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think?” Alex asked as he pulled out of Esposito's drive onto PCH.
    “I
don't know. I didn't buy that crap about him mourning his father’s passing. Guy
like that probably didn't give a dog fart about his old man. When daddy's dead,
he takes over the family business. That's what he'd be interested in. He's
probably glad Monica shot his father.”
    “If
that's the case,” Alex said, “why would he take Monica? Our working hypothesis
has been that Monica was taken as a form of retaliation. If he's happy that she
killed his father, why retaliate?”
    “I
don't know. All I know is I don't like him and I'd like to wring his neck.”
    “Sure. Me, too. But that won't get Monica back.”
    “I
know. That's why he's still alive.”
    Just
then my phone rang.
    “Jake,
Vince. Got the files for you.”
    “That
was fast.”
    “Like
I said, she's a friend.”
    “Must
a good friend. You should hang on to her.”
    “I'm
thinking about it.”
    “When
can I come and get them?”
    “Any
time,” Vince said. “How about dinner time today?”
    “Where
do you want to meet?”
    “Idle
Spurs Steakhouse, in Barstow. Old Highway 58. Six
o’clock.”
    “See
you then.”
    Alex
looked at me.
    “Got
all of Monica's old army case files,” I said. “Picking them up tonight at six.”
    He
smiled and shook his head. “How'd you manage that?”
    “Old
army buddy.”
    “But
you weren't in the army.”
    I
explained about the joint operations Vince and I were involved in.
    “So
Jessie in the DEA and Vince in the Army ... You may have as many sources as I
have,” Alex said.
    “Nothing
better than friends in the right places,” I said.
    We
decided to stop at Gladstone's for lunch. I ordered a cheeseburger; Alex
ordered a chicken wrap. Seventeen bucks each. Drinks were extra. Since the FBI
was paying, I didn't mind.
    Our
drinks came. We sat quietly for a few minutes. I was angry and I was
frightened. I'd find her. I was certain of it. But in what
condition? That depended on who had her and why he'd taken her. I was
struggling to remain detached and logical, as I needed to be, instead of giving
in to rage and desperation. But I felt like I was losing the battle. I'd never
felt so vulnerable before, so helpless. When Elaine was killed, I'd felt
responsible, guilty, angry . But I could not remember
ever feeling so helpless. Not even in battle. Someone had the woman I loved,
and I had no idea who or where or even why. When I thought about the
hopelessness of the situation, I wanted to lash out, to make something happen.
But I didn't know who to lash out against. My pent up rage was burning me up
inside.
    “Would
it help to talk about it?” Alex asked.
    My
eyes met his. I took in a deep breath.
    “I
don't know.”
    “It
might,” he said.
    I
looked at him. I didn't know what to say, where to begin.
    “You
love her, don't you?” Alex said.
    I
nodded. “Yes.”
    “I
think you've loved her a long time. You just didn't know it. Or you couldn't
admit it because of your feelings for Elaine.”
    I
still didn't know what to say. Emotions charged through me like massive amounts
of electrical voltage permeating every fiber of my being.
    “Learning
the truth about Elaine,” Alex said, “regardless of how painful it was, was
probably the best thing that ever happened to you. The truth set you free, made
it possible for you to love again.”
    He
was right. Everything he was saying was right.
    “And
just as you allowed yourself to feel love again, just as you opened yourself up
to someone who really loved you, she was ripped out of your life. And you feel
like if you can't get her back, you'll explode.”
    I
nodded, struggling with the emotion of it all.
    Alex
paused a moment to drink some of his Coke. Then he said, “You know, when I
asked if it would be helpful to talk about it, I was thinking you might
actually do some of the talking.”
    I
started to reply. But as I did the emotion surged upward and I realized that
holding it in, containing