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to go from sugar to shit. No matter what time it was, someone
     would answer this number.
    This is Archer Donovan, he said. Put me through to someone who can get me to Broome,
     Australia, no later than noon tomorrow. Shave every minute you can.
    Noon U.S or Australian time? asked a womans voice. Australian. Where are you now? Seattle.
    Thank you. One moment, please.
    It was more than one moment, but at least he was spared any canned music. He waited
     quietly, not showing the urgency riding him or the adrenaline licking in his blood, called
     by the fear that even Hannah s smoky voice couldnt conceal. He simply held the phone and
     made a list of things that had to be done before he landed in Australia. Some could be
     handled from the plane. The important things couldnt.
    Kyle Donovan was in for a rude awakening.
    Thank you for waiting, said a mans voice. None of the Donovan International aircraft can
     get you from Seattle to Australia in your time frame. We have chartered a jet from Boeing
     Field to Hawaii. A company jet will meet you there. Our files show that your Australian
     visa is up-to-date.
    Archers passport was never mentioned. People in Donovan International would sooner take up
     nude ice-climbing than let their passport lapse.
    Are you at the Donovan family suite in Seattle? the man asked.
    Yes.
    A car will pick you up in half an hour. A rental car has been reserved in Broome. Will
     there be anything else?
    Not at the moment. Good work.
    Thats what you pay me for, mate, the man said, allowing his native Australia to color his
     voice for the first time.
    Archer hit the disconnect and headed for the door that led to the family areas of the
     Donovan suites. Kyle and Lianne were in town to celebrate Donald Donovans birthday. Jake
     and Honor were due in this afternoon. Archer regretted missing his sister and her husband,
     but not as much as he regretted having to tell The Donovan that Len McGarry was dead.
     Happy Birthday, Dad. And by the way, the son who hated you is dead.
    Grimfaced, Archer started knocking on the door to Kyles suite. Moments later, it opened.
     The person who opened the door wasnt Kyle, who wouldnt get out of bed before nine oclock
     for anything but a dawn salmon-fishing raid. His wife, however, didnt need a kick-start to
     get going. Mussed with sleep, wearing a navy mans T-shirt that came to her knees, six
     months pregnant with twins, looking like a grumpy Munchkin, Lianne stood in the open door.
     One look at Archers face had her wide-awake.
    Whats wrong? she asked quickly. Is
    Its nothing you need to worry about, he cut in quickly. Everyone you love is just fine.
     Get your husbands lazy ass out of bed. I need him.
    Its four-fifteen!
    I know what time it is. Get Kyle or let me do it. With an effort, Archer gentled his
     voice. Its all right, Lianne. I just need his computer magic right now. Ill be in the
     kitchen making coffee. Or do you want me to wrestle him out of bed for you?
    Any bed-wrestling Kyle does will be with me. Make enough coffee for three.
    The door closed before Archer could thank his sister-in-law, or even pat the taut mound of
     her stomach where another generation of Donovans was doing lazy backflips.
    By the time Archer had coffee and Canadian bacon made, Kyle wandered into the kitchen
     wearing navy shorts and a hairy chest. Archer handed his youngest brother a mug of
     well-creamed coffee and
    turned back to the pancakes that were just beginning to firm on the griddle. With Kyle,
     there was no point in trying to talk until the first cup of coffee and sometimes the
     second or third had burned through the morning fog that passed for his brain.
    Lianne was more alert. She was still wearing Kyles T-shirt, the one that celebrated the
     hazards of men who went fly-fishing naked. She pushed long, black hair out of her face,
     poured her own coffee, sugared it, and scooted in next to Kyle in the breakfast nook
     without saying a word