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Lisa Anders, mug in hand, walked toward the coffee urn. She was aware of those who tracked the progress of her willowy slenderness; the attention always pleased her. She moved with an efficiency that, of itself, lent grace. Her light brown hair was loosely combed straight back into a short ponytail.

She brushed an errant strand from her eyes as she bent to fill her mug. Suddenly she froze. It was as if the hum and clatter arising from the bustle in the newsroom had been abruptly silenced by a mysterious alien force.

"She was forced three times vaginally," Les Shafer had said to Benny Goldman who worked the rewrite desk with Lisa. "And twice orally."

When scalding hot coffee overflowed the mug, Lisa was yanked back instantly from ugly thoughts to now. She grabbed the mug with her left hand, shaking her right in a futile effort to cool it.

Les continued, saying, "But we can't print that. Or anything about the way in which she was murdered."

Sucking on a scalded knuckle, Lisa turned back the way she had come. As she moved toward her desk, the tremble in her hand brought unnoted spills from the too-full mug. She over-corrected on a wrong turn, and spilled more.

How in God's name could this upset me so, she wondered. Tammy MacAlister had been raped and murdered five days ago. While it was still headline news, it wasn't news to her. All media outlets were pumping it. And there was extensive national attention. Morbid attention, some perhaps mixed with dark, twisted sexual fears or even fantasies.

As she slipped into her chair, she set the mug down, then gazed at the computer monitor without seeing it. She knew why they couldn't print the details. The police did not want to publicize the MO. And she knew exactly how the woman had died. She shuddered at thoughts of that.

Brutal images had been assaulting her since she first heard the reports. She continued to seek to slow their quantity and intensity. The impact of what Les had said, words she'd heard before and often repeated in her mind, assured her these attacks would persist for some time.

Abruptly she pounced on the keyboard, ignoring the coffee growing cold. Long slender fingers struggled to keep up with dashing thoughts.

If you have been raped, you have two choices. You must immediately begin a lifelong struggle to restore mental health and continue embracing the best life has to offer. Or break your nails digging a deep hole in the dreary recesses of your mind, crawl into it, pull your murky despairs and dreads over top of yourself, and turn off the world. The latter is an unacceptable choice.

As she worked, her plain features were dominated by her eyes glowing with the intensity of her racing thoughts. She was vaguely aware of an occasional odd look from those around her. She didn't realize the undercurrent of anger pervading her thoughts was clear to all. Nor would she have cared had she known. Engrossed in the task, she refused to even acknowledge the presence of anyone else in the room.

Life was the monitor screen filled with words, inadequate tools for expressing intimate details and powerful feelings. Always a harsh critic, she was even more critical of herself. Phrases and sentences were slashed or rewritten. Entire paragraphs abruptly disappeared, to be replaced in another rush. All was examined word by word. Any change often led to a host of others.

When she finally leaned back, satisfied, she glanced at the clock. 6:20. Except for the night crew drifting in, the newsroom was empty and oddly still.

She hit the Print key and transferred a copy to Editorial. She slipped into the hip-length jacket and scooped up the pages from the printer. At the sink, she dumped the long-cold coffee, rinsed the cup, and set it on the sideboard with the others.

The boss wasn't in. She floated her work into the center of his desk, then strode toward the exit.

"If he doesn't run that," she murmured, "I'll find another job."

Lisa wasn't into eating. She had finished what she wanted of lunch, when Amy Barret sat down in a chair beside her.

"That article is super great," she said with a warm smile. Her tawny red hair was immaculately groomed as always. The white blouse under the lightweight jacket was drawn tautly across full breasts. She always showed lots of cleavage, and she thoroughly enjoyed the attention it brought. "Did you know the boss even put it on the wire?" she asked excitedly.

Lisa nodded, smiling at the enthusiasm for living Amy shared with all. "Also the first with my byline. I'm thrilled."

"You should be. My congratulations." Amy reached over and gave her hand a firm squeeze. "I'm glad you're not into the political scene," she said with a smile. It turned into a grin when she added, "I couldn't bear the competition."

"I'm sure," Lisa said. It was difficult to beat Amy in any way. Only thirty, she was already a significant force at the political desk.

"Seriously, you have a future in women's issues. I've said all along you'll have a regular column before you know it."

She blushed, the pinkish glow startling against her pale Nordic complexion. "I hope you're right," she said with a sigh.

As Amy attacked the ham and cheese sandwich with her usual enthusiasm, talk turned to Tammy's murder.

Lisa's light, bright, blue eyes flared with anger as she said, "He jammed a .38 into her vagina so hard it tore the entrance." She paused, shaking her head. "I wonder what she said. 'Please?' Or perhaps, 'Please don't.' " Her mouth was a grim slash when she added, "I bet the bastard laughed as he pulled the trigger."

Amy shuddered. "That is so ugly, I'm afraid to think about it," she murmured, looking down at the table. When she looked up, she said, "I know what happened matters, Lisa, but can we change the subject?"

She took a deep breath. "That's a good idea." She took a sip of the now-cold coffee as she glanced about the room crowded with others on their lunch break.

When Amy leaned closer, she said sharply, "What mischief are you planning now?"

"It's only a small group. My place. Friday. Can you make it?"

"He's a hunk, right?"

"Absolutely. Would I lie to you?"

"Is this another one you tried out just for me?"

"Not exactly," she said with a grin. "I was going with Gary at the time. Remember him?"

Lisa nodded. "Would he toss me onto your bed? Or would he wait for an invitation to come to my place?"

"No. No. Don't do that. Go to his place."

"Why?"

"He's got this incredible sound system. I mean it's gorgeous. And he's got great cuts of any kind of music you can name." She shook her head as if still not believing it was so.

She leaned even closer. "He's hooked on blue silk sheets. And there are satiny pillows everywhere. But it's the mirrors," she said with a sigh, remembering. "On every wall. And on the ceiling." She shuddered. "What a turn-on. It's absolutely fantastic."

"You were going with Gary when you discovered all this?"

"Well, yes." Amy managed at least a faint blush. "But he is such a total hunk, I simply couldn't pass up his offer."

"Why did you let him go?"

"I just couldn't make up my mind. You know how I am about these things."

"Yes," Lisa said, smiling. "But that brilliant mind of yours has nothing to do with these kinds of decisions."

Now Amy blushed. "I'm awful, aren't I?" Then she straightened, thrusting her chest forward. "But look at what I can offer a man. Don't you think I should share?"

Lisa's smile broadened. They'd often showered together after a workout at the gym. Amy was truly Playboy centerfold material. "You're incorrigible," she said.

Amy nodded with a grin, then again leaned closer. "Won't you come? He is a hunk, honest."

"I'd rather do my own picking."

"But when? I worry about you. You don't even make the moves." She swept Lisa with a look from head to toe. "Your hair looks like an old mop ignored in the back of a closet." She reached out and tossed the lapels of Lisa's jacket to the side. "Look at those clothes. Where'd you find that bra? Where's the class? How are you going to get a man's attention the way you're dressed?"

Both leaned closer and continued the old debate, each aware neither would convince the other.

Lisa wanted to accept Amy's invitation, to just flow into it all, into those essential, elemental rhythms Amy so enjoyed. While she had never acted upon one of Amy's judgements, she believed in them.

Why Amy continued to move on to yet another man puzzled Lisa, for she loved each and every one of them. As she turned down the aisle toward her desk, she realized she was picturing blue, silk sheets and satin pillows. She smiled. Then built another image of a man embracing her as she watched them both in mirrors overhead.

It seemed so right. She shivered as she sat down in the chair in front of the monitor. Not for the first time she wondered if her hungers were unreasonable.

She sighed, picked up an assignment, read it quickly, then began typing. As the afternoon slipped by, images of blue, silk sheets, satin pillows, and mirrors taunted her.

Several people stopped by Lisa's desk to praise her work and cheer her success. She blushed often in response to frank remarks shared with enthusiasm. She was a bit awed by the unexpected support. This mattered more to her than the words spoken.

About four, a man perched himself on the edge of her desk. When she looked up, George Sheffield, her boss, was smiling down at her like a teacher at his prized pupil.

"Very nice work, Lisa. I like the authenticity."

"Thank you, George. I was hoping you would."

"It's time for us to meet," he said.

"About?" she responded, aware her heart was racing.

"Set aside Friday afternoon," George said. "Say one to three. We need to begin thinking of a weekly column for you."

""Oh my God," she cried. "Do you think I'm ready for that?"

"I wouldn't suggest it if you weren't," George replied, broadening his smile. "Can you make it?"

"Try to stop me," Lisa said evenly, with a smile to match his.

George nodded, then added, "Apart from that, put together some notes. I'd like to see more along the lines of what is running today. Particularly right now."

"I'll get something to you as soon as I can."

She watched as he nodded, stood, then strolled down the aisle. She knew what he wanted. With rape and murder still in the headlines, anything about this ugly subject would receive attention.

She smiled at his suggestion about putting some notes together. She was certain she already had more than enough for a great book, maybe even two. The last images of silk and mirrors faded as she drove long slender fingers more rapidly about the keyboard. She worked in an almost automatic mode, her thoughts awhirl with what she must do to convince George he really did need a weekly column from her.

Enjoying the warmth of nice things said, she again lost track of time. But when people began sharing goodnights, she glanced at the clock. It was already 6:15.

But she was so close to finishing the piece she was working with, she went back to it with a furious rush of keystrokes. By the time she was satisfied, she was again alone in the newsroom, except for the night crew arriving.

Still celebrating what to her had been an exceptional day, one to be remembered and cherished, she slipped on her jacket, made her way out of the offices, and down the stairs to the street. Evening traffic was heavy, but she had the sidewalk to herself. She turned up the walk, still holding the day closely.

The man who dashed around the corner of the building seemed to be running rather than jogging. Startled, she stopped abruptly and moved closer to the building to give him room.

He was so intent on his task, she didn't think he had even noticed her. He wore pale blue sweats that his shoulders filled nicely. While it wasn't more than warm, his face was streaked with sweat.

As he was about to pass, he seemed to suddenly jump at her. She watched in amazement and horror as blood exploded across the left side of his chest, as he stumbled, then crashed awkwardly to the sidewalk. Paralyzed, she watched blood pool beneath his shoulders and head.

Behind her, at the bottom of the steps to the offices above, a woman screamed. Suddenly Lisa was running. Moments later she rounded the corner, then dashed toward her car.

It was eight when Lisa drove cautiously into the underground garage beneath her apartment. While she didn't really know what to look for, she anxiously examined everything she saw. The nickel-plated, Smith & Wesson .38 revolver lay on the seat beside her leg.

She had been driving aimlessly through the city. At one point she had parked on a quiet residential street and cried for over half an hour. She had struggled in vain to unearth the reason for doing so. Finally, feeling there was no place else to turn, she had driven toward her apartment, the place that was home, at least for now.

After parking the car, she hastily tucked the short-barreled pistol into her purse and hurried toward the stairs. She clutched the weapon firmly, hidden within her purse. With her eyes, she inspected everything in sight.

She reached the door to her apartment without having seen anyone, or anything out of place or unusual. She slipped quickly inside, letting the door lock behind her. Then she threw the bolt lock closed.

She stood for a moment, leaning against the door, breathing heavily. Finally, as if bearing a heavy load, she made her way into the kitchen. She took the pistol from her purse, then set it and the purse on the counter next to the phone.

It was oddly difficult to slip out of her long jacket, and to hang it on the back of a chair at the kitchen table. She had not been able to define why she had cried for half an hour. And she was unable now to find a source for the increasing fears and dreads that threatened to overwhelm her. She knew it was there. The reason. It was only just beyond her grasp.

Her heart skipped several beats when the authoritative knock on the door reverberated through the silence. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the .38 and walked unsteadily toward the door.

Through the peep hole, she saw two men standing well away from the door, each dangling Los Angeles Police Department identification wallets. She shook her head to clear unwanted and incomplete thoughts. Determinedly she opened the bolt lock, then the door.

"Come in," she said, her voice not sounding right to her. Both men looked sharply at the .38. "I've a permit," she said, then returned the pistol to the counter in the kitchen.

When she turned, both men were close. Too close, it seemed to her. The door had been latched without sound.

"I'm Lt. Parker," the tall slender black man said. "This is Officer Hastings," he continued, nodding toward his partner. "May we sit down?"

The man had a quiet dignity about him. And his soft voice and simple manner added to her sense of confidence in him. She nodded toward the kitchen table, then collapsed into the nearest chair.

Once seated, Lt. Parker continued. "Have I got this right, Ms. Anders? You were standing beside the Los Angeles Herald Building at about 6:25 this afternoon?"

Lisa nodded.

"Can you tell me what you saw?"

"I watched a man die," she replied tonelessly.

"Can you describe what you saw?"

"There isn't much." She paused, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I was a little late leaving the office. I was only a few feet from the steps to the entrance, when a man ran around the corner toward me. I guess it might be more accurate to call it jogging, but he was moving quickly.

"It startled me. So I stopped, then stepped back to give him more room. I didn't hear a shot, but I saw blood explode from the left side of his chest. Then he stumbled and fell." She paused, covering her face with her hands. "It was awful and ugly and terrifying," she murmured between her fingers.

"Did you notice anything else at all?" Lt. Parker asked quietly.

"No," she replied, placing her hands flat on the table. "I looked both ways when I stepped to the sidewalk. I don't remember seeing any other pedestrians. But the street was crowded with evening traffic."

"Did you notice anything unusual about the cars passing close to you?"

"No. When I left the office, my mind was filled with the day. When the jogger startled me, my attention was entirely on him."

"Why did you run?"

She shook her head slowly. "I don't know," she said to the table. When she looked up, she said, "There is a reason, I think. It's as if it's almost within reach. But I don't know what it is."

Officer Hastings looked as if he wanted to challenge such muddle-headed thinking. Lt. Parker had raised an eyebrow, but otherwise his pleasant expression had not changed.

"Who was he, do you know?" Lisa asked.

"Derrick Baldwin. The minister of a local church. Apparently he was a good man and father. He is survived by his wife and two children."

"Ministers don't usually have a lot of enemies, do they?" she asked.

"Not usually."

"Could this have been some sort of drive-by shooting? Just a random thing, I mean?"

"Did you see anything that might suggest this?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I was just wondering."

"We don't know much yet, Ms. Anders." He laid his card on the table, then stood, grace and elegance in every move. By contrast, Officer Hastings nearly knocked the chair over when he stood. "Can I call someone for you?" Lt. Parker asked.

Lisa thought of Amy. But then she remembered the "big" date tonight. "Thank you for the offer, Lieutenant." She smiled wanly. "But I don't know anyone available tonight."

He nodded. "Will you call me if you discover that reason?"

"Yes, I will," she said firmly.

"We can let ourselves out," he said.

She watched them leave, watched the door latch behind them, walked tiredly over to close the bolt lock, managed to get as far as the couch, then collapsed upon it, crying once again.

It was after midnight, when it came to her. The reason for running, the tears, and the rising fears. Then it all crashed down upon her, a pain that could not be erased by tears.

She had struggled so, these last nine years. She felt confident about her writing in a balanced way. Yes, there was much to be learned, but her present skills produced consistently good material.

It had been more difficult to rebuild confidence in herself. She felt she had done well, except for her hangups about sexual matters.

Now all had vanished. A man she didn't know had decided she must die. She would leave this city she had come to love as she had once been forced to leave her home. And to leave her friends, as she had back then. And she must abandon her dreams of writing.

It was after two, lying on her pillow, gripping the .38 beneath it, that she asked the questions she knew would haunt her for a considerable time. She would leave; it was the only sensible thing to do.

But where would she go? Who would she be when she got there?

top

Todd Hallster laid down the fork and chewed slowly on the last bite of the delicious sirloin steak. Delightful scents and aromas wafted from the kitchen out over the service counter into the cozy room.

The chocolate-brown eyes overflowed with curiosity as he looked about once more. The broad lips curled up at the corners, giving a sense of a smile, of secrets discovered still unknown to others.

The norm here was contented people enjoying good food. A baby cried behind him and a woman cooed softly. The occasional boisterous shriek of a youngster blended with laughter. In the back room, a crowd was singing Happy Birthday with more vigor than talent.

He smiled. These were sounds he enjoyed. He had already added Pop Pa Joe's to his mental list. Now he underlined it.

A man of shoulders, the power was largely hidden by the loose fitting, khaki, hip-length jacket. There was an outdoor look about him, hints of snowy, rocky peaks sparkling in bright sunlight.

He reached for his wallet, pulled out a twenty, then dropped it on top of the check, each move deliberate, precise. He was about to stand, when a young women rushed in from the parking lot behind the restaurant. He was surprised at how intensely she captured his attention. He eased back into the chair. Sure, she was tall, with that willowy-slender look he liked, but that wasn't it.

The light, bright, blue eyes were remarkable, particularly in contrast to the near-white Nordic complexion. She moved quickly between tables as she examined all hastily. When she turned his way, he knew her destination had been determined.

His habitual curiosity was suddenly intensified as her glance locked onto his. He had an unexpected urge to stand and greet her. Then she was upon him. She positioned the chair opposite him, then sat down quickly with an easy grace, a sense of flying skirts, long, slender legs, and female.

"I'll only be a moment," she said in a rich, full contralto. She reached for the water pitcher, filled the glass in front of her, then drank thirstily. She was breathing heavily, as if she'd been running before hurrying inside.

Todd noticed the light, easy mood lingering after a delightful lunch had suddenly vanished. It had been replaced by another, well remembered. He was ready. But what had triggered the change, he wondered.

His feet were now positioned under the chair for a quick exit. He was automatically examining each motion noted. Only when certain no threat lay behind it, did he consider the next. He was keenly aware that the pistol was not available under his left arm.

"Why me?" he asked with an easy smile.

"You were the only man seated alone," she said in a rush. The smile was forced. As she lifted the glass for another sip, he studied the eyes closely. Then he saw it.

Fear was hunkered down low behind the bright intensity. For an instant, he thought he saw something more. Then it was gone. And he wasn't sure he'd seen anything at all.

"The fates have stated their wishes." He spoke quietly as was his habit, but the resonant baritone carried.

"I missed what they said."

"That we only need to decide between your place and mine."

"You have a married look."

"Henpecked? Or abused maybe?"

"You just look married."

"I'm not." He leaned forward. "You're a great looking chick. . . ."

"Woman," she corrected.

He continued as if she hadn't interrupted. "Would you like the job?"

She tossed him a glance overflowing with scoffing scorn.

"I didn't catch the name," he commented, leaning back.

"Lisa Anders," she said evenly. She didn't offer her hand.

"Todd Hallster," he said, settling for a nod to acknowledge the introduction. "What is it you want of me?"

"Nothing at all," she snapped.

"What are you afraid of?"

"You, at the moment."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I always have that effect on women." He shook his head. "Could we get down to it?"

"Somebody is following me. I only want to get away."

She didn't seem whacked out. Or paranoid. He'd seen his share of such types. "Why not just go home?"

She shook her head, than tucked an errant strand of hair back over her ear. "It isn't safe," she said. The fear was more pronounced. The growing tension in her shoulders and neck was easy to see.

"What makes it unsafe?"

"That's my business, not yours."

He reached up and tugged at his ear for several moments, examining her tautly drawn features, particularly the remarkable eyes. He slipped his cell phone out and said, "Want me to call a cop?"

She shook her head decisively.

"Why not?" he asked, tucking the phone away.

"It may be the police who are following me."

She was wearing a long, pale, blue jacket that tended to erase individual features. Not much of the plain white blouse was visible. There was only a hint of breasts. If she had meant to hide her body with her clothes, she'd done an excellent job. It was easy, though, to remember the long, slender legs.

"That's both rude and crude," she snapped.

"Trying to figure what you look like?"

"It's impolite and disrespectful."

"Uhmm."

"You're a chauvinist."

He nodded, watching her eyes. "One of the last of a nearly extinct species."

"Another man who doesn't get it," she muttered with a sigh.

"A 'True Believer.' " He shook his head in mock despair. "Where do you girls . . ."

"Women."

". . . collect those twisted absurdities you seem to cherish?"

Lisa took another sip of water and stared at the red and white checkered table cloth.

Todd straightened when he saw two men rush inside through the rear entrance. He forced a broad smile and gazed at Lisa as he watched them peripherally.

"What is that silly grin for?" she demanded.

"Two serious looking dudes . . ."

"Men."

". . . just came in the back way. If they're looking for you, they won't be expecting a happy couple over lunch."

When she started to turn, he said quickly, "No. Nod your head as if agreeing with me. Ignore them."

"This is silly," she snapped, nodding her head.

"They may be cops," he murmured. They had quickly scanned the small crowded room. They were now headed for the entrance to the private dining room and the party sounds drifting out from the entry.

"If you want to get loose, do exactly as I say."

"Or else?"

"I'll get on about my business and leave you to yours."

As the two men stepped into the entrance to the back room, he stood, smiling broadly at Lisa. "Stand up and take my arm. Laugh as we walk toward the door. Make like we haven't a care."

Her eyes examined him closely; she was clearly unprepared for his size. She trembled with uncertainty. "Do it." he said, without breaking the smile. "Now."

Suddenly she jumped up, tucked her arm in his, and they were moving. She tossed a lovely trilling laugh at the ceiling. It caught him by surprise. She had that kind of tough he liked, and more than a touch of class.

"There's an older baby-blue pickup," he murmured, "parked in the middle of the next block to your right. A bunch of toolboxes line the bed. Once we're outside, get to that truck and inside it just as quick as you can."

He reached for the door to the left as she reached for the one in front of her. "What are you going to do?" she demanded.

"I'll let you know when I figure it."

As the doors swung closed behind them, he said, "Go."

He needed a bar or wire, something to prevent the two outside doors from opening. He had such things in the truck, but there was no time for that. The instant he spotted the abandoned shopping cart forty feet up the sidewalk, he moved quickly.

He scooped it up, dashed back to the double doors, then rammed the handle up under both doorknobs. He put his shoulders to the task, forcing the front of the cart as far toward the doors as he could with his foot. It wouldn't stop anyone. He knew that. But even slowing things down could make the difference. He ran.

Lisa was scrambling in on the passenger side of the truck as he dashed around the rear toward the driver's side. The two men had broken out and were coming hard. He glanced at the traffic starting up from the light beyond them. Then he dove inside and fired the engine.

"Wait," Lisa cried, struggling to get the seatbelt latched.

He laughed as he shoved the peddle to the floor. The Ford cleared the parked car to his front, but not by much. With an engine not noted for its acceleration, screeching tires and honking horns assured him he'd annoyed several drivers.

As the truck lurched into the hard right at the corner, Lisa braced herself against the dash. He was still chuckling.

"What's so damned funny?" she demanded, still struggling to get the seatbelt latched.

"You," he replied. "Running for your life, so to speak, and worried about breaking the seatbelt law." He shook his head, then laughed again. "Your priorities seem odd."

He was taking a turn at every corner. Even with the seatbelt latched, Lisa was clinging to the armrest for balance. "Just what kind of game are you playing?" she demanded.

"We're clear of those two dudes . . ."

"Men."

". . . who came inside. But some folks use a second car when following another. We need to be sure."

A half mile further on, he turned up the ramp to the San Diego Freeway, southbound. While the engine had little punch, he let it wind, drifting over to the inside lane. He cruised at close to eighty for a couple of miles, weaving between lanes to pass a car in front of him. He watched traffic behind. To keep up, anyone following would also be forced to change lanes, making it easy to notice them.

When satisfied they were alone, he sliced across four lanes of traffic, then forced the truck down the off ramp, breaking hard. "Oh my God," Lisa cried, braced with one hand on the dash, the other clinging to the armrest on the door.

At the bottom of the ramp, he took a right, stopped, then quickly backed down the adjacent one-way residential street. He parked in the shadow of a huge sycamore tree, but let the engine idle.

He watched the flow of traffic down the off ramp. He saw nothing more unusual than poor judgement in pushing the light for a left turn. Five minutes later, he turned off the engine, certain they were clear.

When he turned toward Lisa, her face was still pale, but she wasn't as tense as she had been. "We're good," he said. "Can I drop you somewhere?"

"Did I see some shops to the right?"

He nodded. "Panorama City is off to the east. There're a couple of motels farther down this street."

"This will do fine, then," she said, reaching for the door handle.

"How are you fixed for money?"

"I've my credit cards," she said, puzzled.

He reached for his wallet and counted out three hundred-dollar bills. He tucked the wallet away and extended the bills toward her.

"Do I look like a hooker?"

"Do I look like I'd pay you for it if you were?"

"Then just what is this for?"

"Use your credit cards in stores and shops. But pay cash for a room."

"I don't understand."

"If the dudes . . ."

"Men."

". . . looking for you are determined, they can have the name of the motel, the address, and your room number within an hour or two, if you register with a credit card."

She stared distastefully at the bills. He was beginning to feel silly, holding his arm out in mid-air. "Take it," he said. "Pay it back when you can."

Finally she reached for the bills and tucked them into her purse.

He fished out a business card, scribbled a number on the back of it, then extended it. "I live at that address. The first number is to a recorder. But if I'm home, I answer the second one. The number on the back is to my cell phone."

She took the card, then reached for the door.

"One more thing," he said.

"What now?" she snapped.

"When deciding where to stay, take a cab and get out of this area."

"Why does that matter?"

"I think those two dudes . . ."

"Men."

". . . were cops. If so, one may have recognized me."

"How could that be?"

He shook his head slowly. "Maybe later," he said. "If I was recognized, someone will drop by with questions. I want to be able to say I don't know where you are."

When she reached again for the door, he said, "Take care, okay?"

It wasn't much of a smile, but she was working at it when she turned back to him and said, "I'll try." She opened the heavy door and slipped down to the sidewalk. He had expected the door to slam, but she only closed it firmly, then walked down the sidewalk.

Abruptly Todd threw his door open. "Lisa?" he called after her, moving forward to lean on the front fender.

She stopped and spun back toward him. "What?" she demanded, sharp edges around the word.

Watching those remarkable eyes, he said, "Is there anything more I can do? Anything at all?"

The tension drained from her suddenly. For a moment he thought he saw hope in her eyes, struggling against the fear. Then it was gone. She looked somehow younger than her years. Vulnerable.

"No," she said. "But thank you for the offer."

When he nodded, she turned and walked decisively down the sidewalk. He watched, noting the easy grace in the way she moved. And the remarkable legs. He sighed, shook his head, then climbed back into the truck. He watched until she disappeared from view.

It had been a long time since a woman had grabbed him this way. All the spotlights on the stage in his mind were focused on her. He had seen an inner toughness he admired in anyone. Despite what she had said, he wondered if he should catch up with her and give it one more try. Finally he sighed again, then drove off.

He'd like to have gotten to know her better, to learn more of that hidden tigress tossed at him from behind bright, blue eyes.

top

It had been a faucet morning. Todd had replaced two sets of washers, a valve, and one fixture. A reasonably profitable start on the day, he decided.

As he turned onto Sayre, he knew immediately what the car in front of his house meant. Cops. Just what everyone needs when they arrive home. And he had a pretty good idea about what they wanted.

He pulled the truck into the driveway and parked. He climbed out and walked toward the front of the house. As he rounded the corner, he smiled at the sight of the tall, slender black man. "Hey, Parker. I heard about the promotion. Congrats and like that." He took the offered hand and clung to it.

"Thanks. But I think it only means more responsibilities, hassles, headaches, and longer hours," he said with his gentle smile. "May we come in?"

"Sure." Todd strode deliberately up the broad steps, opened the door, and waited for both men to enter.

"Can I get you something?" he asked, as he ushered them to the left and on around into the dining room at the front of the house.

"A dash of water with an ice cube would suit me," Parker said. He turned to his partner. "Anything for you, Hastings?"

The man shook his head, apparently uninterested in most everything.

When Todd set a glass of water down, he slipped out of his jacket, draped it over the back of the chair, then sat down opposite his guests with a Bud. "Lt. Parker. That has a nice ring to it."

The man's soft, easy smile broadened. "Maybe later I'll celebrate."

"We're talking about Pop Pa Joe's, right?" Todd asked, rolling up the sleeves of the brown flannel shirt.

Parker nodded. "One of the men following Lisa Anders recognized you."

"I didn't make them," he said, "but they kind of looked like cops."

"Why'd you run, then?" Officer Hastings demanded. "Flight to avoid arrest is a crime."

Todd stared at the man for a moment, then asked Parker, "Where'd you find him?" He yanked his thumb toward Hastings.

"He was assigned," Parker said, with a faint shrug.

Todd took a sip and decided to ignore Hastings.

"Can you tell me where you dropped Ms. Anders?" Parker asked.

"It slipped my mind," Todd said, noting Hastings' deep scowl. "Tell me a bit about all this and it might come back."

Parker only sighed. "She works for the Los Angeles Herald," he began, then shared what he had learned. "The bullet hit Baldwin in the left side of his chest on a forward stride. Apparently it bounced off a rib into his heart. He died almost instantly. If it had been a rifle shot, Ms. Anders might have been hit as well; she was that close.

"We've a witness, another employee. She saw Ms. Anders run. But both reported the same things. They saw no pedestrians. Only the evening traffic on the street. Apparently he was shot with a silenced .38 from a moving car."

"Why do you need to see her again?" Todd asked.

"We're spinning our wheels. The man was well-liked. We haven't found anybody who will even believe he might have an enemy."

"There must be more."

"Ms. Anders was frightened when I saw her. She spoke rather cryptically about there being something she couldn't grasp."

"She was flippy," Hastings contributed.

Parker shrugged. "We're desperate for an idea, flippy or otherwise. So I'd like to ask her if that thought finally came to her."

"Got it," Todd said, thinking about what he had glimpsed behind those remarkable eyes. He leaned out on the table and said, "I haven't much."

He paused, tugged at his ear, then continued. "I had just finished lunch when she came in, took a bead on the empty chair at my table, and sat down.

"It's only a hunch, but she may have figured whatever it was she couldn't tell you. Behind all the feminist-disapproval crap, she was awfully frightened.

"Whatever, I got her out, into the truck, and away. I dropped her at Roscoe, just a block off the San Diego Freeway. When she walked off, she seemed to be heading toward Panorama City, and a motel down that way, but I don't know where she ended up. I loaned her some cash for a room and explained why she shouldn't use a credit card. If she took my advice, you won't find her through her card.

"I don't have more. I wish I did. She just may be for real."

"Have you any idea what she might have discovered?" Parker asked.

"No," Todd replied, tugging at his ear. "I've a wild hairy guess, though, if you're interested."

Parker leaned forward. "You have a good one now and then."

Todd gave his ear a final tug, then said, "When you visited her apartment, she was frightened, right?"

Parker nodded.

"But you felt there was something else, right?"

"I'm not sure."

"I'm not either. But when she sat down at my table, she was a mess. I remember thinking fear didn't explain it all. It still doesn't. Sure, she saw a guy killed. And that can permanently change a person's life. Particular up close like that. But this seemed worse some way."

"Like?"

"If she was terrified, it would better explain what I saw. Would it make sense to you at her apartment?"

"Yeah," Parker said thoughtfully. "But of what?"

"What if she was the target?"

"Where in hell did that come from?"

He shrugged. "It occurred to me, is all."

"Have you a possible motive?"

He shook his head. "Not even a clue."

"Son of a bitch," Parker muttered. "I wish I hadn't asked." He stood, as did Hastings.

Lisa soon reveals her shattering secret. She and Todd join forces in a desperate struggle to bring a serial rapist-killer to justice. But will they be able to do so before the killer finds Lisa? --- ActionTales.com

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