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〃Good as yours？〃
〃No。〃 His wife smiled at him。 Jack reached out to squeeze the tip of her nose。
〃Caroline Ryan； MD； liberated woman； instructor in ophthalmic surgery； world…famous player of classical piano； wife and mother； takes no crap off anybody。〃
〃Except her husband。〃
〃When's the last time I ever won an exchange with you？〃 Jack asked。
〃Jack； we're not in petition。 We're in love。〃 She leaned toward him。
〃I won't argue with you on that；〃 he said quietly before kissing his wife's offered lips。 〃How many people do you suppose are still in love after all the time we've been married？〃
〃Just the lucky ones； you old fart。 'All the time we've been married'！〃
Jack kissed her again and rose。 He walked carefully around the sea of toys toward the tree and returned with a small box wrapped in green Christmas paper。 He sat down beside his wife； his shoulder against hers as he dropped the box in her lap。
〃Merry Christmas； Cathy。〃
She opened the box as greedily as a child； but neatly； using her nails to slit the paper。 She found a white cardboard box； and inside it； a felt…covered one。 This she opened slowly。
It was a necklace of fine gold； more than a quarter…inch wide； designed to fit closely around the neck。 You could tell the price by the workmanship and the weight。 Cathy Ryan took a deep breath。 Her husband held his。 Figuring out women's fashions was not his strongest point。 He'd gotten advice from Sissy Jackson； and a very patient clerk at the jewelry store。 Do you like it？
〃I better not swim with this on。〃
〃But you won't have to take it off when you scrub；〃 Jack said。 〃Here。〃 He took it from the box and put it around her neck。 He managed to clasp it one…handed on the first try。
〃You practiced。〃 One hand traced over the necklace while her eyes looked deeply into his。 〃You practiced； just so you could put it on me yourself； didn't you？〃
〃For a week at the office。〃 Jack nodded。 〃Wrapping it was a bitch； too。〃
〃It's wonderful。 Oh； Jack！〃 Both her arms darted around his neck； and he kissed the base of hers。
〃Thanks； babe。 Thanks for being my wife。 Thanks for having my kids。 Thanks for letting me love you。〃
Cathy blinked away a tear or two。 They gave her blue eyes a gleam that made him happier than any man on earth。 Let me count the ways 。 。 。
〃Just something I saw；〃 he explained casually； lying。 It was something he'd seen after looking for nine hours； through seven stores in three shopping malls。 〃And it just said to me； 'I was made for her。' 〃
〃Jack； I didn't get you anything like 〃
〃Shut up。 Every morning I wake up； and I see you next to me； I get the best present there is。〃
〃You are a sentimental jerk right out of some book but I don't mind。〃
〃You do like it？〃 he asked carefully。
〃You dummy I love it！〃 They kissed again。 Jack had lost his parents years before。 His sister lived in Seattle； and most of the rest of his relations were in Chicago。 Everything he loved was in this house： a wife； a child and a third of another。 He'd made his wife smile on Christmas； and now this year went into the ledger book as a success。
About the time Ryan started assembling the doll house； four identical blue vans left the Brixton Prison at five…minute intervals。 For each； the first thirty minutes involved driving through the side streets of suburban London。 In each； a pair of police officers sat looking out the small windows in the rear doors； watching to see if there might be a car trailing the truck on its random path through the city。
They'd picked a good day for it。 It was a fairly typical morning for the English winter。 The vans drove through patches of fog and cold rain。 There was a moderate storm blowing in from the Channel； and best of all； it was dark。 The island's northern latitude guaranteed that the sun would not be up for some hours yet； and the dark blue vans were invisible in the early morning。
Security was so strict that Sergeant Bob Highland of C…13 didn't even know that he was in the third van to leave the jail。 He did know that he was sitting only a few feet from Sean Miller； and that their destination was the small port of Lymington。 They had a choice of three ports to take them to the Isle of Wight； and three different modes of transport： ordinary ferry； hovercraft； and hydrofoil。 They might also have chosen a Royal Navy helicopter out of Gosport； but Highland needed only a quick look at the starless sky to rule that one out。 Not a good idea； he thought to himself。 Besides； security is airtight。 Not more than thirty people knew that Miller was being moved this morning。 Miller himself hadn't known until three hours before； and he still didn't know what prison he was heading to。 He'd only learn when he got to the island。
Embarrassments to the British prison system had accumulated over the years。 The old； forbidding structures that inhabited such desolate places as Dartmoor in Cornwall had turned out to be amazingly easy to escape from； and as a result two new maximum…security facilities； Albany and Parkhurst； had been built on the Isle of Wight。 There were many advantages to this。 An island by definition was easier to secure； and this one had only four regular entry points。 More importantly； this island was a clannish place even by English standards； and any stranger on the loose would at least be noticed； and might even be mented upon。 The new prisons were somewhat more fortable than those constructed in the previous century。 It was an accident； but one to which Highland did not object。 Along with the better living conditions for the prisoners came facilities designed to make escape very difficult nothing made them impossible； but these new prisons had television cameras to cover every inch of wall； electronic alarms in the most unlikely of places； and guards armed with automatic weapons。
Highland stretched and yawned。 With luck he'd get home by early afternoon and still salvage something of Christmas Day with his family。
〃I don't see anything at all to concern us；〃 the other constable said； his nose against the small glass rectangle in the door。 〃Only a handful of vehicles on the street； and none are following us。〃
〃I shouldn't plain；〃 Highland observed。 He turned around to look at Miller。
The prisoner sat all the way forward on the left…hand bench。 His hands were manacled； a chain running from the cuffs to a similar pair on his ankles。 With luck and a little assistance； a man so restrained might be able to keep pace with a crawling infant； but he'd have little chance of outracing a two…year…old。 Miller just sat there； his head back against the wall of the van； his eyes closed as the vehicle bounced and jolted over the road。 He looked to be asleep； but Highland knew better。 Miller had withdrawn into himself again； lost in some kind of contemplation。
What are you thinking about； Mr。 Miller？ the policeman wanted to ask。 It wasn't that he'd failed to ask questions。 Almost every day since the incident on The Mall； Highland and several other detectives had sat across a rugged wood table from this young man and tried to start some kind of conversation。 He was a s