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Luna got to her feet and padded over and intercepted him. He quickly knelt down and scratched her ears.

He stood and wanted to say “Good girl” but didn’t trust his voice not to break.

Matt, stepping into the hall, pulled the heavy oak front door shut. After he locked the dead bolt and removed the key, he could hear Amanda starting to sob.

Numb, he stared at the key.

He thought, It wasn’t long ago that she said hearing the sound of my key in the door made her think, Now the fun begins.

Now it’s causing exactly the opposite . . .

[ THREE ]

West Rittenhouse Square

Center City

Philadelphia

Thursday, January 5, 9 P.M.

Matt Payne, making a left off Walnut Street, had every intention on driving directly to his apartment. His mind spun, trying to put all that had happened in perspective. He realized the wine and whisky on an empty stomach had not exactly helped his thought process.

As he went past, he glanced at the enormous, century-old Romanesque façade of Holy Trinity Episcopal Church on the corner. Then the entrance to The Rittenhouse came into view.

“Oh, fuck it,” he said, and tugged the steering wheel. “That’s as sure a sign from God, if ever there was one.”

The Porsche made a fast right, its tires rumbling as it shot up the brick-paved drive.

“Welcome back, Mr. Payne,” a teenage valet said, holding open the door.

Payne, with some difficulty, climbed out of the car.

“How you doing, Ryan? How’s La Salle treating you?”

“School’s okay, thanks,” he said, then nodded toward the row of cars parked nearby. “You want me to leave it out, close, like usual?”

“Hell no! Don’t you know what happens to cars that get parked there?”

The valet’s eyebrows went up.

“Yeah,” Ryan said, “we all heard about that. I just remembered they said you were here when it happened. I heard that Melody said you were amazing.”

“Just lucky. Others were not so fortunate.”

The valet nodded, then moved to get in the driver’s seat.

“Ryan, are you familiar with Saint Timothy?”

“As in the Bible, sir?” he said, looking up.

“The good book indeed. Saint Timothy says, ‘Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach’s sake and thine often infirmities.’ You can confirm that next door, if you wish. Regardless, I’ll be in the Library Bar, trying to drink away any memory of this day and my ‘often infirmities.’ Then, at some point, I plan to walk—quite possibly, stagger—to my place around the corner.” He patted the roof of the 911. “Park this in a safe place. I’ll get it tomorrow. Do not under any circumstances allow me to have its key until then.”

The valet chuckled. “Yessir.”

“And, Ryan, despite the fact that I may drive it like I stole it, you may not.”

The valet, shaking his head, chuckled again as he closed the door.