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other. He hopes she says yes. For the first time, he wants so badly for her to say yes.
    "What do you think?"

    He doesn't answer at first. He
    continues to stare at her. She stares back.
    Finally, he says, "I know who Maxine was."
    "I'm sure you do."
    "She wasn't simply your client. She'd been your father's mistress."
    "Yes."
    "A very expensive mistress. You thought she was the reason the mob put out a hit on your father. That she was the reason your parents and sister were executed."
    Her jaw clenches but she doesn't avert her eyes. "Know. I know she was the reason my parents and sister were executed."
    When she reaches with her right hand for the small pewter creamer, her sleeve rises up her arm and he startles to see an angry scar on her inside wrist. She notices his reaction but doesn't say anything.
    "Where have you been? If you're innocent, why did you run?"
    She shakes her head in disgust. "You, of all people, are asking me such a question?" Her eyes become glassy but he's prepped himself for that. "Since when did innocence inoculate a person from being convicted?"
    "They dropped the charges against you, remember?" he answers sarcastically.
    "Oh, please, spare me, Jack." She stirs cream into her cup too forcefully; the spoon clinks loud against the sides.
    "Coming after me again wouldn't constitute double jeopardy unless I'd been tried. You know that. Dropping the charges doesn't mean a damn thing. I'm at risk of being charged now as much as I was the day she was murdered. Maybe more."
    "Well, taking off in the dark of the night doesn't lend much support to your claim of innocence."
    "Easy words from a prosecutor." She glares at him over the top of her cup.
    "Where have you been?"
    "Chicago. My brother's."
    "They looked there."
    She scoffs. "Not very well."
    She's right, of course. The feeble attempts to find her were all for show.
    Despite her professed fear of being charged again, they'd gotten one
    conviction already. Why muddy the waters?

    When the waitress reappears he
    realizes, as they talked, they have leaned closer to each other across the table. Old habits die hard. He sits back. She does the same, swiping underneath each eye with the heel of her palm. A strand of hair clings to her cheek and he resists the desire to touch it, to smooth it back in place. She orders oatmeal and sliced bananas, honey on the side. He orders a grapefruit but doubts he'll get even that down.
    Left alone once again, he asks, "So why'd you come back?"
    "There's something happening." He waits, and she adds, "I need your help."
    He grunts at that unintelligible
    response.
    She suddenly reaches across the table and her scarred hand covers his. "Jack, please." It happens so fast, like the kiss the night before, but somehow this feels more intimate. He starts to pull his hand away but she tightens her grip and he relents. "Please don't be like this."
    The words make him angry. "Do you have any idea the position you've put me in, just by being here? Just by showing up?"
    "Yes, I do, I—"
    "She gave me a second chance. I don't get any more, you know? Just being here, just being here . . ."
    She releases his hand and leans back, crosses her arms. "Yet knowing that, you're still here."

    He lays down the rules. He tells her he won't make any decisions until he knows everything, and if for one minute he thinks she's not being honest or telling him everything— everything —his answer will be "no."
    "You don't trust me?"
    "No, I don't." He answers quickly.
    She lowers her eyes, bites her bottom lip.
    "You will answer any question I ask you, and you will answer it truthfully.
    You will tell me everything I need to know, even if I don't ask first.
    Understand?"
    She nods.
    "Let's start again. Am I sitting across from a murderer?"
    "No."
    "Look me in the eye when you answer."
    She raises her head and he knows he could easily get lost in those eyes again.
    She knows it, too. "No."
    "Am I sitting across from an accomplice to a murderer?"
    This