Edge

clean.”
    Joanne shook her head. She may have continued to speak. I didn’t know. I was reading the rest of the documents duBois had sent, a third time now, just to make sure.
    They drooped in my hand.
    “My associate found something else,” I told them.
    “What?” Ryan wanted to know. He was absently massaging his game leg.
    “The answer—why Henry Loving’s been hired.” I looked up, toward Joanne.
    She froze. Her eyes regarded the sheets in my hand as if she were identifying the body of a loved one.
    In a low, grim voice, very different from her tone throughout the past few days, Joanne said to me, “It’s not a problem, Corte. It’s been looked into.”
    Maree stared at her sister. Ryan took in Joanne’s face, flushed, lips taut.
    He asked her, “What are you talking about?”
    I was the person who answered. “Henry Loving’s after your wife, not you.”

Chapter 44
    “ WHAT?” HE LAUGHED.
    An endless moment followed, during which no one spoke, no one moved. The only sound was the wind and the clatter of the automatic ice maker in the refrigerator.
    Shaking her head, Joanne walked to the window. I studied her cool eyes as a number of mysteries fell into place.
    Maree asked, “What do you mean, Corte? What does Jo have to do with this?”
    I didn’t answer.
    “Jo,” Maree snapped. “Jo! Say something. What’s he talking about?”
    “Well?” I asked her firmly. I needed answers and I needed them now.
    Again her voice steady and chill, she said, “I told you, Corte. It’s been looked into. There’s no problem. Forget it.”
    Ryan muttered, “Looked into?”
    She ignored him and spoke to me. “Don’t you think it was the first thing that occurred to me? As soon as I heard there was a possibility of a lifter, the minute I heard, I made the call. There’ve been a dozen people looking into it. They’ve found nothing. Not a thing.”
    “Henry Loving only works for people who make it very, very difficult to find out anything about them.”
    She answered calmly, “And the people I’m talking about are very, very good too.”
    “Jo, what is this?” her husband said, mystified.
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked her.
    Her face was a mask of disgust.
    “Why?” I repeated.
    “I am not allowed to tell you,” she said in a raw tone.
    “Somebody answer my fucking question,” Ryan snapped. His perplexed humor had evaporated.
    “Honey . . . Ry, I’m so sorry. I just can’t. It’s very complicated.”
    “Uncomplicate it. No bullshit. Tell me.”
    Joanne asked, “Can I see what you have?”
    I handed the pages to her. Her first reaction was professional. Squinting, she skimmed through the printouts, the header on each, “Top Secret,” a cliché, yet in fact the highest document security classification that the U.S. government uses.
    A nod. “How did you get into these servers?” She shook her head. “Never mind, never mind . . .” A sigh. “I suppose I knew from the beginning that it would come to this.”
    I said to her sister and husband, “It looks like someone from Joanne’s past is responsible for hiring Henry Loving.”
    Maree said, “You mean, like a boyfriend or something?” Thinking of our prior conversation, on the ledge, I imagined.
    I glanced toward Joanne, giving her the option to talk. I sensed she was ready to surrender. Notears—that in fact had been another clue to the truth I’d missed. I can count on my principals to cry at least a few times, especially after an assault. But not Joanne. I realized now that her expressions and demeanor of the past few days—the numbness, the blank gaze—weren’t because the sheltered housewife with an abhorrence of violence had fallen into this horrific, incomprehensible situation.
    She was simply unemotional because of her training or her nature. Probably both.
    Joanne said evenly to her husband and sister, “He’s talking about my job.”
    Maree said, “Your job? You crunched numbers for the Department of Transportation.”
    “No. I did work for the government. But it was with a different group.” She looked at me, grimacing. “I know how you figured it out. I mentioned Intelligence Assessment, right? I couldn’t believe I said it out loud. I was mad. I was emotional. I didn’t think you’d notice.”
    “That’s it.”
    They’re worried that somebody in national security—the CIA, the FBI, Intelligence Assessment—could identify who Allende’s with. . . .
    The government’s