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in his thoughts to notice the man in the long tan raincoat, lurking around the corner, mostly concealed by a parked SUV. The man was watching Cady carefully.
    The grim expression on the prosecutor's face told the man everything he wanted to know. When he had left the package for Cady, he had been confident that Doerr wouldn't lift a finger to get involved. Now he knew he had been right.
    Cady was on his own—precisely what the man wanted. He had snared a powerful hunter. Next, he would begin placing food in the hunter's path, leading him to a defenseless prey.

 
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    Chapter 2

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    Maria Ferrari was her real name, but since the age of twelve she had insisted that everyone call her Taylor. At the funeral of her mother, a victim of leukemia, she had told family and friends, in the grimy shadow of a steel mill in Donora, Pennsylvania, that she wanted to be called by her mother's maiden name, and she wouldn't respond to any other.
    Now, twenty-six years later, she was seated at the kitchen table in Charles Boyd's Georgetown house with the senator and Bob Kendrick, who shared the responsibilities with her for running Boyd's presidential campaign. As morning sunlight filtered in through filmy white curtains, she was drinking coffee while studying the results of the most recent presidential polls.
    A smile lit up her face, and she pushed her jet-black hair to the side. "We're in the lead," she cried. "We're finally out in front."
    Kendrick reached for the papers in her hand. "Three percentage points isn't much," he said somberly. "Barely outside the margin of error. With a month to go we have to stay in a full-court press."
    She slapped him on the back. "C'mon, Bob, a month ago nobody gave us a chance. What this proves is that the senator's message is getting through."
    Kendrick laughed. "You mean the New Age crap you packaged for him."
    "Oh, don't be such a cynic. The American people believe in the senator. They know that he wants to change the system of 'politics for politicians' and do something for the people." As both men knew, her emotion and conviction had played a large part in Boyd's surge. "They understand that he wants to build on the diversity of their country and turn it into a common purpose—a better life for all Americans."
    "It's okay with me," Kendrick said. "The main thing is for him to sound good. I've done enough of these presidential contests to know that's what it's about—not substance. You're writing the speeches. Just make him sound like he cares. Like he feels the people's pain."
    "But he does. That's the point," Taylor insisted.
    She turned toward the senator, who was amused that they had been discussing him as if he weren't there. Dressed in a lightly starched blue shirt good for television cameras, he had a broad smile on his face. Now he even looks like a winner, Taylor thought.
    Since the end of the convention, the senator had faced an uphill battle, as challengers often did against an incumbent, trailing President Webster in double digits. He had never worried but kept pressing forward. The pace had been mind-numbing, his sleep minimal, but he had managed to keep his sense of humor.
    The image he projected was an honest reflection of what he was, Taylor believed: a sincere and intelligent man who could be trusted. That was why she had joined his campaign, and when it came down to the bitter end, that was why he would be elected president. In the confines of polling booths the American people would agree with Taylor that the senator was someone who cared about them and their problems of raising children, getting adequate medical care, funding their retirement, and paying for heat and gasoline.
    "Look here," Boyd said. "You're both telling me the same thing. I'll keep pushing the New Age theme as hard as I can. Now, let's talk about energy. Taylor, when do you want me to give the speech you wrote on that topic?"
    Kendrick interjected. "If you give that speech, it'll hurt our