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She held up her hand.

Try it again, Matty: Mouth shut!

“I’m not finished. Matt, I never thought I’d say this, but I want you to go back to work. Not for strangers—for Maggie. Find her. But for God’s sake”—she paused and placed his left palm on her dress over her belly—“and especially for ours, promise me that you will be careful.”

Her belly rose and fell with her breaths. He felt its warmth through the soft linen fabric. He looked in her eyes as she squeezed his hand.

Tears were wellin

g as she whispered, “Now the fun begins.”

He leaned in, put his arms around her, and kissed her on the lips softly and slowly.

They had not finished when her phone began ringing. It wasn’t until the fourth ring that she pulled back and glanced at its screen.

Then she handed the phone to him.

“Answer it,” she said, wiping a tear from her cheek.

“Who . . . ?”

Matt took it and saw that the caller ID read: MRS. MCCAIN.

She knew this was coming. . . .

Matt cleared his throat, then spoke into Amanda’s phone: “Mrs. McCain? Hello, this is—”

A male’s stern, gravelly voice cut him off.

“Hello? Who is this?” he demanded. “Matt? Matt Payne?”

Matt looked at Amanda. She was watching intently.

“Yes, sir. Matt Payne speaking.”

“Will McCain here,” he went on, his tone impatient. “Listen, it’s been one long, hellish day. I’ll cut right to the chase. I want you to find my girl and get to the bottom of whatever the hell is going on. I’m not getting the answers in the manner I’m accustomed. I was about to hire the best private detectives my people could find. Then I overheard my wife speaking with Amanda tonight, and she mentioned your name. When can you get here?”

Matt was quiet for a moment.

How can I possibly do this outside of the department? Without its resources, I’m at a huge disadvantage.

“Matt? You there? Hello? Hello? Damn these phones!”

“Yes, sir, Mr. McCain. I’m here. I would do whatever I possibly could to help. But please understand that right now there are limits as to what I’m able to do. For one, I’m in Florida—”

“Not a problem.”

“Yes, sir, I agree that’s minor. But there’s more. I’m assigned to the Homicide Unit, and I’ve been taken off the job—”

“I understand that you’re on leave. I just talked to Jerry about that. If he doesn’t have you put on this . . . this situation . . . I told him that I’ll hire you privately.”

No surprise he has a direct line to the mayor.

That’s the way it works at that level. Call in a favor or a contribution—or, if necessary, a threat.

“Sir, as I’m sure Mayor Carlucci could tell you, there are very capable men, detectives with far more experience than I have, who can do a better job—”

“Matt, I’m not one for false modesty,” McCain replied sharply. “Particularly right now, when I need results. Everyone knows you’re not one who’s afraid to get his hands dirty and get the job done. There’s a reason that O’Hara character called you the Wyatt Earp of the Main Line years ago and it stuck.”