had time to shoot me.” It didn’t make me happy to say it. It felt like I’d been mourning dead pieces of myself, and Edward’s little demonstration had confirmed the deaths. It made me sad, and a little depressed, and not happy with Edward.

“I knew a man once who was as good as you are,” Edward said. “He started second-guessing himself, worrying about whether he was a bad person. It got him killed. I don’t want to see you dead because you hesitated. If I have to bury you, then I want it to be because someone was just that good or that lucky.”

“I want to be cremated,” I said, “not buried.”

“Good little Christian, fallen Catholic, practicing Episcopalian, and you want to be cremated.”

“I don’t want anyone trying to raise me from the dead or stealing body parts for spells. Just burn it all, thanks.”

“Cremated. I’ll remember.”

“How about you, Edward? Where do you want the body shipped?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ll be dead, and I won’t care.”

“No family?”

“Just Donna and the kids.”

“They are not your family, Edward.”

“Maybe they will be.”

I put the safety on the Browning. “We don’t have time to discuss your love life and my moral crisis. Get out so I can get dressed.”

He had his hand on the door when he turned. “Speaking of love life, Richard Zeeman called.”

That got my attention. “What do you mean Richard called?”

“He seemed to know that something bad had happened to you. He was worried.”

“When did he call?”

“Earlier tonight.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“That he’d finally called Ronnie and had her track down Ted Forrester’s unlisted number. He seemed to think that you leaving a forwarding number with him would be a good idea.” His face was utterly blank, empty. Only his eyes held a faint hint of amusement.

So both the boys had finally grown frustrated at my silence. Richard had turned to my good friend, Ronnie, who happened to be a private investigator. Jean-Claude had taken a more direct route. But they’d both finally gotten hold of me on the same night. Would they compare notes?

“What did you tell Richard?” I laid the gun on the bed with the rest.

“That you were all right.” Edward was looking around the room. “Doctor Cunningham still not allowing you a phone in here?”

“Nope,” I said. I had managed to untie the back of the gown.

“Then how did Jean-Claude contact you?”

I stopped in mid-motion. The gown slid off one shoulder and I had to catch it with my hand. It caught me off guard and I’m never as good a liar on the spur of the moment. “I never said it was a phone call.”

“Then what was it?”

I shook my head. “Just go, Edward. The night’s not getting any younger.”

He just stood there, looking at me. His face had gone all cold and suspicious.

I got the bra in one hand and turned my back on him. I let the gown slide to my waist, leaned back against the bed to hold it in place, and slipped the bra on. There was no sound from behind me. I got the panties and slipped them on underneath the gown. I had the jeans halfway up my legs under the cover of the gown when I heard the door hush open and close.

I turned and found the doorway empty. I finished dressing.