Asians, and now he?d popped a federal agent. Somebody would have to go down for it. Hugo? That was a laugh. Preacher? Jack would eat a Gatling gun before he?d allow anyone to take him into custody. Who did that leave?

The answer wasn?t one Bobby Lee liked to think about. The rest of the team consisted of him and Liam Eriksson, and Liam was already on Jack?s S-list for stealing the disability check and trying to cash it while he and his hooker girlfriend were drunk. Liam and Bobby Lee were basically working stiffs, making a score here and there, putting away a few bucks for a better life, waiting for the proper time to hang it up. They weren?t religious crazoids like Jack, or guys like Hugo who got off on capping people. For Liam and Bobby Lee, it was just a job. But working stiffs were disposable and replaceable. If anyone disagreed with that, he just needed to check out the audience at an ultimate-fighter match.

Bobby Lee remembered when he did his first hit, at age twenty, out on Alligator Alley between Fort Lauderdale and Naples, a five-thou whack on a Cuban who?d raped the daughter of a Mobbed-up guy from the Jersey Shore. At first Bobby Lee thought it might bother him to pop a guy he had nothing against, but it didn?t. He bought the hit a couple of drinks in Lauderdale, told him he had a fishing camp in the Glades, then showed him this big grassy bay in the moonlight and parked two .22 hollow-points, pow, pow, that fast, behind the guy?s ear, and suddenly the guy was facedown in the water, his arms outstretched, his suit coat puffed with air like he was studying the bottom of the bay, the night air throbbing with bullfrogs.

But what should Bobby Lee do now? Deep-six the brothers-in-arms stuff and blow Dodge on Preacher? That thought didn?t sit well, either. If Bobby Lee was to remain a pro back in Florida, where he planned to re-enroll at Miami-Dade, doing an occasional contract job when he needed money, he had to keep his reputation intact. Also, bailing out on Preacher was a good way to ensure a lifetime of looking over his shoulder.

Bobby Lee opened his cell phone again and hit the redial button.

?Where you been?? Preacher?s voice said.

?All over most of two counties.?

?Think about what you just said. It?s a contradiction in terms.?

?What??

?What did you find??

?Nothing. But I got an idea.?

?What do you mean, ?nothing???

?What I said. I couldn?t find a Siesta motel. That?s where the guy Junior Whatever said the girl and the soldier were staying.?

?Call me back on a landline.?

?Jack, the CIA isn?t following us around. They pull stuff out of the air when they?re after the rag heads.? Bobby Lee stopped, his frustration with Preacher building. He wanted to throw the cell phone down on the asphalt and stomp it into junk. ?You still pissed at Liam ?cause he tried to cash the soldier?s check??

?What do you think??

?I say give Liam a break. The guy?s out there, he?s trying.?

?Out where??

This time Bobby Lee ignored Preacher?s constant attempts to correct his language and somehow turn it against him. ?Look, I?ll call you back later. I?ve got a plan.?

?You?ve been wandering around on the border for two days. That?s a plan??

?You ever know a junkie who was farther than one day away??

?What?s your point??

?There?s no difference between a junkie and a drunk. A rat goes to its hole. The soldier is a juicer and drifts in and out of A.A., at least that?s the word. Hugo says he?s got a pink scar on his face as thick as an earthworm. I?ll find him. I guarantee it. I called the A.A. hotline and got an area schedule. You still there, Jack??

Had the service simply gone down, or had Preacher hung up? Bobby Lee hit the speed dial, but his call went immediately to voice mail. He closed and opened his eyes, the mountain in front of him like a dark volcanic cone cooling against the evening sun.

THERE WERE FEW twelve-step groups in the area, or at least few that met more often than once a week, and the following day Pete Flores felt he was lucky to hitch a ride to one called the Sundowners that met in a fundamentalist church thirty miles down the road from the motel where he and Vikki were staying. The church house was a white-frame building with a small false bell