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  The first time Jack had laid eyes on Rene, she was covered in dust, caught in the midst of the Senoufo country's equivalent of a sandstorm. It was hard not to be impressed by a Harvard Med School grad who had given up the financial rewards of private practice to be a one-doc operation in a clinic near the cocoa region of Cote d'lvoire. Many of her patients were young children escaping forced servitude on the plantations, mere innocents who had been snatched by kidnappers, lured away by liars, or sold into slavery by their own families for as little as fifteen dollars. Rene saw all that and more – malnutrition, AIDS, infant mortality, even genital mutilation among some migrant tribes. Perhaps it was a stretch, but Jack felt an immediate connection to Rene, having passed up offers himself from prestigious firms right out of law school to defend death-row inmates. For whatever reason, they hit it off. Really hit it off.

  Passion, however, was a tricky thing. On the emotional EKG, Jack and Rene resembled a couple of flat-liners with occasional bursts of tachycardia. She flew into Miami to see him every three months or so. Sometimes she didn't even tell Jack she was coming. Smart, funny, sexy, and spontaneous, she could have been everything Jack thought he wanted in a woman – except that she was hardly ever around. On one of these visits she was going to put away the passport and announce that she was moving to Miami. At least that was what Jack told himself. A little optimism kept him in the game.

  "Rene?" he whispered. She didn't move. He nudged her.

  "What?" she muttered.

  "Where's the remote?"

  Only one eye opened, which was a good thing. A two-eyed glare of that caliber would have killed him, for sure. She swung her arm around and jabbed the remote control into Jack's elbow.

  Jack punched the button, but nothing happened. "Damn it. How are you supposed to get this thing turned on?"

  "Talk dirty to it," she said into her pillow.

  "Thanks."

  "Go to hell."

  I love you, too, he started to say, but thought better of a joke like that. On her last visit, he'd used the three operative words in a serious way. Her response was not what he'd hoped for. It left him resolved never to say "I love you" again – unless followed by the word "too."

  Waves of colored light flickered across the bedroom as Jack channel-surfed. He skipped through the reruns and infomercials, pausing only for a moment at yet another forensic drama that looked like CSI: Mars, or some such remote geographic rip-off of the original hit series. At the bottom of the hour, a local news headline caught his eye. He raised the volume. This time, it worked.

  "No sound," said Rene.

  "It's still on mute."

  "Liar. I can hear it."

  "That's because you're dreaming. In real life, I'm perfect. Only in dreams am I a total pain in the ass."

  She was too tired to argue, or maybe it was his sense of humor that sent her back to sleep. Jack turned his attention to the television newscast. At such a low volume he could pick up only a few words here and there, but the image on screen was familiar. Jack had visited plenty of clients at the Turner Guilford Knight Correctional Center. A young and attractive reporter with ambition in her eyes and an Action News microphone in her hand was doing a live broadcast from outside the jail's main entrance. Helicopters circled in the night sky behind her, powerful white searchlights sweeping the landscape. Those definitely weren't media choppers.

  The words "Breaking News" and "Prison Escape" flashed in white letters against a bright red banner on the bottom of the screen.

  Jack glanced at Rene – still sleeping – and decided to risk a little added volume. With the press of a button, he immediately heard the excitement in the reporter's voice, catching her in mid-sentence.

  "-the second escape from TGK Correctional Center in the past twelve months, and the first ever from the second floor, which is reserved for convicted or suspected sex offenders. TGK is operated by the Miami-Dade Corrections and Rehabilitation Department, which countywide houses approximately seven thousand inmates in the nation's sixth-largest jail system. Last April, the department's director resigned after a police and fire task force found that jail buildings were severely outdated, officer training was poor, and 134 positions were unfilled. Department officials say that last night's escape occurred sometime after-"

  The air conditioner kicked on, and the hum completely drowned out the television. Jack increased the volume a few bars too many, which had Rene grumbling.

  "I'm going to kill you."

  "You can't. Hippocratic oath, remember?"

  "Sue me!" she said as she sprang to life like a lioness. A wrestling match ensued. Rene was on top, then Jack, then Rene. The sheets ended up on the floor, right beside the clothes that had fallen there four hours earlier. Jack was about to retake control of the situation when she grabbed him where it counted, the sparkle back in her eyes.

  Jack froze, raising his hands in playful surrender. "Put the gun down, Rene. Unless you intend to use it."

  She didn't let go. "I'm wide awake now, thanks to you. Come on. We have some serious catching up to do."

  "Slow down. We've got all week."

  She kissed him gently so lightly that it was difficult to tell whether she'd actually made contact – a kind of sensual ambiguity that Rene had perfected and that could drive Jack crazy Her lips drifted toward his ear as she whispered, "I have to fly back to Abidjan on Monday"

  This time, her words barely tugged at his heartstrings. "It's okay" he said flatly "I knew you did."

  IT WAS LAST CALL at Sparky's Tavern.

  Theo Knight made the announcement from behind the long, crowded bar. He was smiling widely, and with good reason. Sparky's was an old gas station that he'd converted into the last watering hole between the mainland and the Florida Keys. It was a true dive, but it was his dive. And business was better than ever. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before he could say good-bye to the bikers, the rednecks, and the electric slide and open Sparky's II, a true jazz bar in Coconut Grove. The mere thought blew his mind. Talk about beating the odds.

  Theo had never actually made it into the Grove Lords – stealing his own mother's purse didn't cut it – but life didn't offer many choices to the illegitimate son of a drug-addicted prostitute. The cops never did catch the guy who'd slit his mother's throat. The word on the street was that it was "some John who didn't think her blow job was worth the ten bucks." Theo and his older brother went to live with their mother's sister in Liberty City, one of Miami 's roughest hardscrabble neighborhoods. Aunt Teesha did her best to raise them, but with five children of her own, it wasn't easy. The Knight brothers were soon on every crime-watch list in the area, thanks mostly to Tatum, but Theo did his part too. He dropped out of high school, stuck his hand in the wrong cash register, and got tagged with the brutal murder of a convenience store clerk. At age fifteen he was the youngest inmate on Florida 's death row. The Grove Lords finally thought he rocked. Theo didn't find the irony amusing.

  Especially since he was innocent.

  "Hey look who's here," said one of his barmaids.

  Theo looked up from a sink full of cocktail glasses and saw Trina entering the bar. She was the closest he'd ever come to having a steady. He'd met her through his buddy Jack Swyteck, but only after circumstances had forced her to lay Jack out on the sidewalk with a martial arts kick. Almost immediately Theo knew he had to have this sexy brunette with the olive skin of a Latina supermodel and the mysterious accent of a Russian spy.

  Trina walked straight to the bar and took a seat on a stool opposite Theo. She wasn't smiling.

  "Hey baby" he said.

  "Don't call me baby."

  "You still mad at me? It ain't nice to hold a grudge."

  She laid her purse on the bar top and crossed her legs. She had great legs. Strong, too. She'd kicked him in the ass enough for him to know.

  "You bought me a bug for my birthday" she said.

  "It's not a bug. It's a roach brooch."

  "It was a live insect."


  "Bred by a jeweler who happens to be an etymological genius."

  "Ety-what?"

  "Etygomical."

  "See, you can't even say it twice. You have no idea what you're talking about."

  "The man is still a genius."

  "He's an idiot who glued diamond chips and sapphires onto a live cockroach and then figured out a way to attach it to a thin gold chain without killing it. You think I'm going to wear that thing around my neck and let a living, breathing insect crawl in and out of my cleavage?"

  Mere mention of her cleavage set Theo's mind to wandering, but he reeled himself in. "It's a one-of-a-kind piece"

  "Thank God for small favors."

  "Baby-"

  "I'm not your baby Stop calling me that."

  "Okay fine. You don't like the roach brooch. Let me make it up to you."

  "How?"

  "I don't know. You name it."

  She arched an eyebrow, obviously intrigued. "Do you mean that?"

  "Sure. It was your birthday, and I blew it. Tell me how I can make good."

  "Wow, that's really sweet of you. Anything I want?"

  "Yeah. But don't get crazy on me."

  She pondered it, then flashed a mischievous smile. "I know. This will be perfect. I want you to get…"

  "Get you what?"

  "No," she said coyly. "I don't think I should tell you tonight. I'll let you squirm a little. Like that cockroach you hung around my neck."

  "You're just not gonna let that go, are you?"

  She leaned across the bar, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him in for a kiss. "Keep your promise – anything I want – and we're square."

  "You know me. I'm a man of my word."

  "You'd better be. See you tomorrow."

  Theo enjoyed the view as she turned and walked toward the door with a little attitude, all for his benefit. Then in a raised voice he announced, "That's it, you scumbags. Bar's closed."

  A few groans rolled in from the crowd, but as soon as the bright lights went up, they scurried for the door like cockroaches – sans jewels.

  The time was 2:10 a.m. when the last patron found the parking lot. Theo and two of his employees stayed behind for clean up and closing. He took the cash drawer into the stockroom, locked the door, and set himself up at the card table with a cup of coffee, a calculator, and his ledger book. Numbers were not his strong suit, but he didn't mind math as long as it involved money. He was up to $216 in cash receipts when he heard a noise from behind a wall of stacked beer kegs.

  He put down the money and listened. Over the hum of the fluorescent lighting, he thought he heard breathing. Slowly, silently, he slid open the drawer. He always kept a loaded.38-caliber revolver in his desk, and he knew how to use it.

  The gun wasn't there.

  "Looking for this?"

  The voice had come from across the room. Theo looked up and froze. The man was leaning against the tower of beer kegs, showing Theo the business end of his own Smith amp; Wesson.

  "Be cool," said Theo. "Just take the money and go."

  The man was dressed like a bum – pants with grease stains around the pockets and holes in the knees, and an old shirt with frayed cuffs and buttons that didn't match. But his demeanor was oddly cool for a robbery. "Don't you recognize me?"

  "I ain't even seen your face, okay? No need to worry about me telling the cops what you look like. So grab the cash and get lost."

  "Dude, look at me. Don't you know who I am?"

  Theo let his eyes meet the gunman's, and recognition kicked in. Isaac?

  He flashed a big smile. "How you doin', my man?"

  Theo hadn't seen him in almost twenty years. He would have been happy to go another twenty. "How did you get in here?"

  "Come on, dude. It's me, Isaac. The leader of the Grove Lords."

  This was no overstatement. The Grove Lords had once ruled Miami – until every cop in the city made it a priority to land Isaac in prison. Theo searched his memory for old scores that Isaac might want to settle with him – anything that might explain his sudden reappearance after all this time.

  Theo said, "Let's talk about this, all right? Put my gun down."

  "Ain't your gun no more, bro'"

  "What do you want?" said Theo.

  "Can't I come see an old brotha'? Especially one as rich and famous as you?"

  "Cut the crap."

  "Serious, dude. The whole world knows about Theo Knight and Sparky's. Even the homeboys in the can."

  It wasn't exactly the clientele Theo was looking for. "That's where I thought you was. In jail."

  "You got that right" Isaac stepped out from around the tower of beer kegs. He was a good five inches shorter than Theo, but that still put him at almost six feet tall and solid muscle. He'd obviously made good use of the prison weight room. The clothes were definitely fresh off the back of a homeless person, though apparently not without a struggle. Theo noticed a fresh bloodstain on the left pants leg.

  "When did you get out?"

  "About six hours ago," said Isaac.

  "Your first night out of prison, and you got nothin' better to do than to stick a gun in my face?"

  "I guess you ain't seen the news yet tonight."

  "All I watch is ESPN when I'm working."

  "Too bad. You would have seen me all over the local stations, for sure. I bet I'm more famous than you now. Another kid from the 'hood makes good."

  "What did you do?"

  "Nothin'," said Isaac, smiling thinly. "Let's just say I had enough of those jerk-offs at TGK. I put myself on the early-release plan."

  Theo didn't share the smile. A fugitive in his stockroom wearing the dirty and bloody clothes he'd obviously stolen from a homeless guy as a disguise – it was the last thing he needed.

  "What do you want from me?" said Theo.

  Isaac's expression turned very serious. "I had the perfect plan, see? New clothes, fake ID, cash, car, gun – it was all supposed to be waiting for me at the 7-Eleven on Eighth Street when I busted out. That was the deal. I show up exactly on time, but it ain't there. I got screwed, bro'!"

  Theo glanced at the gun. "I got nothin' to do with that."

  "I ain't blamin' you," he said, his voice calming. "But you know Isaac Reems. He always got hisself a plan B."

  "Should have just robbed the 7-Eleven. That seems about your speed."

  "You think you're the only one who's moved up in the world? The small time is way behind me. And even if it wasn't, I did my homework behind bars. A guy busts out of prison, the first thing cops watch is recent crime reports – stolen guns, cash, cars. Crimes like that leave a trail. I can't be leavin' no trails. So I asks myself: how can I get my hands on everything I need and be sure the cops don't find out about it? Then it hits me. I'll go see Theo Knight. I know he won't report it."

  "You should have called a friend."

  "Fugitives ain't got friends. You know how they caught the last dude who escaped from prison in Florida? His own momma turned him in."

  "I don't want no part of this."

  Isaac tipped the gun for emphasis. "It ain't exactly a choice."

  "You think I'm still some teenage punk who wants into your gang?

  "Uh-uh. You ain't no gangster, my main man, my brotha'. You ain't nothin' to me. You's just Theo Knight – Mr. Respectable Member of the Community. Which is exactly why you can't report this gun stolen. Or the money. You can't even call the cops and tell 'em I was here."

  "You don't know me no more," said Theo.

  All trace of a smile vanished. "I know this much, bro'. If I get caught, I'm gonna say it was you who helped me escape from TGK. We had a nice little understanding, you and me. The two of us met up after hours in your bar. You gave me money, a gun. Then you tried to change our deal and pinch me for way more than your help was worth. I said 'Eat me' and left. That's when you lost your cool and called the cops on me."

  Theo didn't respond.

  Smugness was all over Isaac's face. "You know they'll believe
me. You like to think you're a new man. You keep your nose clean now that you're outta prison, got yourself a fine tavern. But to the cops, you're still just a homeboy from the 'hood who's stupid enough to help his old buddy Isaac blow the joint and skip town."

  Theo glared, but he didn't argue. Four years on death row for a crime he didn't commit made it tough to trust cops, and Isaac was smart enough to exploit that. "Just take what you want and go," said Theo.

  He pointed with the gun. "The cash. All of it."

  Theo scooped it up and started toward Isaac.

  "Just leave it right there on the edge of the desk," said Isaac. "Then back your ass up against the wall."

  Theo complied. Isaac stepped forward, took the cash, and stuffed it into his pocket. "Got more bullets?"

  "Uh-uh," said Theo.

  Isaac rifled through the other desk drawers, found the extra ammunition, and filled his other pocket. "You never was the liar your brother Tatum was. Now, where's the car keys?"

  Theo pointed with a nod toward the hook on the wall.

  Isaac said, "On second thought, I'll leave 'em right there."

  "Suit yourself."

  "Be nice to have wheels. And I'm pretty sure you ain't gonna call the cops. But if you get weak on me and dial 911, that's too easy a mark, me drivin' around in your car."

  Theo watched as he started toward the door. Isaac opened it, then stopped in the open doorway. "For what it's worth, that was a shitty thing that happened to your momma. Even shittier that they never caught the guy who done it."

  Theo didn't answer. He simply wanted to strangle him.

  Isaac said, "See you around, Mr. Respectable."

  He closed the door quietly, the sound of his footsteps fading into the night.

  Chapter 2

  Theo drove home alone and angry. Really angry. There were two things you just didn't talk about with Theo Knight.