“But what auction?” Dan winced from the pain of talking.

  “Set that aside for the moment. Tell me more about your business,” Cavanaugh said. “Is anything unusual or dramatic happening?”

  “Just that this year was fabulous for us. Enough that Ed Malone made an offer.”

  “Ed Malone? Offer?”

  “He’s the best broker I have. He wants to buy a share of the firm and open a branch office close to the beach.”

  “You seriously considered his proposal?” Jamie wanted to know.

  “Not much. I told him I liked things the way they are.”

  “Do you suppose he wanted a share strongly enough that he decided to put you on your back for a while?” Cavanaugh asked. “If business suffered, maybe he could buy a share of the firm for a lower amount.”

  “Ed?” Dan’s face was a mass of bruises, his look of astonishment giving him obvious pain. “Never in a million years. We get along perfectly.”

  “Tell us about the Baxters. Sarah told Jamie you were supposed to have dinner with them the day you were beaten.”

  “Yes,” Sarah agreed. “They watched our daughter while I went to try to find Dan. They’re close friends. They’d never do anything to hurt us.”

  “Because of the dinner invitation, they’d be the last people you’d suspect,” Cavanaugh said.

  “You know,” Dan said with effort, “I don’t like the way you think.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Cavanaugh said. “You’re tired and sore, and we’re badgering you with questions. We’ll talk about this later. Meanwhile, arrangements need to be made. Jamie and I have an assignment in Los Angeles tomorrow. Vince and Gwen go with us. But you need at least two protectors. Also, you need to tell your daughter’s school to take precautions while she’s there.”

  “Two protectors?” Sarah frowned.

  “Three would be better,” Jamie said.

  “We’d hire them?”

  “Jamie and I were happy to do this for free,” Cavanaugh said. “Vince and Gwen did it as a favor to us. But protectors who don’t know you would certainly expect to be paid.”

  “How much?”

  “A reasonable rate would be three hundred dollars a day.”

  “Times three? Per day?” Sarah looked surprised.

  “Good God, for how long?” Dan asked.

  “Until you’re recovered. Meanwhile, they’d teach you how to secure the house and to change your patterns and behavior when you’re outside. There’s an attitude we call Condition Orange, a basic alertness that helps you anticipate trouble. You should read Gavin de Becker’s The Gift of Fear. It teaches you to pay attention to your instincts when they warn you something’s wrong.”

  “The Gift of Fear?” Dan said. “Condition Orange? This is insane. You make it sound like we’re living in a war zone.”

  “Not far from the truth. The world’s a dangerous neighborhood,” Jamie said.

  Sarah studied her. “You’ve certainly changed.”

  “In any case, think about it while you rest,” Cavanaugh told Dan.

  “I don’t have time to rest.” Dan shifted in the bed, grimacing. “Not when I’m losing business. Sarah, get me my laptop. I need to see the new listings and—”

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

  “The alternative is to let Ed try to replace me. That’s how your friends have got me thinking.”

  “Sorry,” Cavanaugh said.

  Sarah brought Dan his laptop and helped him sit up. Groaning, he opened it and used the hand on his unbroken arm to turn on the computer and try to type commands.

  “We’ll let you do your work.” Cavanaugh and Jamie left the room with Sarah.

  “Please, close the door,” Dan said.

  Halfway down the stairs, Sarah halted. She thought about something, then glanced up toward the bedroom. “Excuse me for a minute.” She climbed the stairs and, without knocking, opened the door. After a motionless moment, she stepped inside and closed the door. The back of her neck was red.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Cavanaugh and Jamie looked at one another.

  “Something’s not what it seems,” Cavanaugh said. “Sarah seemed more appalled about the expense of hiring protectors than Dan was. Do they have money problems?”

  “Not if somebody’s trying to buy into Dan’s business and he keeps refusing.”

  “Something else bothers me. The police detective said Dan talked about an auction and a rose tattoo when he was unconscious, but Sarah never mentioned a word about that when we met her,” Cavanaugh said.

  “Auction.” Jamie thought about it. “What does that mean to you?”

  Cavanaugh shrugged. “Christie’s. Sotheby’s. Paintings. Statues.”

  “Sure. But. . .Maybe it’s because I used to be in the dotcom business. Christie’s and Sotheby’s aren’t what I immediately think of. They’re small compared to the most popular auction in the world,” Jamie told him.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll give you a hint. The auction’s on the Internet.”

  “eBay?”

  “Congratulations. You win a cigar.”

  “Couldn’t you make it chewing tobacco?”

  “As long as you don’t expect me to kiss you.” Jamie went into a study next to the living room and stared at a desktop computer. “You’re right. There’s more to this than we’re being told. Just out of the hospital, Dan was far too impatient to get on the Internet.” Jamie turned on the computer, tapped a few keys, and pointed toward a list that appeared on the left side of the screen. “These are the ten sites that this computer accesses the most.”

  “No eBay,” Cavanaugh said. “That hunch didn’t work out.”

  “But what’s this bod.com and e-bod? Let’s see if this computer and the one upstairs are networked. Yep.” Jamie tapped more keys. “Dan already signed off. Strange. He couldn’t wait to get on, and now he couldn’t wait to get off.” Jamie typed www.bod.com. A prompt asked for a password. When she clicked on the empty box, a program automatically supplied the password. “Whoever uses this site wants to save time.”

  The image that popped up made Jamie tilt her head, trying to look at it upside down. “Gosh.”

  “Double gosh,” Cavanaugh said.

  “I didn’t know that position was physically possible,” Jamie said.

  “Just goes to show, we never stop learning,” Cavanaugh said. “But I suspect they needed a chiropractor after doing it that way.”

  “A porn site,” Jamie said.

  “Chiropractor or not, would you mind if we tried that position?” Cavanaugh asked.

  “I have no idea where we’d find the harness.”

  “Can’t wait to see what e-bod is.” Cavanaugh pointed toward a directory at the top of the screen, where e-bod was one of the options.

  After Jamie clicked on it, the new page made them motionless.

  “An auction site,” Cavanaugh finally said.

  “Well, now we know where to get the harness. Also weird-shaped dildos, erotic creams, exotic vibrators, and inflatable dolls.”

  “Anatomically correct,” Cavanaugh said. “Hey, the bid for that one is only up to twenty dollars. At that price, it’s a steal. Maybe I should put in a bid and—”

  “Stick with the chewing tobacco.”

  A directory at the top of the screen included the word “services.”

  “I wonder where that leads,” Jamie said.

  When Jamie clicked on it and they read about the things that people were willing to be paid to do to one another, Cavanaugh said, “The road of lost souls.”

  “Seen enough?”

  “To last a lifetime.”

  As they returned to the living room, Sarah descended the stairs.

  “Hey, Sarah,” Cavanaugh said, “remember, at the hospital, I told you we might need to suspect what seemingly couldn’t be suspected?”

  Sarah frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “How long has Dan been addicted to computer pom?” Jamie asked.

  “What kind of question. . .”

  “Is that what he was looking at when you went back to the bedroom just now?” Cavanaugh asked. “Were you checking up on him? Even fresh out of the hospital after taking a beating, he couldn’t resist taking a peak. Is he that far gone?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Bod-dot-com and e-bod.”

  Sarah’s skin paled.

  “We all agreed Dan was kind and decent. A loving husband. An attentive father. Good-natured. Generous,” Cavanaugh said. “None of that’s incompatible with a porn addiction. He’s not hurting anybody, right? If he enjoys watching, what’s the big deal?”

  The room became silent.

  “Unless he gets more turned on by fantasy than reality,” Jamie said. “Then the expression ‘loving husband’ has limited application.”

  “Jamie, you’re supposed to be my friend.”

  “Why were you so concerned about the cost of the protectors? If you were worried about Dan, the price would’ve been cheap,” Jamie said. “Unless you knew who’d attacked him and why. Unless you were fairly confident the guy who did it wouldn’t return after the second attack.”

  “I think you hired the attacker,” Cavanaugh said. “You used the auction directory of the porn site Dan’s most addicted to. Poetic justice.”

  Jamie stepped forward. “Did he stop having sex with you? Did he get all his satisfaction from the porn site?”

  “Jamie, really, I’m begging you as a friend. Leave this alone.”

  “Did you resent the way he ignored you? Did you plead with him to stop going to the site? Did you promise he could indulge all his fantasies on you, but even that didn’t tempt him to pay attention to you?”

  Arms trembling, Sarah hugged herself.

  “I’m sorry,” Jamie told her.

  “Damn him,” Sarah said, “he wouldn’t stop. I wanted to punish him. I wanted to put him in a position where he needed me, where he’d appreciate that I took care of him.”

  “The second attack?” Cavanaugh asked.

  “A mistake,” Sarah said. “I contacted the man and made sure he knows not to come back.”

  “That’s why the cost of the protectors bothered you. Because you knew they wouldn’t be needed.”

  Sarah’s knees bent. She eased onto a chair. “I don’t think I can bear going to prison. Being away from Meredith will kill me.”

  “We’re the only ones who know,” Cavanaugh said.

  Jamie looked at him in surprise.

  “Except for Dan,” Cavanaugh said. “Dan has to know.”

  “You mean you’re not going to tell the police about this?”

  “It seems to me there’s been enough suffering.”

  Sarah looked hopeless. “But you insist I tell Dan.”

  Cavanaugh nodded.

  “When he finds out, he’ll leave me.”

  “Possibly. But the way things were going, one of you would have left soon anyhow. So you’re not exactly losing anything.”

  “Do you still love him?” Jamie asked.

  “Yes, Lord help me.”

  “And maybe, despite everything, he still loves you.”

  “Do you seriously expect me to believe Dan will forgive me? That’s not going to happen.”

  “Perhaps if you can forgive him. There’s no denying this is a mess,” Jamie said. “But you won’t know if this marriage can be saved until the two of you face the truth.”

  “I feel nauseous.”

  “I know.” Jamie went over, crouched next to her, and held her hands.

  No one moved for several minutes. Finally, Sarah took a deep breath, freed her hands, and stood. “There’s no sense waiting to tell him. It only hurts worse.”

  Gripping the banister, Sarah slowly climbed the stairs.

  “The attacker,” Cavanaugh said.

  “He called himself an ‘attitude adjuster’.”

  “What’s the email address you used to get in touch with him?”

  Sarah paused at the top of the stairs. Her face was even paler.

  “Don’t worry. We won’t tell the police,” Cavanaugh said. “If we did, he’d implicate you. He wouldn’t be the only one going to prison.”

  “But he needs to feel responsible for his actions,” Jamie said. “He should do some soul searching the same as you and Dan are.”

  E-BOD

  I WILL ADJUST YOUR WAYS

  High bidder receives an attitude adjustment. I am strong and tough from years of outdoor work. If you win this auction. . .

  QUESTION TO SELLER

  I have been bad. Frightfully horribly bad. I have never felt so ashamed. I can’t eat or sleep because I feel so god-awful guilty. I need to be punished as soon as possible. Please. I’m begging you to adjust my. . .

  BARRY PUT ON his leather gloves. A refinement he was proud of, they protected his knuckles. At the same time, they guaranteed he wouldn’t leave fingerprints. I don’t why I didn’t get the idea earlier, he told himself. The gloves were shiny black. Their thin leather fit snugly on his hands. He loved their smell.

  Time to earn my pay, he thought.

  He was in San Francisco, another interesting city he had not visited until his auctions led him in new directions. Cable cars. Fisherman’s Wharf. The Golden Gate bridge. The cemetery where James Stewart followed Kim Novak in that spooky Hitchcock movie. There was certainly plenty to see, and the food was wonderful, especially at that fancy Italian restaurant Fleur d’Italia, the oldest Italian restaurant in the United States, it claimed, where the waiters wore tuxedos and the wood-paneled walls were dark with age. A little pricey, but adjusting attitudes was bringing in cash, especially when people pissed him off and he took their money after beating them senseless, making it look like a mugging. The world was purer by the day.

  Almost midnight. A thick fog came in off the bay. A ship’s horn blared. Barry was outside a warehouse. At a corner of the building, a light glowed faintly in an office. He peered past moisture condensing on the window. A man sat at a desk. His head down, the man sorted through documents. Crutches leaned against the wall behind him. Barry nodded. The man had sent him an email about a car accident in which his drunken driving had caused his Mercedes to veer toward a van full of high-school kids on their way to a party after their prom. Swerving to avoid him, the kids hit a concrete wall, the impact killing three of them. The man who caused it managed to drive home. Nobody witnessed the incident. Thus he avoided punishment, except for breaking his leg when he got out of his vehicle, drunkenly missed his step, and fell. That’s not enough punishment. I don’t want to go to prison, but I can’t bear feeling this guilty, his email said.

  You’ve come to the right person, Barry had replied. I will make you feel better.

  Now Barry tried the door. As promised, it wasn’t locked. He pulled it open, stepped into a dark corridor, and walked toward light seeping under a farther door. As promised, it wasn’t locked, either. Barry swung it open, revealing the grief-stricken man hunched over his desk.

  “You’ve been bad,” Barry said.

  “You have no idea,” the man murmured, his face down.

  “I’m here to adjust your attitude. You’ll be sore afterward, but I swear I’ll ease your conscience.”

  “Actually,” the man said, “I planned on doing some adjustments of my own.”

  “What?”

  The man looked up. His intense hazel eyes reflected some of the brown from the desk. His strong chin and forehead radiated the wrath of hell.

  “I think I’m in the wrong place.” Turning, Barry faltered at the sight of a gorgeous woman with searing green eyes and a pit bull on a leash.

  “No, you’re definitely in the right place,” the woman said.

  A noise made Barry pivot toward the man. The noise came from the chair scraping as the man stood and grabbed one of the crutches from the wall.

  “Wait,” Barry said.

  “Why?” The man held the crutch as if it were a baseball bat.

  “There’s a mistake,” Barry said.

  “What’ll it take to convince you the only attitude in need of adjustment is yours?” the man asked.

  “Uh,” was all Barry managed to say.

  “We’ll keep track of you,” the man said. “Believe me, we know how. If you ever harm anyone again, we’ll come back.”

  The man swung the crutch with all his might. It slammed across the desk. With an ear-torturing crack, it split apart, one end flying across the roof, crashing against a cabinet.

  “Uh,” Barry said. Feeling something wet on his legs, he realized that his bladder had let go.

  Growling, the dog bared its teeth as the woman urged it forward. Barry stumbled back and tripped over a chair, crashing into a corner. The man whacked the broken crutch against the wall above Barry’s head. The impact sent plaster flying. It was so loud it made Barry’s ears ring. The dog growled nearer.

  A ROAD-REPAIR CREW. A man holds a pole with a sign at the top. SLOW, it says on one side, STOP, it says on the other. The man holds it listlessly. Tall and scarecrow lanky, he looks even more weary than his dawn-to-dusk workday would explain. His cheeks are sunken. His shoulders sag. A chill November wind blows dust across his face. His coat and yellow vest hang on him. Cars speed past, ignoring the SLOW sign, almost hitting him.

  You’ve seen countless versions of him without ever paying attention. As snow starts to fall, he looks so pathetic that you actually give him a sorrowful look. What kind of dismal life does he have? What on earth is he thinking?

  Is that them in that van? The light was so dim, I never got a good look at their faces. The pit bull. Jesus, all I really noticed was that pit bull. Growling. Foam spraying over my face. “We’ll come back, Barry.” That’s what the guy said. “We’ll keep a close watch. We’ll make sure you’ve learned the error of your ways. If we find out you’ve been doing more adjusting, we’ll put the fear of God into you.” The fear of God? They’re the ones I’m afraid of. I was never so shit-scared in my life. That van’s gotta be doing sixty. Slow down! You almost hit me! But I don’t dare shout at them. I can’t risk threatening to break their windshield with my sign. If that’s them, they’ll wait for me after work. They’ll— “Barry! What the hell’s wrong with you?” a voice shouted.