“I waived my right to council,” she said, not looking at him.

“Cripes! Aren’t you taking this throw-the-book-at-me-bullshit a little too far?”

She didn’t answer him and, disgusted, he quit bugging her.

When they reached the correct floor, there was no one sitting at the secretary’s desk, but a man popped out of the small adjoining office and approached them, hand out. “Hi,” said the guy who was going to clap his Kara in chains for the next thirty years. “I’m Tom Wechter.”

Tom Wechter was the youngest D.A. in the history of the tri-state area. The state was proud of him, with good reason. He had an astonishing conviction rate and was boyishly handsome, with dark blonde hair cropped short, an athletic frame, a firm handshake. Jared hated him on sight.

He shook their hands. “Why don’t we go into my office and have a seat?”

They wordlessly followed him in. He shut the door behind them and the sound reminded Jared of a closing casket.

“Well,” Wechter said, sitting behind his desk. His suit jacket was hanging over the back of his desk chair; his sleeves were rolled up, exposing smooth forearms lightly sprinkled with blonde hair. His tie was a nightmare—dark green with orange dots. Like a car accident, Jared had trouble looking away from it.

“First things first. Dr. Dean, your name is not unknown to me. You made quite an impression on the desk sergeant…Officer Ristau.”

“Ah, Officer Ristau,” he said fondly, ignoring Kara’s raised eyebrow.

“And Ms. Jones, you’ve also got some fans in the police department. It was suggested to me by several detectives—many who had worked the Freibur case—that I cut you a deal…reduced sentencing in return for your testimony against Anthony Edis Carlotti.”

“Edis?” Jared couldn’t help asking.

Wechter never blinked. “Family name. However,” he continued, “we’ve had an undercover cop in Carlotti’s gang for some time. The officer in question—who had a hell of a headache last night, thanks to you, Ms. Jones—”

Kara moved her foot on top of Jared’s and pressed, hard. Jared gritted his teeth and remained silent.

“—has, in the past thirteen months, gathered so much evidence of murder, assault, prostitution, fraud, rape and blackmail—most of it on tape, no less—that Carlotti and his associates have been advised by counsel to plead man one—”

“Manslaughter in the first degree,” Kara muttered to Jared.

"Hey, I watch Law and Order ."

“—and, it must be said," Wechter-the-robot continued, "Carlotti practically ruptured something agreeing to a plea. So that takes care of him.”

“So…” Jared hoped he hadn’t guessed correctly. “You don’t need Kara’s testimony?”

“No. The better news, Dr. Dean, is because Carlotti has been jailed for reasons that have nothing to do with you, there’s no longer a hit on your life.”

“Goody,” he said dryly. “But Kara is still screwed, right?”

“That’s not a legal term I’m familiar with.”

Jared stared. The guy was either the biggest stiff in the world, or just dim.

“The Avenging Angel,” Wechter said after a short silence. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time.

I’ve dreamed of getting you in this office.”

“I know,” Kara said quietly. Her expression was serene, almost bored. Jared swelled with pride. Her life was shattering, imploding, but to look at Kara you might have thought she was waiting for a bus. Or thinking about stealing one. “I’ve been trying to keep out of your way.”

“You’ve been at this for years, haven’t you? The vigilante stuff?”

Kara opened her mouth, but Jared cut her off. “You don’t have to answer that, Kara.”

“It’s a little late to play coy now, Dr. Dean. Haven’t you?” he asked Kara.

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“How long have I been breaking the law, or how long have I been pulling jobs like the Freibur house?”

“At least fifteen years, I’d say.”

Kara nodded.

“Well.”

Another silence. Jared was ready to scream from the tension. Not that Wechter or Kara were exhibiting any. That was all right. He was sweating enough for all three of them.

“Well,” Wechter said again. “I have a sister.”

Kara made a polite noise. Jared considered putting his fist through a wall and bellowing something along the lines of, Can we just get on with it ?.

“Yes,” Wechter continued. “She ran into some trouble a few years ago, when she was a freshman in college, when I was the ADA for this county. She believed a new gentleman friend when he said he was a nice guy, followed him out the back door of the restaurant, went for a walk with him in the park. Ran into three of his friends,” Wechter continued coolly, as if reading a weather report.

“They were having a surprise party and she was the guest of honor.” He had started tapping his fingers on the desk, the only sign of stress Jared had been able to find in the man. Tap-tap. “So she fought and cried and screamed and of course no one came to her aid. At first.”

Tap-tap. “And about when the first one, the one who’d lured her to the park, was getting ready to take my sister’s virginity, someone kicked him in the side of the head hard enough to tumble him off my sister.”

Tap-tap. “And when my sister sat up, she saw that not only was her would-be rapist badly hurt, unconscious, but all of his friends were, too. And the only person still standing was a blonde girl about her age. Dressed in dark clothing.”

Tap-tap. “So this woman—this girl, really—helps my sister to her feet, asks if she needs to go to the E.R. My sisters says no, thank you. The girl relieves all four men of their wallets. Hands my sister their drivers’ licenses. Presses something else into my sister’s hand, something cold and hard. The girl wishes my sister a pleasant evening and leaves.”

Tap-tap. “And my sister gets all the way home before thinking to look at what’s in her hand. It’s an enormous diamond ring. Prominently listed, I noticed the next morning, on the police report and worth close to a million dollars. Not that the robbery victim was going to see it again, or any insurance money…he was busy explaining to the vice department why he had so many snuff films in his basement, not to mention the equipment for making same.”

Tap-tap. “Isn’t that a nice story?”

“I love happy endings,” Kara said obediently.

Jared tried to speak, but his mouth was still hanging open. He was trying to process everything he had just heard…Kara had saved this man’s sister? That’s why the D.A. had been pursuing her for so long and so hard? But what did it all mean?

“Luckily I am a man who reveres the honor of his profession above all else,” Wechter said with a completely straight face. “Even if the girl in the story had been you, Ms. Jones—and what are the chances?—your past deeds can have no bearing on my duty as an officer of the court.”

“What?” Jared practically screamed.

“Of course not,” Kara said, with a frown in Jared’s direction. “Please allow me to save you some trouble. I will plead guilty to whatever charges you wish to bring.”

The D.A. sighed. “Unfortunately, from an administrative standpoint, it’s just not feasible.”

Jared was having trouble keeping up. “What’s not feasible?”

“Prosecution. I don’t think I can get a conviction.”

“Damn right!”

“Shut up , Jared. Mr. Wechter, I’ve—I’ll tell you everything you need to—”

“Who will press charges? The pedophiles? The child pornography merchants? Every house you burgled, every con man you swindled, most of those people are still in prison. But just suppose, for the sake of argument, this office was able to bring charges against you, was able to convince a grand jury that you deserved to be held over for trial. I’m sure Dr. Dean could find someone to say you’re unfit for trial.”

“Damn right!” he said again, louder. This was something he’d never thought of. But hell, his med school roommate was an up-and-coming guy at Bethesda Psych. And wasn't one of his ex-girlfriends just named Chief Resident at Beth Israel’s Psychology Department?

“That’s…very generous,” Kara said after a long moment. “But I was arrested last night. My fingerprints were taken, I gave a statement and signed my name to it. It’s not that easy to disappear into the cracks.”

“Certainly not in a bureaucracy,” Wechter said dryly. “Why, we’re able to keep track of every little thing around here. Also, your fingerprints didn’t take.”

“What?” Jared and Kara said in puzzled unison.

“Your fingerprints. We’re on a new system now, it’s all done by computer—you noticed you didn’t get any ink on your fingers? Well, in theory, the fingerprints go right to the computer. Except…” Wechter shrugged. “There was a glitch. We can’t find your file.”

“And the police report?”

“Regrettably, the detectives who took your statement can’t find it. They can’t even remember your name. Or what you look like. Isn’t that the oddest thing, Ms. Smith?”

“Jones.”

Wechter shrugged.

Silence, while Kara and Jared digested this. Jared thought—it almost sounded like—it seemed as if the D.A. and detectives were using their influence to let Kara go. But that couldn’t be true…this wasn’t the movies. Bad things happened to good people. As a doctor, he saw it every day.

“Mr. Wechter,” Kara said quietly, “I’m more grateful for these—”

“Bureaucratic foul-ups.”

“—than I can say. But it’s time for me to face the music, so to speak. I can’t keep running. Frankly, I’m glad to be done with it.”