"The big cat house at Central Park zoo, two o'clock."

Robert McCall had seen his share of devious plans in his day, but this one was way up there. He would have assumed his prospective client had seen too many spy movies except for that unmistakable note of fear in her voice. She had tried to disguise it, as if being afraid was somehow shameful. But Robert had agreed to meet her, and so he stood in front of a bored Bengal tiger, yesterday's New York Times under his arm, being jostled by shrieking children. He checked his watch; she was four minutes late.

To his left, a pair of small children finally gave up trying to get a reaction out of the tiger by shouting at it and ran off. A woman moved in to take their place. "Wretched little creatures," she murmured, and Robert glanced at her. But she was looking at the tiger. "Put them on the other side of those bars, then we'd see if they'd laugh at you, huh, Rajah." The tiger yawned, and the woman laughed.

Years of practice at the art helped Robert recognize her voice, but he let her make the first move. He saw her glance at the paper under his arm, then up at his face. "Mr. McCall?" she asked cautiously.

"Yes, I am." He saw her relax as she recognized his voice in turn. "And you are Ann Marshall."

"Yes." She turned back to look at the tiger.

Robert studied her out of the corner of his eye. A small woman in her late twenties or early thirties, with red wavy hair. Her unringed hands gripped the railing in front of her so tightly the knuckles were white. Her clothes didn't look expensive, but he noticed her watch was a genuine Tiffany. "You said you were being followed," he said, as much to study her reactions as to get information.

"Yes, I am," she said, glancing at him, then away.

"By whom?"

"Two people, at least. They take it in shifts. One watches me at work and the other follows me the rest of the time. They're doing double duty for the weekend."

"Are they here?"

"Yes, they are." She reached into her purse and pulled out a small mirror. Robert thought she was primping nervously until he saw her checking two different directions over her shoulders. "The woman is by the concessions stand right behind me. The man is at about four o'clock off your right shoulder."

Robert let the newspaper slip to the ground and stooped to pick it up. He glanced toward the concession stand. A swarm of children with attendant adults trying to herd them churned around, but he got a quick glimpse of one woman in the center of the group, quietly eating a snow cone and gazing toward the tiger cage. Robert straightened and turned to face the cat. "The blonde in the blue shirt?"

"That's her."

"How do you know she's following you?"

"She started working in my department Tuesday. Since then, everywhere I go she goes. I didn't notice the first day, but Wednesday I did. I had to go all over the building, and she'd be there. She didn't follow me onto the subway, but I was paranoid by then and I studied everybody. That's when I noticed the man sitting a couple of seats over. I changed cars to check, and he followed me. He got out at my stop, followed me home, and got into a car parked across the street from my house. He was there all night. I checked." She took a deep breath. "It's been the same every night, no matter if I take the bus, ride the subway, or take my car. He always follows me." She glanced at the quiet man beside her. "You do believe me, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, I believe you." Robert managed a look at the man in question. He leaned against a light pole, not making any real effort to disguise the fact he was watching the cat house--or Ann Marshall. "They're not trying to hide themselves, are they," he commented. Which meant, to his mind, that they didn't care if they were spotted by their target.

"No," Ann said. "They know I know they're there, and they don't care. Paula Creer back there started making little remarks yesterday. 'Oh, so we meet again,' and all that. If this keeps up I'm going to slug her."

Robert glanced at her and saw she was perfectly serious. "Have you called the police?"

"Sort of. I mentioned it casually to a cop I know that I thought a man was following me. He told me to file a report if I thought it was serious. I didn't push the point, but that night I got a strange phone call. No overt threats and I don't know who it was, but I got the idea that I shouldn't talk to cops any more." She sneaked a look over her shoulder. "They're coming closer. They always do when I start talking to someone."

Robert looked at his watch. "In twenty minutes be in front of the monkey house. Find a place where you can get your back to a wall."

Ann nodded. "Make them watch me from the front, where I can see them. See you then." She casually walked along the row of cages, paused to greet a lion, then strolled off.

Robert forced himself not to stare after her. For a woman as obviously frightened as she, Ann Marshall had a quick grasp of the essentials, and she had a good sense of sneakiness. Unfortunately, this didn't look like a simple case of shadowing. It smacked of careful organization. He made a note to ask his new client what she did for a living.

Ann bought a snowcone at a concession stand and checked the clock behind the counter. Ten more minutes. Time to find a perch. She slurped the ice casually as she walked, hoping she didn't show the nerves that were wracking her.

Only her certainty that the situation could only get worse had made her call that number in the newspaper. She was terrified of the possible repercussions, but what drove her most was her anger at the unfairness of it all. She hadn't even done anything, and they'd sicced watchdogs on her.

But the voice on the other end of the line had been reassuring, and he seemed competent enough. Oh, the joy of being believed. Now if only Robert McCall could do something. She still had so much to tell him that couldn't be said in front of the shadows.

A bench against a wall emptied just as she reached it, and she quickly claimed one end. Now, where were--ah, there they were. The Paula creature was pretending to read a direction board, and Smiley, as Ann called him to herself, was surrounded by kids by the seal pool. How pleasant to be the one doing the watching.

But are we just supposed to sit here staring at each other? What's McCall up to? God, I hate not knowing what's going on.

From her left came one of the zoo's garbage trucks, moving slowly through the crowds. It stopped by one of the concession stands, and the driver got out to grab a bag of garbage by the back door. Ann glanced at the truck as it rolled slowly her way, then glanced again. Good God, Robert McCall was driving.

The truck stopped ten feet away, by another set of garbage cans. Robert got out, went around the back of the truck, and made a show of checking the contents. He looked towards Ann. She tilted her head to drink the last of her snowcone and watched him out of the corner of her eye. He signaled that the truck would be going by her and that she should jump in as it did. She swallowed hard and nodded.

"There's never theme music when you need it," Ann muttered to herself as she forced herself to be casual.

As the truck began moving slowly forward, the swarm of children by the seal pool headed for the monkey house, shrieking at the top of their lungs. They milled around the doors, oblivious to the large truck bearing down on them. A couple even began clambering over Ann's bench and making faces at her. As two adults screamed the children into a semblance of order, the garbage truck slowed to almost a complete halt, right in front of Ann. The door to the cab was closed, but there was a wide step and a grab bar on the frame. Ann tried not to think as she rose, jumped onto the step, and grabbed the handle to hold on.

"Stay as low as you can," Robert told her without looking at her. "Hold on, we're moving."

It went through Ann's mind that Paula and Smiley were going to be very pissed, and she almost said she'd changed her mind and that she'd just be a good girl. But she was tired of being scared, and besides, they were already past Paula's position.

"The woman knows you're gone," Robert reported. "I'm going to turn the corner at the end of the monkey house. Climb in there."

"Sure." Ann rehearsed the moves in her head, the way Sensei demanded. When the truck began the turn, she quickly opened the door and slid inside, slouching in the seat below the windows.

"Gracefully done," Robert said.

"Thank you. Why a garbage truck?"

"It was the first service vehicle that presented itself. Fifty dollars persuaded the driver to take an unscheduled break."

"Add it to my bill. Now what?"

Robert consulted the rearview mirrors. "Excellent. They must have decided to check the building first. I think we've broken the tail. How did you get here?"

"By bus. I wanted witnesses."

"Good. Then they can't set a watch on your car." He downshifted and turned the truck towards the parking lot.

Ann started shaking in reaction. She was finally free of the constant watching, but her problem wasn't solved, not in the least.

Robert glanced over at her. "What's wrong?"

"I have to go home eventually," she whispered.

"True, but now you have backup. First, though, I need to find out more of what's going on." He looked at her again. "And you look like you could use a drink."

"Oh, god, yes."

He pulled the truck to a stop next to the parking lot, and they abandoned ship. Robert checked the area quickly, then led the way into the horde of cars. Ann was grateful for the fabled New York indifference that kept anyone from noticing.

"Here," Robert said, unlocking the passenger side of a big black Jaguar and opening the door for her.

She slid inside quickly and buckled herself in. Robert made one more visual scan for pursuit, then got in behind the wheel. "Do you know what they drive?"

"The Paula creature drives a blue Honda Civic with a dented left rear fender and a Reagan bumper sticker. Smiley drives a Buick, one of the big ones from the '70s, cherried out, metallic forest green. Want the license numbers?" She saw he was staring at her. "What is it?"

"What kind of music do they listen to?" he asked, bemused.

"She's got country western tapes, he's classic rock. Why?"

Robert remembered to start the engine. "What did you do, take notes?" he asked as he pulled out.

"Well, yes. What's so amusing?"

"Would that all of my clients were so well organized." As they left the parking lot, he checked the mirrors for pursuit. "It looks like we've done it. Now for someplace we can talk." He looked over at his passenger. "You have a little time to relax in."

"Would that I could." Ann leaned her head back against the seat. "The stress is the only thing that's keeping me from having screaming hysterics."

Robert privately doubted that this self-possessed, sharp-witted young lady ever had screaming hysterics. But everyone dealt with their terror in their own ways. He glanced at Ann out of the corner of his eye. She stared at the top of the windshield, fingers pressed against her lips to still their trembling. He saw tears in her eyes, but didn't comment.

By the time Robert pulled to a stop in front of O'Phelan's, Ann had herself somewhat under control. As Robert held the car door for her, she glanced around at the designer couples and their status-display children.

"Yuppies," she muttered.

Robert tried to hide his chuckle. "And what are you if not a young urban professional?"

"Well, I may be young and urban and professional, but, by God, I've got taste."

Robert did laugh and opened the door to the bar. Inside, Jeremy gave the bartop a last polish. "Oh, hello, Mr. McCall."

"Good afternoon, Jeremy. Slow day?"

"Always is, Sunday afternoon in the summer. It'll pick up this evening. Your usual table?"

"Certainly." He conducted Ann to a secluded side table and held the chair for her.

"Thank you." She glanced around. "Nice place."

"I like it." Jeremy came over to take their order. "Just brandy for me, Jeremy. Miss Marshall, what would you like?"

"Peace of mind, an end to world hunger, and a glass of red wine." Ann put a hand to her head. "I'm sorry, I'm getting strange."

"I think we can swing the red wine," Jeremy grinned, and left to fill their orders.

Ann rubbed her temples. "Do you ever wish you could just have a stroke and get it over with instead of letting your brain go to jelly a little at a time?"

"Yes, I do," Robert said in complete understanding. "But nature is never so accommodating."

"No, she isn't."

Robert paused while Jeremy delivered their drinks and Ann took a bracing swallow. "Now, then, tell me everything you think is relevant to what is going on."

Ann sighed and studied the candle in the middle of the table. "I work for a company called Prodigal Systems. I'm a sysad in IS, and--"

"Excuse me, a what in where?"

"Oh, a system administrator in Information Services. It's my job to make sure we've got room for everything and there's not a lot of junk cluttering up the net. I mean, last month I found where someone had cobbled together a LAN out of beta test protocols to run a soap opera daily update."

Robert shook his head slowly. "You've lost me."

"I work with computers."

"Oh. Well, all I know of computers is I stick my card in them and get money back with slightly better odds than Atlantic City."

"That's not good."

"I don't think so. But go on."

"OK. Part of my job is to make a regular check of all the drives and directories in the complex. What with everything else I have to do, it can take me six months to check the whole tree--technical term, don't worry about it. Anyway, a week ago Friday I'm going through a couple of drives that belong to the executive suite, and I run into a real big section that's got a security password on it. Now, there's nothing wrong with having a password on a section of the system, everyone has personal files and such that needs restricted access, but it's all got to be registered with me. This section wasn't registered, and besides, it was awfully big. Now, standard procedure is that I get hold of the department head for the section where the problem is, and if I don't get a good answer in one working day, I crack the password and check out what's in there."

Robert held up a hand. "Doesn't it take a while to crack a password?"

"Oh, no, most people have very simple passwords, and others can be cracked with the right randomization software or by knowing the computer code."

Realization dawned on Robert's face. "You're a hacker." He was surprised to see slight hostility in Ann's face.

"Reformed," she said curtly. "Besides, who best to find sneaks than one who's been there?"

"Indeed," he agreed, knowing the concept very well. "But go on."

She got her thoughts back in order. "So I sent a message to the director of ops over in the president's office, making sure to mention that I'd crack the thing if they didn't get back to me, then I got on with my work. I wasn't expecting any problem, there were lots of ways they could deal with it. The weekend comes and I forget about it.

"Monday comes, and five minutes after I get into my office, the vice president of special projects comes in. Now, he's a strange guy to begin with, because I don't think he knows a blessed thing about computers. Then again, a lot of the management types don't. He tells me the secured section is for a product they're developing and that they'd prefer I'd leave it alone. I say sure, but they should have told me they were putting it in and did they really need almost three gig--gigabytes, that much memory. He said yes, so I left it at that. But he tried to tell me that they needed all that room because the engineering section was using some of it, and I know that it would take a good bit of reconfiguration to link engineering into the executive network."

"He was lying?" Robert asked, trying to follow the technicalese. When had the world gotten so complicated?

"Well, at the very least he was feeding me a line of BS. It made me wonder, but if they had a good use for all that space, they could have it. I did tell him if things started getting tight in that network they might have to give up some space. He didn't like that and told me not to worry about it. Well, management and IS have never been bosom buddies. They think we're nerds, and we think they're ignoramuses who probably can't even work their microwaves. So, bottom line, I let him keep the space and figured that was that. But the Paula creature showed up the next day."

"What made you link the two?"

"I saw her talking with Brewster, the v.p. for special projects, on Thursday in her cubicle. He doesn't normally come over to our side, so it was odd to see him around. Anyway, I was paranoid by that time and seeing bogeymen everywhere."

"What does she do there?"

Ann finished the wine, nursing its warmth against the chill in her soul. "Nothing that I can tell. She's supposed to be a temp working on a special project, but while she's been watching me, I've been watching her. I can see her computer from my desk, and she writes letters and plays computer games--when she's not following me. I committed a small indiscretion and went looking for her in the personnel files. She's not there."

"Interesting," Robert commented. "The obvious conclusion being that she was brought in to keep an eye on you."

"And the other obvious conclusion is there's something in that system they don't want me to see. What's really galling is that they set a watchdog on me and I hadn't even looked at the damned stuff."

"Yet," Robert added.

Ann met his eyes, and an unwilling smile escaped. "I went in yesterday, after Brewster went home."

"What's in there?" He liked the way this woman thought.

"I'm not sure. I went through the code and just looked at the configuration. I didn't want to set off any booby traps. Whoever set this up has only the most basic idea of how the system works. There's a lot of files and a lot of activity, but the weirdest thing is they've got a modem--" she glanced at Robert, and he nodded to show he understood "-- on an unregistered line geared for international calls. There's no link to engineering, and anyway, it's mostly text files with pictures, not program code." She fidgeted with her empty glass. "So that's it. What do you make of it?"

Robert finished the last of his brandy, then signaled Jeremy. "Would the kitchen be willing to open early to make me a pot of tea?"

"For you, probably," Jeremy grinned.

"You must come here a lot," Ann said as Jeremy left.

"It seems so. Anyway, let's see if I understand this. They think you've seen something you shouldn't, and, as of yesterday, they're half right. If the contents of that section were something company-related, they could deal with this through channels, unless, of course, they suspect corporate espionage."

"Those procedures haven't been activated."

"You checked that too?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Look, I called you because I can't deal with this, and I hate saying that," she snapped. "Yes, I looked in places I'm not supposed to because I want to know what the hell is going on. I'm tired of being afraid. If I thought it would work, I'd corner Paula and say I don't know anything and I promise never to look in that entire network ever again. I just want it to stop."

Robert put a hand on hers. "Miss Marshall, I understand. What they're doing to you is part surveillance and part psychological warfare. They're trying to impress you with their omniscience. Well, it's been my experience that omniscience is an illusion."

Ann took a shaky breath. "I hope so. I still have to go home, and I expect several mysterious phone calls."

"Can you record them?"

"I think so. God, if it weren't for my cats I wouldn't even go home, just leave town for a week or so." She glanced at Robert ruefully. "I suppose you think worrying about my cats at a time like this is silly."

"Not in the least," he smiled. "Though if you want to take your cats with you out of town, it is an option."

Ann thought about it as the tea arrived. They were silent over the first cup. Robert studied his new client. She didn't seem prone to hysterical exaggerations, and he had seen the watchers. He wondered if her company's security people should deal with this, but if mere suspicion of unauthorized knowledge had caused a well-organized shadowing campaign, Robert didn't like to think what could happen if Ann reported it.

"You say Smiley is the only one who watches your house. Have there been any attempted break-ins?"

Ann shook her head wearily. "Not yet. But I wouldn't put it past them."

"Now secure are you there?"

"As secure as a five-figure security system with twenty-four-hour monitoring can make me."

"Good. For a change, I think, the watchers will be watched. Where do you live?"

"437 West 23rd."

"Chelsea. A nice section. What apartment?"

"Um, well, none. The whole building's mine."

Robert paused in taking notes. "Computers pay very well."

"Not that well, at least not for me. The house was a guilt present from my grandmothers. But let's just say you don't have to worry about if I can pay your bill."

"I'll remember that. Phone number?"

"555-9411." Ann watched him take notes for a moment. "What do I do now?" she asked, displeased by the plaintive note in her voice.

"First of all, you go home, lock yourself and your cats inside, and be careful whom you open the door to. I'd drive you home myself, but I don't want them connecting us yet. If you'll give me their license numbers, I'll see what I can find out about Paula and Smiley. I'm also going to find out if your phone is tapped. I'll call you later tonight." He tapped his pen absently on the table as he studied her.

"What is it?" Ann asked, not liking the look in his eye.

"I don't like sending you home alone. They must be watching the place, waiting for you. Be very careful. And forgive me if I'm frightening you."

She shrugged. "It takes more than the truth to frighten me. Oddly enough, I feel better knowing something's being done about this. Where can I call a cab from?"

"Jeremy can do that." Robert signaled to Jeremy and relayed the request. "Do you have those license numbers?"

"Oh, yeah." She dug in her purse for her notebook, flipped through it and pulled out a page. "There, everything I could scrounge on them. I'd have checked DMV myself, but I try to ration myself to two felonies a week."

Robert blinked. "You know how to get into the DMV computers?"

"Oh, sure. In my evil youth I used to do it all the time. I watched a couple of city councilmen get rid of their kids' speeding tickets." She shook her head reminiscently. "Many is the Saturday night I spent watching scandals unfold." She blinked and came to herself. "I don't suppose I should be telling this stuff to you."

"Don't worry, client confidentiality forbids me telling anyone else."

"Thank heaven. Statutes of limitations are damnably long these days."

Robert would have chuckled but for the note of sincere relief in her voice. Was his new client wanted for something unpleasant? She'd mentioned her evil youth.

His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of a man into the bar. "Somebody call a cab?"

Ann felt a start of terror go through her. To go home, by herself, vulnerable. She had begun to feel safe.

"It's all right," Robert said softly. "I won't be far."

The fiercely independent part of her soul wasn't pleased at how much comfort she took from that reassurance. But independence wasn't dealing with this problem.

"Well, then," she said with a shaky breath, "I guess I'll talk to you later." She stood and went to the cabby.

Robert watched her go, turning her problem over in his mind. "Jeremy," he called, "would you be so kind as to bring me the phone?"

"Sure, Mr. McCall.

*

Mickey tapped on the passenger window of the Jaguar where it sat across from Ann Marshall's house in Chelsea. The click of the doorlock signaled his welcome.

"Good evening, Mickey," Robert said, gazing down the row of parked cars ahead of him to one which held the man who had watched Ms. Marshall at the zoo. On the dashboard was a small pile of manila folders.

"Evening, McCall. I brought coffee."

"Is it real coffee or something that's been sitting on a burner for two hours in a 7-11?"

"Uh..."

"I'd be content with Starbuck's."

"Starbuck's is closed."

Robert accepted the cup reluctantly. "At least it's caffeine. Did you get the DMV information on the license plates?"

"Eventually. It being Sunday made it a little more difficult."

"I'll be impressed with your ingenuity later. What do you have?"

Mickey handed over his file and gazed out the windshield at the brownstone across the street. "So she's rich, young, and single. What's wrong with her?"

"I beg your pardon?" Robert asked, pausing in reading.

"This Ann Marshall of yours. Somebody should have nabbed her a long time ago. I was only wondering what was wrong that she was still wandering around loose."

"Maybe she's picky."

"She certainly can afford a lot of real estate. And your client has it all to herself and two cats. That's a hell of a lot of room for one person." The thought crossed his mind that the lady might be lonely. "What's our target doing?"

"Just sitting there, doing what we're doing. This would be a good time to call her."

Mickey watched the house as Robert dialed. The middle two floors of the narrow, four-story brownstone were lit up. Flower boxes hung in front of the stained-glass second-floor windows. The house didn't show the obsessive neatness of its fashionable neighbors; it looked like it could relax if it wanted to.

Robert started getting concerned on the third ring. He was wondering how to bypass the security system when the phone was picked up on the other end.

"Hello?" Ann said uncertainly.

"Robert McCall, Miss Marshall."

"Oh, thank god."

"I take it they've called you."

"Three times. At least, I assume it's them. All I hear is breathing. I don't know if that's good or not."

"It sounds to me as if they want you to know they're keeping an eye on you without being overt. When was the last call?"

"Half an hour ago."

"Then it's not been Smiley making the calls. He's just sitting in his car watching your house."

"You're outside right now?"

"Yes, we are. Two cars behind Smiley."

The lights on the third floor went out. "Who's we?"

"A colleague and myself. Did you just turn off some lights?"

"Yes. I learned in college that it's much easier to spy on your neighbors if you do it from a dark room. Yes, there you are. Don't you find that driving a distinctive car is a liability? And there's the little bastard. The cops around here are quite cooperative. Would it do any good, you think, if I reported a loiterer?"

"I doubt it. Has anyone come to the door?"

"Only the neighbor kid hustling for a school fund drive. Did you find out anything?"

"Yes, and some of it good. First, no one has tapped your phone."

"Oh, good. Do I want to know how you're so sure?"

"Probably not." Robert glanced through the files. "Secondly, Smiley's name is Harvey Giberto, and he's a rather low-class crook who's probably been hired by the hour."

"They do that?"

"I wouldn't be at all surprised. Next, Paula Creer. Apparently, that's her real name, but I couldn't find out anything significant about her. Also, did you know your company is in financial trouble?"

"It is? Time to move my pension funds."

"My source says your company president is fairly new. Tell me about him."

"Adam Dushenko, pretty boy All-American success story son of hard-working immigrants made good."

"You don't like him."

"However did you guess?"

"Why not?"

"He's all flash and paper profit. He brags about how little he knows about computers. He came over to IS and asked us, 'Do you people make money for us or do you just think you do?' He's one of those annoying rah-rah, eternal pep rally types who think product is irrelevant to proper marketing."

"All form, no function."

"Precisely. Scratch the surface and the vacuum underneath will pour out. But since when are we in trouble? The last annual report was solid."

"I don't have specifics, but my source says there have been suspicious transfers of money into corporate accounts controlled solely by Dushenko. When was that section of the computer put in?"

"About eight months ago."

"Just after those accounts started appearing. What kind of product do you make?"

"Database software, mostly, and management tools. We're not huge, but we've got a decent reputation."

"But it's not a product fraught with the need for secrecy."

"Beyond normal corporate secrets, no."

"I'm tempted to take this to the police, what with Giberto's involvement. Upstanding businessmen don't hire his sort."

"They told me not to go to the cops." Faint fear shook her voice.

"I know. That's the only reason I haven't done it. I think their threats are serious."

A pause at the other end of the line. "I know they're serious. The cops were here when I got home. Someone tried to get in and set off the alarm."

"Damn," he muttered. "They're upping the stakes. Do you have anyone you can stay with?"

"I'd rather not drag my family into this. My mother left a message on my machine this afternoon saying someone from work called to see where I was." She hesitated. "If they go after my family ..."

"They won't."

"How do you know?" she demanded.

"I won't let them." Robert saw Mickey glance up at him from the files.

"How?" She had a note of desperation in her voice. Her resolve was slipping. "I have a big family."

"I may not be able to keep an eye on your family, but I can keep an eye on your enemies." There was silence on the other end. "Miss Marshall?"

"I'm so scared," she whispered, shame warring with the tears in her voice.

Robert's anger stirred at the sound of barely restrained weeping. Any woman crying roused his protective instincts, but this gutsy young woman had been so proud of her courage...

"I will do everything I can, Miss Marshall," he finally said. "You're not alone in this."

"I know." Her voice was firmer. "I think that's the most reassuring thing of all, knowing there's someone on my side." She took several deep, calming breaths. "What about tomorrow? Should I go into work?"

"To tell you the truth, Miss Marshall, I'm torn. I don't like putting you that close to them, but their plans are contingent on your not changing your behavior. If you begin acting differently, they might want to know why. You could always claim you got food poisoning from a zoo hot dog, though."

She hesitated. "I'll go in. I can think of better ways to spend the day than hiding in here and wondering who's outside watching the house."

Robert nodded to himself in approval. "As you will."

"Would a confrontation do any good?"

"Absolutely not. Cornered rats bite. If all they're doing is manipulating the stock price or embezzling the accounts, there's no reason for you to get in their way. Call me immediately, though, if something happens. How will you get to work tomorrow?"

"Bus, I think. I want witnesses, but I don't have the fortitude to face the subway just now."

"Very good. If nothing happens tomorrow, call me when you get home. I'll go see what I can find out about what's going on. Mr. Giberto just may be their weak link. Do you want us to stay out here tonight?"

Ann hesitated, and Robert expected her to say yes. "I'll be all right. I'm safe in here. Go ahead and go."

Robert's respect for her courage went up another notch. "All right. Call me if anything happens to change your mind."

"I will. Then I guess that's it for now."

"Sleep as well as you can."

"I'll try. Good night."

"Good night."

Robert hung up his phone and looked out at the brownstone, wondering if Ann stood at one of those darkened windows. He also wondered if that fragility he heard in her voice was just transient nerves or the upwelling of a deeper flaw. Which way would she go if truly hard pressed?

"I hope I'm not making a mistake leaving her here," he said thoughtfully.

"You like her," Mickey commented, a knowing smirk on his face.

Robert looked at him in surprise. "There's nothing not to like. Besides, I rarely help people I dislike."

"No, you like her."

"Mickey," he sighed, "you have all the potential to be an admirable grown up if you'd just do it."

The morning had gone so smoothly that Ann was beginning to wonder if she'd imagined everything. Paula Creer was nowhere to be seen. Not a peep had come from the executive offices. It was either very good or very bad.

At 2 in the afternoon, her phone rang. "Ann Marshall, may I help you?"

"Ann, this is Adam Dushenko. How are you this afternoon?"

"Uh, fine, Mr. Dushenko."

"Adam, please. Ann, I have some free time this afternoon, and I was wondering if you could come up and discuss some things with me."

"Right now?"

"If that's not a problem."

Ann stared at the pile of routine computer space requests on her desk and wished something world-shattering was there. "No, it's not a problem. How about twenty minutes, so I can wrap up a couple of things?"

"I'd really appreciate it if you could make it sooner."

She glanced out her office door and saw Paula Creer filing her nails and smiling back. "All right, Adam. I'll be right up."

"See you soon."

Ann glared at Paula, who had the temerity to wave. So they were being blatant, were they? Ann stood and drank the rest of her tea slowly, wondering if she could duck into somebody's office and call Robert McCall. Marty in Engineering would let her, but he'd want a date, and besides, he was in the wrong direction.

She reminded herself that they couldn't just make her disappear from work, but that didn't help much.

Paula casually got up from her chair as Ann left her office and fell in behind. Ann waited till they were in a side hallway before she stopped short and turned around. Paula bumped into her, and Ann solicitously grabbed her to keep her from falling.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said sweetly, digging her thumbs into the nerve bundles in the elbows. "I didn't see you back there." She let Paula go and turned to continue on her way, keeping an ear tuned back in case of revenge. Paula kept her distance, even if she did sulk.

The executive suite was in its usual state of pandering to Dushenko's ego, with everyone trying to be casual and cutthroat at the same time, in imitation of the great man. Dushenko himself was wandering around, his thousand-dollar-suit jacket hanging open, assistants trailing and absorbing his instant business wisdom. He spotted Ann and broke off his five-way conversation.

"Find me later, folks, I've got a meeting. Ann, good to see you. Come on in my office." He draped an arm around her shoulders and led her into his spacious office.

Before Dushenko closed the door Ann noticed that Paula plopped into a chair near the secretary. She was rubbing her elbows.

"Have a seat," Dushenko said, going behind his desk. He pushed an intercom button. "Sam? Come on over, she's here."

Ann sat down cautiously in the seat nearest the door. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe.

A quick knock on the door, then it opened and Brewster, the special v-p for ops, came in.

"Sam, sit down anywhere," Dushenko said.

"Thanks, I'll stand." Brewster took up position by the door. Ann glanced at him and tried not to fidget.

Dushenko clasped his hands on his desk and smiled winningly. "Sam tells me you were showing an interest in our special project."

"Not really," Ann said calmly. "I just asked if that hunk of memory was being used for a valid purpose. Mr. Brewster said it was, so that's good enough for me. What you do with that space is your business."

"It's good to know I have conscientious employees. And I believe in rewarding good work." His smile broadened.

"Excuse me?"

"Not everyone would care enough about their responsibilities to go into my personal drives and see what's there."

"It's my job," she said cautiously. "I'm supposed to look at everybody's directories. Besides, I didn't go into those sections, you've got them locked off."

"But you know how to get past that," Brewster said softly.

"I have to know. It's my job," she repeated, hoping the mantra would work.

"She's right, Sam," Dushenko said. "It is her job to audit the system, and not even the president of the company should be sacrosanct."

Ann saw more bite in his smile than she liked. "If you'd like me to leave the executive suite stuff alone--"

"No, no, that's all right. We need someone to make sure we don't get swamped in old game prototypes. But we were discussing your reward."

"Mr. Dushenko--Adam, I don't need a reward for doing my job."

"On the contrary. I like to see people who aren't intimidated by authority. It just remains to see what kind of reward I should give you."

Ann tried to smile. "Oh, there's no hurry." She glanced at her watch. "Look, I've got a lot of work to do. I'm willing to leave the nature of my reward in your hands." She smiled brightly at Dushenko and stood up.

But Brewster was in no hurry to leave his place in front of the door. "By the way, what do you think of the new project?" he asked.

"What do I think of it?" Ann repeated. "I haven't seen it. What's there to think?" Brewster stared at her, and she knew he didn't believe her.

"Sam, we can let her in on that later," Dushenko said genially. "She has work to do and so do we."

"You're right, Adam." Brewster stood aside to let Ann out. "See you later, Ann."

She smiled at him, not trusting herself to speak, and opened the door. Paula Creer put down her magazine and stood up. She glared at Ann and followed, but at a respectful distance.

Ann closed her office door behind her, sat down at her desk, and shook. They weren't going to leave her alone. Somehow, whatever was in that system was worth threatening over.

She reached for the phone, then stopped. In an intricate phone system, it wouldn't be hard to monitor her line. And calling someone immediately would look suspicious.

Breathing slowly and trying to think calm thoughts, Ann sorted the space allotment requests and spent the next half hour doing her job.

At three o'clock, she wandered out into the mid-afternoon mingle. She attached herself to a group headed for the company cafeteria. Paula trailed behind.

Ann made sure Paula was close as they waited for the elevator, then she struck up a conversation with a new mother about her baby, supplying appropriate noises.

The elevator doors slid open. Ann stepped in, with Paula behind her, then she made way for the still chattering new mother. More people came in, and Ann made sure to be near the doors.

She'd timed the doors on this elevator many a time. Just before they slid shut, Ann said, "I think I'll take the stairs," and slipped out. Paula's squeak from the back of the car was cut off by the closing doors.

Ann ran for the stairs to take her to the office of Marty in Engineering. If she had to, she'd go out with him, so long as he let her use his phone in private.

Robert McCall swore under his breath as he unlocked his front door. Why did telephones always choose to ring when one was indisposed? If it turned out to be an aluminum siding salesman again.... He cleared the door and reached for the phone just as the answering machine clicked. "McCall."

"Oh, thank god, you're finally home," came Ann Marshall's terrified voice.

"Miss Marshall? What's happened?"

"They think I've seen what's in the computer and they don't believe me when I say I haven't."

"Slow down. Tell me what happened."

Ann took two deep breaths and gave him a blow-by-blow report of her meeting.

"Don't go home," Robert said quickly. "They'll be waiting for you."

"Oh, god..."

"Calm down. Panic won't do anyone any good, least of all you. Are you still being watched?"

"Not right now. I left Paula in the elevator and ran to use the phone of somebody in another part of the building. I didn't think discretion will do any good any more."

"Probably not. When do you normally leave work?"

"In about an hour and a half."

"That should be long enough."

"For what?"

"Bear with me. You did take the bus?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Which route do you normally take home?"

"Blue 14."

"I want you to take that bus and trust me. Someone on our side will be watching you. Do what he tells you."

"How will I know him?"

"His name's Mickey. You can trust him."

"I hope so."

"I understand how you're feeling, but I promise you I will get you out of this."

*

An hour and a half later, as Ann walked out of the building with Sam Brewster ten feet behind her, she silently repeated Robert McCall's reassurances like a good luck charm. Brewster had appeared outside her office about two minutes after she'd returned from the phone call, and hadn't moved. She'd shut her door to block the staring eyes and resisted the temptation to go peek out. Only the fear of being in the building after everyone had left had made her gather her things and open the door to leave.

The street was full as usual, and the bus stop packed. She made it with her usual fifteen minutes to spare. Brewster took up his position slightly behind her and five feet away. Ann noticed he wasn't letting the shift and flow of people move him from his spot. She wondered what had happened to Paula.

Look as she might, she couldn't spot anyone else who was watching her. Smiley was nowhere around, and she hadn't thought to ask what McCall's look-out looked like.

Another herd of buses arrived, Blue 14 second in the line. Ann started working her way through the crowd to the doors. Brewster was three people behind her.

Native wiliness told her to stay on her feet, not to sit down where she could be cornered. She grabbed one of the overhead straps. Another man grabbed the last one behind her, just before Brewster could. He was forced to the back of the bus and another set of straps.

The bus started with a lurch that caught Ann by surprise, and she almost fell into the man behind her.

He braced her with a hand in her back. "Be careful," he said softly. "McCall won't be happy if I don't deliver you in good shape."

Ann froze. "McCall? And you are?"

"Mickey Kostmayer. I was sitting next to McCall last night when you turned off some lights to peek outside." Her shoulders relaxed, but she didn't turn around. Mickey chuckled to himself at her inherent sneakiness.

"Then you're the one he told me about," she said. "So what's the plan?"

"Get off at 42nd Street. McCall's there with his car. I'll slow down anybody who tries to stop you."

"Speaking of which, the man whose grab you beat out for that strap is the chief of my worries."

"Damn, I didn't get that good a look at him. He went to the back, right?"

"Yes."

"Then when we hit the stop, you go out the front and I'll see what I can do about slowing down the back. Just keep moving when we get there, and I'll watch your back."

Ann nodded. Her stomach was too tense to allow herself to speak.

The bus jostled its slow way down Manhattan. Mickey kept his ears on the back of the bus, but didn't glance back. He didn't want anyone back there to think he was taking too much interest.

As they approached 42nd Street and the big transfer point, several people began gathering their things and making a general bustle.

Mickey leaned closer to Ann. "You ready?" She nodded.

Ann shifted her feet nervously, loosening her knees for quick movement, and scanned the streets outside for sign of Robert McCall. As the bus began slowing for the stop, she spotted him.

He was parked on the side street nearest the bus stop. Both front car doors were partially open, and McCall stood by the driver's door, calmly watching the bus and the street.

Mickey leaned towards Ann again as the bus began braking, causing people to sway. "Run when you get out there. It's too late for subtlety."

"Right."

The bus stopped and the doors opened. Ann took a deep breath and headed for the front door. She didn't look back towards Brewster, trusting Mickey to do the job he'd said he would. But the people were so slow; a man with a huge backpack was taking forever to get down the stairs.

She made the steps and glanced back into the bus. Brewster was fighting his way through the crowd to get to the back doors. Mickey stood at the head of the stairs, letting people go in front of him and blocking those behind.

"Come on, come on," she muttered as the woman ahead of her stepped slowly down to the street.

The woman glared at her. "You'll be my age some day."

"Only if I'm lucky," Ann snarled, and she shoved her way past and jumped to the street.

Robert saw her get off the bus and straightened quickly, waiting to see if she'd spotted him.

Ann pushed her way through the crowds, ignoring curses. She felt like she was moving through mud. She barely cleared the back doors of the bus when Mickey came stumbling down the steps, Brewster close behind.

Terror gave strength to her shoves. McCall slipped into the driver's seat of his car, started the engine and leaned over to push the passenger door open a little wider.

The big construction worker Ann pushed by wasn't amused. "Watch it, lady!" he snapped. Ann didn't pause to apologize.

Brewster untangled himself from Mickey and ran after Ann, snaking through the path she left in the crowd.

The construction worker was less pleased to be shoved by Brewster. "Look where you're going, jerk!" He shoved Brewster in return.

Brewster reached under his jacket and yanked out a pistol.

"Jesus!" the construction worker yelled and jumped back, knocking over the woman behind him.

Two other people made it a priority to be elsewhere as Brewster leveled the gun at Ann's back.

Robert started to reach for his own gun, but too many people were moving around.

"Ann! Get down!"

She took it on faith, tucked her head, and hit the pavement.

Brewster's shot ricocheted off the roof of McCall's car, and the screaming started.

Mickey tried to fight his way through the scattering people to Brewster. Too many civilians to think of pulling his own piece. At least the jerk isn't on automatic. Where's the girl, where's the girl? I saw her go down, but was it before or after--oh, shit, I know this guy--

Brewster had counted on his first shot doing the job. Now the jostling, shrieking crowd was spoiling both his aim and his chance of escape. He started to edge through the crowd, looking for an out or another clear shot at Ann Marshall, whichever came first.

Her sensei would have called the shoulder roll clumsy and criticized her for holding on to the briefcase. But, to the best of Ann's knowledge, Sensei had never been shot at. She stumbled on getting to her feet but threw herself at the Jaguar's open door. She hit the seat backwards, and gravity slammed the door as McCall popped the brake and peeled rubber away from the curb.

"Hang on," he said curtly as he slewed the big car through a little hole in the rush hour traffic. He took a right into the next alley he saw, scared the hell out of a wino searching a dumpster, turned left into another alley, then made a hard right into a cul-de-sac and hit the brakes. Fighting adrenal withdrawal, he switched off the engine.

"Are you all right?" he asked his passenger.

Ann clung to the seatback. Her stomach couldn't decide which way to protest, and terror had shut down most of the voluntary systems. Finally, slowly, she relaxed her grip and turned around to sit down properly.

Robert studied her closely. She didn't act like she'd been hurt, but shock could do that. "Ann, are you all right?"

"Yeah," she whispered. She raised a shaky hand to her head. "Oh, god." It was starting to hit her. "How close did that bullet come?"

Robert had to swallow. "If you hadn't hit the sidewalk when you did..."

Ann looked at him and saw her answer in his eyes. "It's become something to kill over, then."

"Yes, it has. I'm sorry, I had no idea--"

"Well, neither did I." She held out her hand and watched it shake with interest. "If I didn't know better, I'd say I was thirty seconds from embarrassing hysterics."

"If you feel you must, go ahead. In the meantime, it's time to go to ground and compare notes."

Ann felt her mind sub-divide into several shrieking pieces and one coherent section as he started the engine. "Where are we going?"

"My apartment. Mickey will meet us there."

He backed the car out cautiously, then threaded his way through the alleys to a cross-street. An odd noise caught his attention. Ann was fidgeting with the catches of her briefcase, opening them, catching them with her thumbs, then closing them again. He started to ask her to stop, but then he saw she wasn't really there. She was staring at a spot on the dashboard, and she wasn't blinking.

At the next light, he put his hand on her shoulder. "It's all right," he said softly. She jerked back from wherever it was she'd been and stared at him. "You're allowed to be frightened."

Ann took a deep, shaky breath. "Mr. McCall--"

"Robert, please." The light turned green, and they started moving. "I've always considered flying bullets to constitute a proper introduction," he continued.

He was pleased to see a faint smile appear. "You may be right," she answered.

"Now, just sit back and relax as much as you can. This may be the last chance you get in a while."

Ann took his advice, closing her eyes and refusing to listen to the hysterical gremlins trying to get her brain's attention.

It was a nice neighborhood they finally pulled up in. Not, Ann noticed forgivingly, quite as nice as hers, but then, very few were. As Robert held the car door for her, she saw he was looking around with a faint frown.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I don't see Mickey's van. He was supposed to meet us here."

"Could something have happened to him back there?"

"I don't think so, but I was too busy driving to see."

Ann made a face. "And I never thought to look. I'm sorry."

"My dear, you had other things to worry about." He sighed. "Well, he knows how to take care of himself. Shall we?"

Robert's apartment was behind a door with an impressive set of locks. Ann studied the place, looking for those clues a home held to a person's personality. The place was comfortable and understated. Nothing flashy, but attractive nonetheless. Ann restrained her urge to study his books. She saw a small kitchen and a corridor leading off to the rest of the place.

Robert noticed her interest. "Not as impressive as a four-story brownstone to oneself, but it suits me."

"It's probably cheaper to heat, too."

He showed her to a seat, then, after a quick assessment of the state of her nerves, went to his small bar. He returned with two glasses of sherry.

"Thank you, no, not for me," Ann said quickly. But the strain was beginning to show.

"I'm afraid I must insist," Robert said with a smile. "Your hands are still shaking, and I don't think you're normally so pale. Besides, I was properly raised, and I can't have the drink I need unless you at least accept one."

She hesitated, then sighed and took a glass. "My grandmother would be pleased that the etiquette lessons took so well." She looked at the drink ruefully. "But I was taught that a strong character could withstand anything without the need for crutches."

"One glass of sherry will not ruin your character."

He waited pointedly until she acquiesced and took a sip, then he drank half his own glass. Despite his familiarity with violence, he never got used to being shot at, and he had butterflies that needed settling. He watched his client out of the corner of his eye. She continued to take ladylike sips of her sherry. Her color was better, but her hands still trembled. She still held on to her calm, but it was a fingernail grip. Her strength was undeniable, but was it resilient or brittle? Better to deal with it now then have her suddenly collapse under the strain.

"So who was that who tried to kill you?" he asked calmly. "I didn't get that good a look at him."

"Brewster, the vice-president--" Suddenly it flashed back to her, Robert's warning, the duck, the sound of the bullet as it passed over her in the space where her head used to be, the look in Robert's eyes that told her how close it had been--her resolve cracked, and the screams grabbed her soul.

At the first choked sob, Robert put down his glass, sat beside her, and pulled her into his arms.

Ann tired to pull away. "I'm sor-sorry..."

"Stop apologizing for being human. Someone tried to kill you. It's supposed to upset you."

His matter-of-fact acceptance of her distress melted the last of her restraint. She cried out her terror against his shoulder.

Robert let her tears serve as the vent for some of his own anger. People under his protection were not supposed to come so close to the Reaper. If she hadn't moved so quickly--what were they keeping secret that was worth killing over?

Ann let herself cry enough to feel better but not so much as to embarrass herself. As she began to straighten, Robert pulled his arms away and sat back.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

Ann nodded. "I've soaked your shoulder," she said ruefully.

"Cotton washes beautifully." He presented her with his handkerchief.

She only wiped away the last tears, not being the sort who could blow her nose in a handkerchief then give it back to its owner. She found it very hard to meet Robert's eyes.

"You're allowed to be upset," he repeated, beginning to be annoyed with her. "I don't think any less of you for giving in to a few well-deserved tears."

Ann grimaced in annoyance. "It just seems such a namby-pamby female thing to do," she blurted.

"I've seen big tough men react the same way the first time they've been shot at. I'm assuming this is the first time you've been shot at."

"Been shot at? Oh. Yes, it is." Something cold and distant entered her voice that puzzled him, but he didn't have a chance to investigate. "May I use your bathroom?" she asked.

"Certainly. It's just through there, first door on the right."

Robert's musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. A check through the peephole showed Mickey, and he opened the door with relief.

"There you are. I was beginning to worry."

Mickey was uncharacteristically grim. "I'm fine, but keep worrying."

"What's wrong?"

Mickey glanced around. "Where is she?"

"In the bathroom. Delayed stress reaction."

"Yeah. Did you see the shooter?"

"Not clearly. Ann says it was Brewster, the v-p for special operations."

Mickey's eyes narrowed. "You and I know him better as Mark Cochran."

"Oh, my god." Robert looked around the room, trying to sort it out. "What's an ex-Company target man doing as a computer executive?"

"Besides arranging hits on the middle managers, you mean? I called Control, that's what took me so long." Mickey nodded towards the bathroom. "Better get the lady out here, it just got real messy."

Robert nodded, but he tracked down the other half of his sherry first. Cochran had been one of the Company's instruments of less-than-honorable use. Only rarely, though, had he been required to kill someone. His primary work had been the assessment of vulnerabilities. There'd been suspicion of independent operation. Nothing had been proven, but he'd been let go all the same.

Ann opened the door before Robert got there. She looked more her old self. "You're all right," she said upon seeing Mickey. "Thank you for helping me get out of there."

"Yeah, you're welcome. Did you hit the dirt willingly?"

"Yes, I did. So now what?"

"Now we talk," Robert said. "And I think we'd better sit down."

Mickey accepted his own drink from Robert. "What are you going to tell her?" he asked softly.

"Don't worry, I won't let anything slip."

Ann watched the interplay curiously. "What's up?"

Robert glanced at Mickey reassuringly. "My colleague here says he knows who Brewster is."

"And?"

"It seems your vice-president of special operations used to be--well, a hit man."

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. For a moment she stopped breathing, then it came out in an explosive curse. "What the fucking hell is Dushenko up to!"

Admirably succinct, Robert thought as Ann launched herself from her chair and began pacing rapidly around the room.

She stopped dead in front of the kitchen counter, stared at the formica surface, then turned. "I'm going to find out what's in that system."

"That would seem to be the next logical step," Robert said. He saw Mickey give a sigh of relief that she wasn't asking difficult questions. But she would, eventually. He'd better have answers ready. "How do we do it?"

Ann stared at one of the pictures on the wall. A tremor of fear shook her but there was really only one answer. "I have to go back in."

"What!" Mickey snapped. "Lady, I didn't get pushed down a flight of steps so you could give these guys a second chance."

"The idea doesn't excite me much, either, but there's no other way."

"There has to be," Robert insisted. "You said a modem was connected to that section. Can't you go through that?"

Ann wearily shook her head. "I'm going to have to crack the password, and our modem software is all geared to shut out more than three attempts at a password. I set it up that way myself. No, the only way to do it is from inside."

Robert frowned, wishing he knew more about computers. Perhaps Jonah at the company could be persuaded to take a try at it.

"It's going to have to be soon," Ann added softly. "After this afternoon they're going to know they can't trust me. They might be dumping it right now."

Robert stared at her unhappily. She was right, damn it all. "I'll go in with you."

"You can't."

"I beg your pardon?"

Ann cringed slightly at the snap in his voice. "There are security desks at each floor. The guards know me, I work a lot of overtime, but visitors after hours are discouraged. I've got to go alone."

"But not without back-up," Mickey said.

"It's not your fight," Ann pointed out. "And Brewster's already shown he's willing to kill."

"You can't tell me anything about that guy I don't already know. Besides," he added with a reluctant smile, "McCall's been a bad influence on me, with running around pulling people's butts out of the fire. He's got me being noble too."

She sighed a little shakily. "Thank you. I really hated the idea of going back in without any help."

Robert gave her an offended look. "My dear girl, you asked me to help you find out what's going on. That job isn't done yet." His voice dropped into a very serious register. "And no one shoots at my clients and gets away with it."

Ann felt a sort of uneasy relief, as if a brand-new, understated security system came equipped with the private phone number of the 82nd Airborne. She wondered just who these two men were, but by now she didn't care. She only hoped she could match their nonchalance.

"Well," she said, checking her watch, "if I'm going to do some illegal entry, I'm going to need my dinner. I know a good Chinese place that delivers. Dinner's on me."

*

Two hours later, the sweet and sour chicken was a cold lump in her stomach as they drove into the basement garage of the Prodigal building.

The closest parking spot Robert could find to the elevator was six stalls away. The silence echoed when he turned off the engine.

You don't have to do this, Ann told herself. Let them clean out the system, call it a loss. You're still alive. Stay that way.

But what if they don't call it a loss? Mere suspicion had brought a hit man down on her. Her only protection was information. She had to find out what was in that system that people thought worth her life.

She took a deep, shaky breath. "Well, I guess it's time."

"You don't have to do this," Robert told her.

"Yes, I do. I want to know what so damned important to them."

Robert nodded. "In that case I want you to take something with you. Mickey?"

From the back seat, Mickey handed him a small walky-talky, which he then handed to Ann. She took it uncertainly.

"Don't change the frequency," Robert warned her. "I have the other one. I want you to call me every few minutes to let us know how you're doing. I really don't like the idea of you going up there alone."

"They may not even be up there," she said hopefully.

"Always a possibility, but let's not take any chances." He looked at his watch. "Nine o'clock. There shouldn't be many people around. What floor are you going to?"

"My office is on the 24th. That's my first choice, but I might try engineering on the 23rd." One final deep breath, then she unfastened her seatbelt and opened the door.

"Be careful," Robert told her. "It's not worth getting hurt over."

"Hopefully being a brown belt will count for something."

"Belts don't stop bullets," Mickey commented from the back.

Ann glanced at him, meeting his level gaze. "Sensei keeps saying that." She got out of the car.

They watched her walk to the elevator. Mickey leaned over the back of the front seat. "I see why you like her. Pure guts, that one."

Robert was too preoccupied to deal with the concept of liking. "Something smells very bad about this, Mickey. I don't think Cochran is up to anything small. We should have called Jonah instead of letting her go back inside."

"He'd probably say what she did, that it has to be done from inside."

"Probably," Robert sighed.

At the elevator, Ann waited with twisting stomach for the car to arrive. She resisted the temptation to look back at where her allies waited. They couldn't help with this.

The doors of the elevator opened. She breathed a sigh of relief that no one was inside and got in. Her hand, she noticed with some pride, didn't shake as she pushed the button for the 24th floor. As the elevator rose, she looked at the walky-talky. Why not? She pushed the transmit button. "Hello?"

"McCall here," came the quick reply. "Is something wrong?"

"No, just wanted to make sure this thing works."

"Good idea."

"I guess I'll call you when I get settled somewhere. Out."

"Out."

"Sounds like a damned spy movie," she muttered.

The elevator ride was long enough for fear to mutate to boredom and back again. The muscles in her neck started crawling as she passed the twentieth floor. Now came the danger of her enemies waiting on any floor, at any door.

21...22...23...

Ann took a deep breath, rapidly reviewed the parts of a sidekick and neck chop, and forced herself to look casual.

A quick scan as the elevator doors opened showed the foyer was empty. She strolled out with every show of confidence and walked without hesitation to the security desk.

"Evening, Miss Marshall," the guard said casually as he pushed the after-hours sign-in log towards her.

"Evening, Phil." Is he being overly casual? Ann asked herself as she signed. Or am I just paranoid?

"You work too many late nights. You ought to get yourself a man and stay home evenings." Phil tossed the clipboard onto the desk behind the counter.

Ann forced herself to walk naturally to the glass doors leading to the rest of the floor. "You're probably right." But Phil's attention had already gone back to the screens on his desk, one of which showed the Mets game. Ann put her security card to the scan plate on the doors, then walked through. She felt a trap snap as the doors closed and locked behind her.

The big IS room was dark except for the glow of occasional screensavers on the monitors. Ann paused in the doorway to scan for movement or untoward sounds. Had it been only four hours ago that she'd left here, heart in her throat, to make her escape? She'd never thought she'd be looking at this room she spent so much time in as enemy territory.

The room was still, the quiet broken only by the hum of cooling fans in the processor boxes. Ann walked as quietly as she could towards her office door. She approached from the side opposite the narrow window by the door, just in case. A quick glance when she was in range showed Paula's cubicle was empty. No light showed from Ann's office, but her imagination peopled it with a silent circle of waiting enemies. She'd locked the door when she'd left, but locks were no barrier to people with master keys.

She hesitated when she reached for the doorknob. But cowardice would be no use now. Besides, she was still balanced to deliver that side kick.

The door was still locked. Not that that meant anything either. Her hands didn't even shake as she put in the key and turned the lock. She threw open the door, just in case.

Her office was empty, but it hadn't been left alone. The papers on her desk were rearranged. Quickly she closed and locked the door behind her and went to check her desk. Her box of personal disks was gone. Muttering obscenities, she fired up the computer. As it ran through the login procedure, she pulled out the walky-talky.

"This is Ann, are you there?"

Robert made a quick noise of relief. "McCall here, what took so long?"

"Hasn't seemed long to me. I wanted to make sure no one was around. I'm in my office. They've searched it and taken the disks I keep my hacking programs on."

"Does that mean you can't do it?" Robert was willing to order her out.

"No, those were only the back-ups. I've got spares in a corner of the network that nobody but me can get to. Do you want me to call back when I get into the section?"

Robert was getting remarkably nervous about having her so far out of reach. "No, leave it on. There's a switch on the side to set it to voice-activated operation."

"Right. Well, time to start hacking. I talk to myself when I do this, so you can ignore most of what I say. And if I start questioning something's intelligence, I'm not talking to you."

"As you will." Robert placed the walky-talky on the dashboard and sat back, chewing his thumbnail. Mickey didn't comment from where he hung on the back of the front seat; he had a bad premonition himself.

Ann copied the programs she'd need onto a spare floppy and headed into the network. She started the back-up computer on the side table and ran a monitoring protocol on the section of the network server she was looking at. If someone else started moving through the system, she wanted to know about it.

Finally she reached the locked-off section.

"Welcome back, my friends, to the show that never ends," she muttered. "Fire one." She started the simple randomized password cracker.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Mickey asked Robert softly, so as not to activate the walky-talky.

"Generally."

Mickey heard the tension in his friend's voice and nodded. "With Cochran involved, it's got to have agency ties. What are we going to tell her?"

"The truth has a novel sound."

"What a thought."

Ann watched both monitors carefully. So far so good. Abruptly the password program stopped, and she held her breath, waiting for the security protocols to lock her up. Then the screen cleared and a large directory started scrolling.

"My god, I'm in. What a pathetic system."

Robert grabbed the radio. "Did you say you were in?"

"Yeah. God, I wasn't even halfway through the program." She scanned the listings in the directory. "Yeah, this is graphics based. They're not even using half of this memory, the greedy beasts. Where's the executable? Ah, there we go."

Mickey shook his head. "I hate feeling out-of-date."

Robert didn't say anything.

Ann set up the graphics front-end and started a thorough check of the files. "The title of this mess is the International Independent Security Access Database," she said for the benefit of her audience. "I'm looking at a menu that gives you the option of bidding for information, offering new inventory, checking your account, or exiting. I wonder what they bid on."

Robert and Mickey looked at each other uneasily.

"Good lord, these are names," Ann said after a moment. She started paging through the list. "Ashkenazy, Cole, Cruz, Da'ud, Hsing--very multi-ethnic--Jones, Jones, a lot of Joneses. My word, Kostmayer."

"Jesus," Mickey muttered. "Stop her, McCall."

Robert had already grabbed the walky-talky. "Ann, I think we've seen enough."

She wasn't listening. She had hesitated briefly on seeing "Kostmayer, M.", and afterwards she was never really certain why she went looking for the Mc's.

No Marshalls, a couple of Maxwells, one M'benga, then McAdams. She hesitated again, then paged down one more time.

McArgan, MacAdder, McBain--McCall, R.

"Ann," Robert tried again.

Don't do it, said the still small voice, but the mouse was already moving.

The menu disappeared, then a picture appeared and a text block started filling. The picture was of Robert McCall, but grainy and blurry. Badly scanned, the technician in Ann's mind commented. Her eyes went to the text block, but she froze after the first sentence.

"Oh, shit," she said softly. She cleared her throat with difficulty. "Robert? You're in here, and I don't think you wanted me to see this."

"Mother of God," Mickey growled, falling back against his seat.

Robert closed his eyes and thought ungentlemanly things. She sounded upset, and he wondered what was in the file. "How much is there?"

"You want me to read this?"

"You mean you haven't?"

"Look, the first sentence about you being retired from--well, I don't think it's any of my business, so I stopped." Since she wasn't being scolded, she had a thousand nosy questions born of too many movies. But she had a knot of fear in her stomach about what might happen to her now that she had seen this information. "I suppose you're angry with me."

"Not with you. Only that such information is on someone else's computer." He stopped, horrified. "Ann, you said there was a modem connected to this."

"Jesus Christ," Ann gasped and started working the mouse. "Oh, lord, they've got a place to add and access information off the modem. And they've got a rate card that looks like some damned home shopping network."

"Who can get to this?" Mickey asked.

"Anybody with the phone number and the password. I see at least twelve active accounts."

Mickey covered the pick-up to speak privately to Robert. "There's been rumors of an intelligence brokerage ring that will deal with anybody. I think we've found it."

Robert nodded but was cut off by Ann's nervous voice.

"Guys," she said slowly, "there's a section marked Special Services, and I've read enough spy novels to know what extreme prejudice means."

"Cochran," Mickey muttered.

"Ann, get out of there," Robert ordered.

She started to shut down the system, but hesitated. "Do you want a copy of this?" She was already shoving a blank disk in the drive.

"We could use it," Mickey said.

"She's a civilian, we can't risk it," Robert said. "Don't do it, Ann."

"Too late, it's started."

The look on Robert's face would have made Mickey laugh in a different situation. Robert McCall wasn't used to being defied.

Ann was busy marking files. "I'm only copying raw data. Most of the memory is taken up with the graphics, billing, and routing. I suppose you'll want the names of the active accounts."

"How long is this going to take?" Robert asked.

"Halfway done." She changed disks and started the final few files copying. She had a fast machine, and the last of the active accounts was going on the disk when the process suddenly slowed way down.

"Oh, god, no, not a server crash, not now." She turned to the second computer. Her stomach grabbed her heart and squeezed. "Oh, no."

"What's wrong?" Robert demanded.

"Somebody else is trying to get into this directory. They had the sense to limit it to one connection at a time, and since I'm already in here--"

"They're on to you. Get out of there, now. Forget the copies."

Ann looked at her first system. It had hung up partway through the next to last file. This time prudence had the upper hand. She opened the disk drive, ruining the file in progress, yanked out the disk, grabbed the other one and headed for the door.

She didn't bother to lock her office. Pausing in the dark IS room, she spoke softly into the walky-talky. "I'm headed out. I'll call when I'm clear."

"Right." Robert reached for the car door.

Mickey grabbed him. "You try and hook up with her and you'll both just miss each other in the maze. It's a big building."

"Blast, you're right."

Ann crept toward the security desk, waited a moment, then walked through the glass doors with as much bravado as she could muster.

Phil looked up. "Oh, Ms. Marshall, Mr. Brewster just called looking for you. He said if I saw you I should get you to wait for him."

She was breathless with terror for a moment. "He's coming down here?"

"That's what he said."

She started towards the elevator. "Well, give him my apologies, but I've got too much to do tonight to wait." She reached for the button, but stopped. Brewster was coming down. The next elevator due on this floor would have him in it. "On second thought, I'll take the stairs. It's only 20 some floors down."

Phil only shook his head. "Health nuts. God made elevators for a reason."

Ann pushed the crash bar on the stairwell door and slipped through, then she started to run.

Three floors down, she pulled out the walky-talky. "I'm in the stairs headed down. Brewster's coming. I don't know how far behind." A door opened above her, and she shoved away from the wall. "I think he's behind me."

"You're driving," Robert ordered as he threw open the car door. Mickey didn't answer, busy bailing out of his side and coming around the car.

Robert looked around for the door to the stairwell. He ran to it and yanked on the handle. The door was locked. He kicked the door in frustration.

Ann passed the door for the seventeenth floor. Brewster, if that was who it was, was only two floors behind her. On the sixteenth floor, she tried the stairwell door. Locked, and Brewster gained half a floor. Fifteen floors and the garage to go. She wasn't going to make it. She was in good shape, thanks to Sensei Rayburn, but Brewster was stronger and bigger than she. She had to take a chance.

Trying not to think of the eighteen-inch gap and the hundred-plus-foot drop, she swung herself up and over the handrails in the middle of the stairwell. She stumbled on landing but gained a half-floor lead. Hope flared, and she jumped for the rails again.

She paused after two more jumps. The pounding footsteps above her kept coming for a few moments, then stopped. Ann stared up, wondering if he was still coming but quietly, or if he was listening too. She glanced at the walky-talky in her hand, but she didn't dare give away her position by speaking. A squeak like a shoe on a stair came from above. She got her breath back and dove for the railings again. With a bang and a crack, a bullet ricocheted off the handrail next to her head.

"Jesus!" she shrieked and kept to the stairs.

Robert heard the echoes of the shot. The only thing keeping him from the elevators was he had no idea what floor she was on. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Mickey had the car turned around and pointed towards the exit. But without a passenger... Robert rattled the door handle and cursed.

Terror was sapping her strength. She reached the 9th floor and almost dropped. More than halfway, but nowhere near far enough. Maybe he'd given up. He couldn't be in any better shape than she was. She toyed with the idea of standing her ground and taking her chances. Then she remembered the gun. Brewster wouldn't give her time to make a stand. She had no choice. Praying for more reserves than she'd ever needed before, she pulled herself around the next bend and continued down.

Mickey stepped partway out the car door. "Where is she?" he yelled across the roof at Robert.

"I don't know! I heard a shot, but the door's locked!"

A premonition curdled in Mickey's stomach. Once Cochran was on the trail, he wasn't known to give up.

Her ankle had twisted on the fifth floor and she could hear him behind her now. He hadn't slowed down. She wanted to call ahead to make sure Robert was waiting but couldn't spare the breath. Second floor. So close.

A sound caught Robert's attention. "In the car!" he shouted at Mickey, who dove behind the wheel. Robert pulled his gun and worked the action to put a round under the pin.

Ann crashed through the door, stumbling on the threshold. Robert grabbed her and hauled her towards the car. "Are you all right!"

She nodded, trying to catch her breath to warn him.

Robert yanked on the handle of the back door. "How far behind--"

"Look out!" Mickey yelled.

The stairwell door crashed open again, and the Vice-President for Special Operations charged out. His gun was already leveled.

Ann cried out and started to fall as the shot exploded. Robert caught her in one arm as he fired back at Cochran. The man staggered back into the stairwell, and Robert shoved Ann into the car. Mickey didn't wait for orders. The tires screamed as the big engine caught.

"Stay with us, Ann," Robert ordered.

"How bad?" Mickey asked as he negotiated the ramps to the street.

"Left arm. Not too bad, I guess, it looks like he's still using .32s."

"He always was a neat bastard. Bump!" he warned.

Robert braced Ann as well as he could as Mickey half-hopped the curb leaving the garage. But she gave a choked gasp at the jostling. "You'll be all right," he told her. "It's just your arm."

"Just," she whispered. Her whole shoulder was in flames, and something hot crawled from a well of agony in her arm.

"Want a hospital?" Mickey asked.

Robert hesitated. "Not a bad idea."

Mickey caught the worried note in his partner's voice. "Which one? St. Vincent's closest."

"They'll look there first. What's next?" He yanked off his tie.

"Lady of Consolation."

"Good enough." There was always so much blood, hot and sticky. The smell turned his stomach, but he'd learned a long time ago how to fight it down. He pulled out his handkerchief and folded it quickly. "How are you doing, Ann?"

"How should I be?" she gasped. What a stupid question. She had a hole in her. The smell of the blood was a taste in her mouth, and she remembered other times of pain. The blood slid down her side like a warm worm, turning her green shirt red and sticking it to her skin and the car seat. Oh, god, leather seats. She started to lean forward.

Her movement made more blood flow. "Relax," Robert told her tensely, seeing a pulse in the flow that said an artery had given way.

"I'm bleeding all over your upholstery," she protested weakly.

For a half-second he could only stare at her. "Bugger the upholstery! Now sit back."

Mickey glanced in the rearview mirror, surprised. That wasn't a word McCall used a lot.

*

Robert put the folded handkerchief over the exit wound in the front of her arm. "Can you hold that there?"

She reached a shaky hand over. Touching that arm was like throwing gasoline on flames. "What are you doing?"

"Pressure bandage," he answered, trying not to jostle her too much in getting the tie around her arm. "You're bleeding a bit more than I like."

Mickey pushed the gas pedal down a little further and cut the red light too close.

"It's more than I like," Ann managed.

Robert had the first knot ready. "This is going to hurt a lot," he warned. "Are you ready?" She clenched her jaw and nodded. He snugged the knot tight against her arm.

Her throat ached and back arched with the effort of keeping the scream silent, but a strangled gasp escaped. Pain ripped through her mind with white and yellow flashes and a bass guitar's growl.

Robert quickly put in another knot to keep the bandage secure. One longish foray through hell was better than having to go back in.

"It's done," he told her. He grabbed her free hand, which was trying to decide if it should claw at him, and squeezed it. "You're allowed to scream."

"No," she denied in a ragged voice. "No one's ever been able to make me scream."

"Mickey, how far?"

"Six blocks."

Ann reached painfully into her right breast pocket and pulled out two computer disks. "Here. I guess you'll know what to do with these."

"Not bad," Mickey commented, slowing down a little as a cop car pulled in ahead of them. "Tougher folk than her haven't been able to hang on to what they went in for."

Robert wiped his hands as well as he could before taking the disks and passing them to the front seat. "Here, you'd better take custody of them. I'm going to be busy with her."

"Right. I'll drop you off at the hospital and deliver these."

"What do we tell them?" Ann whispered.

"Excuse me?" Robert asked. "What do we tell whom?"

She fought to keep her thoughts straight. "Cops, emergency room. Have to report gunshot wounds."

"The lady's right," Mickey said.

Robert thought quickly. "A mugger ambushed us as we were leaving a restaurant. He was nervous and his gun went off and he ran away as I was taking care of you."

"What restaurant?" Ann opened her eyes and focused on the roof liner. The roof light kept moving. "In case they ask me. What restaurant?"

"La Poisson's near the hospital."

"OK, French. Too bad I can't remember what I had."

"You're a very devious woman," Robert commented.

"Thank you." She got her head up and sort of steady. "Is my briefcase still in here?"

"Yes, what do you need?"

"Insurance card. Next of kin. The combination's 269." The car hit a pot hole, and her arm gave an electric throb. "Oh, Christ," she whimpered.

"Sorry," Mickey said. "Your tax dollars at work."

"My mother," Ann gasped. It was getting harder to hold onto sense.

"What about her?" Robert asked absently, feeling her clammy forehead. She was going into shock.

"What are you going to tell her?" She focused in with an effort. "She'll want to know who you are. She will ask."

"The truth?" Mickey hazarded.

"She'd go nuts," Ann whispered.

"All right, then," Robert decided, "part of the truth. We met at the zoo. I'll try to avoid anything more in depth."

"Two blocks to go," Mickey announced.

"Take the car," Robert told him. "I'll tell the police a Samaritan who didn't want to get involved dropped us off."

"Cool. How's the lady?"

"Looks shocky," Robert said tensely. "She's mostly out of it."

"To be expected, man." The emergency room sign appeared ahead.

"A few inches the other way... The bastard's aim is improving."

Mickey hadn't heard that much fury in McCall's voice in a long time. "We'll just make sure he doesn't get another shot. OK, get your story straight, we're here."

They pulled to a stop near the ER doors. Mickey jumped out to snag a wheelchair, while Robert cajoled Ann into focusing enough to get out of the car. A passing orderly saw the bloody woman and ran to help. Just before Robert followed the wheelchair in, Mickey handed him her briefcase.

"I'm getting out of here," Mickey said. "I'll bring back the car if I can."

"Right, go."

It's good to work with a professional, Robert thought, hurrying through the ER doors. A nurse grabbed his arm.

"Sir, are you all right? Your arm--"

"What? No, that's not mine." But he felt queasy as he looked down at his jacket. The right sleeve was dark with blood and starting to stiffen; the left front had smears from where Ann had fallen against him. He shoved down old memories and forced himself to deal with the present. "The woman who was just brought in, where is she?"

"She's being taken care of," the nurse responded. "Can you give Admissions the information we need?"

Robert pulled out the persona he used at times like this, a rather absent-minded, ineffectual old idiot created from too many encounters with a certain uncle. "Oh, goodness, yes, of course." He fumbled with the briefcase. "She said she had her insurance card in here."

The nurse smiled and patted his arm. "Just go over to that desk and they'll take care of everything." The scream of an incoming siren wiped off her smile. "Oh, god, summer in the city." She hurried off.

Robert looked at his hands and decided to wash up before anything else. Besides, his jacket was ruined, and taking it off in front of authority figures was not a good idea, not with a belt holster on underneath it. True, he had a permit for it, but why invite questions?

Blood had seeped through to his shirt, but he didn't stop to worry about that. He quickly pulled out the holster and stashed it in Ann's briefcase after he pulled out a leather ID folder. He spared a moment to glance at the other contents. There were several computer disks, a programming magazine, three chocolate chip granola bars, a set of keys, and a paperback romance novel with an improbable cover. Shaking his head, he closed the case and spun the locks.

Outside the bathroom, the area around Admissions was filled with several people screaming in Spanish, including a few police officers trying to keep order. One policewoman spotted Robert.

"You the guy who brought in the gunshot wound?" she demanded.

He blinked at her in benign befuddlement. "I think so. A young lady with a dreadful hole in her arm?"

"Yeah. You need to file a report."

"The, um, nurse told me to see Admissions first." He pointed uncertainly toward the mass of gesticulating people.

The policewoman made a face. "They've got enough to deal with. Hell, your friend's still waiting to see a doctor, the bureaucracy can wait."

"What do you mean, she hasn't seen a doctor yet!" he demanded, the duffer persona slipping.

"Hey, man, Monday night at the fights. There's a ruptured spleen, a knifed gut, and two other gunshots ahead of her. A little hole in the arm's gotta take a number."

"My god," he muttered, both in disbelief and sympathy.

"So let's just you and me go over there and do the paperwork," the cop continued, nodding at two unoccupied chairs next to a drooling bag person.

"There's little to tell," he said as he sat down. "Ann and I were leaving the restaurant and strolling along when a young man appeared from an alley waving a gun."

The policewoman nodded. "Where was this?"

"La Poisson, not far from here."

She hesitated and stared at him. "You were walking there? At this hour?"

"Oh, is that not a good idea?"

Pure dismay went over her face, followed by a native New Yorker's condescension. "Are you on vacation here?"

"No, I live over on the West Side. This was such a nice town when I moved here," he added plaintively.

"Yeah. So what did this guy look like?"

"Well, he was about your height, fair-skinned--dreadful case of blemishes--trying to grow a beard. I'm sorry, I didn't get that good a look at him," he apologized. "I'm afraid the gun rather shook me." He reminded himself to share this performance with Mickey.

"It happens," the policewoman said, taking notes. "The victim's name?"

"Ann Marshall."

"Address? Yours, too."

As Robert answered, he looked around at the room. The Hispanic group had moved away, and a policeman stood near the door. Robert almost decided to drop the act to request protection for Ann, but a call to Prodigal Systems would most likely result in charges of unlawful entry and industrial espionage.

"Look" he said, interrupting the officer's writing, "I need to see Admissions, then I have to call my friend's family. Is this almost over?"

"Yeah, that should be enough. We'll call you if we need anything else. You can go."

Robert stood and left quickly. He was too tense to sit quietly.

The man at the Admissions desk looked bored. "Patient's name?"

"Ann Marshall."

"Is she insured?" he asked as he typed on the computer keyboard with one hand.

"I assume that's what this means." Robert handed him Ann's insurance card.

"First one all night," he muttered, and started pushing buttons.

Robert looked through the other cards in the folder, searching for numbers for her family. The American Express platinum card caught his eye. He only had a gold card. That appeared to be the only credit card except for a gas card and a phone card. Then again, with a platinum card, what else did you need?

"Here you go," the receptionist said absently, handing Robert the insurance card. He took it and left the desk to find a phone.

Two numbers were listed as emergency contacts. Sylvia Marshall lived in the expensive section of Brooklyn, but a Susan Johnson lived much closer, in Greenwich Village. 10 o'clock on a Monday evening, someone should be home.

The phone was answered on the third ring. "Hello?" said a young woman's voice.

"Ms. Johnson?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"My name is Robert McCall, I'm a friend of Ann Marshall's."

"Oh, god, what's happened."

"She's been hurt, she's in the hospital. It's not serious," he added quickly, hearing the gasp of horror.

"What happened," Susan Johnson asked faintly.

"Well, not to put too fine a point on it, we were mugged coming out of a restaurant. Ann was shot in the arm, and I brought her here to Our Lady of Consolation."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. "She was mugged?" Susan repeated in disbelief. "What hospital did you say?"

"Our Lady of Consolation, near Washington Square. Ms. Johnson, I called you first because you're closer, and also, I don't know what to say to her family. Would you be so kind..."

"Yeah, I'll call Sylvia and the rest of them. You said it wasn't serious?"

Robert's batty uncle would have been all atwitter over a paper cut, but Robert wasn't going to let Ann's family get into a panic. "The doctors say it's not. Apparently a hole in the arm is minor league around here."

"Then I'll try to keep Sylvia from driving all the way in. But I'm coming down there."

"As you will. I'll be here."

"Good. I want to hear more about this...mugging."

As he hung up, Robert wondered at her tone of voice. What did she know?

He walked into the emergency room proper and looked around. The Spanish speakers had migrated in here, and the police and orderlies were trying to shoo them out. Robert heard several references to unmarried parents and unnatural dealings between siblings.

A nurse bustled up to him. "If you're not bleeding, you shouldn't be in here."

"I'm looking for Ann Marshall. Gunshot wound to the left arm."

She glared at him. "You a relative?"

"Yes."

She didn't look like she believed him, but she checked the roster. "Treatment room 6. But you can't go in there."

"All right." He headed for the door, waiting for another flare-up from the Hispanics. An insult about somebody's mother was screamed, and the shoving started all over. The entire room's attention was pulled to that side, and Robert slipped around the nurse's station.

Treatment room 6 was a curtained alcove, and Ann was the only one there. She looked asleep.

Robert walked to her side quietly. "Ann?"

Her eyes flew open. "Oh. Hi. No doctor yet?"

"Apparently not." The bandage he'd put on her arm was still in place.

"They put me in here and gave me a shot of something. I'm seeing pink clouds," she complained. "I hate painkillers."

He patted her right hand. "So do I."

A man in a white coat peeked in. "Ann Marshall?"

"Yeah," she answered woozily. "You the doctor?"

"Yes, I'm Dr. Kitchner. Let's see what you've done to your arm here." He studied the bandage. "Whose work?"

"Mine," Robert answered.

Kitchner grinned at him. "You probably shouldn't be in here, you know."

"I know." He took a firmer hold on Ann's hand.

Kitchner shrugged. "Well, just stay over there. Nice work, this." His glance invited comment, but Robert didn't oblige. The doctor shrugged and picked up some scissors.

"I called Susan Johnson," Robert said to Ann to distract her from what the doctor was about to do. "She said she was coming down."

"Oh, good. Did you call my mother?"

"No, Susan said she would."

"Good--" Her eyes went very wide as Kitchner slid the scissors under the bandage. "Oh, my god," she whispered.

"Sorry 'bout that," the doctor said, continuing his work. "Ties don't cut easily."

The painkiller might as well have been sugar water, and Ann had no choice but to let it happen.

"Want another shot?" Kitchner asked. "We can knock you out so far this'll feel like powder puffs."

"No," she grated. "It may be hell, but at least it's real." The bandage came free, and she couldn't bite back the whimper as feeling returned to the rest of her arm.

"We know you're brave," Robert said in some exasperation. "Masochism impresses no one." She muttered something. "I speak French, and where did you learn that?"

"Exchange student--oh, god..." Kitchner had peeled off the handkerchief. Ann squeezed Robert's hand hard.

"Yep, that's a mess," the doctor said. "Gonna have to put some stitches in that. And you're getting some morphine."

"No morphine," Ann said as firmly as she could with tears in her eyes.

"Yes, morphine. Unless you want to fight off the nurse."

"I could. I'm a 2nd dan brown belt."

"Morphine," Kitchner replied. "I'm not having a patient break my nose again. And you, sir, are going to have to leave," he added to Robert as he left.

Robert looked rebellious, and Ann said, "Please, get out of here. I don't care if they see me like this, but I'd rather not embarrass myself in front of you."

"I dare say I've seen more than my share of people being patched up."

"But not me." A green wave went through the pink clouds she saw. "Please. And Suzy's coming."

"Blast. All right." He glanced the way Kitchner had gone. "I've talked to the police. I told them the mugger was a small white kid with a scruffy beard."

"Whatever. I didn't see him that well." Kitchner came back, followed by a nurse. "Please go."

Robert nodded, giving her hand a final pat.

"You're not supposed to be here," the nurse protested.

"I was just leaving."

Out in the reception area, Robert glanced around. The screaming people from ER were clustered in one corner, some of the women saying the rosary. A young black woman stood at the Admissions desk. The receptionist pointed at Robert, and the woman walked over to him.

"Robert McCall?" she asked.

"Yes, you must be Susan Johnson."

"Yeah." She shook his hand absently. "Where's Annie?"

"In there, being stitched up.

She flinched. "She's still OK?"

"I just left her. She was trying to talk them out of giving her a shot of morphine."

"Ooh, she hates morphine. She gets nasty hallucinations. She'd rather chew her leg off than have painkillers."

"How often does she need them?"

Susan studied him. "Not often," she said easily. "So what happened?"

As Robert told the edited tale, he got the distinct feeling he wasn't being believed. She looked like she wanted to challenge him but didn't quite dare. Robert wondered if he could confide in her, but he'd have to check with Ann first.

When he was done, Susan nodded. "It's enough to go on. I'll go talk to a nurse or someone so I can give Sylvia a report."

"They won't talk to you unless you're a relative," he warned.

Susan grinned. "Oh, I'm worse than that. I'm Annie's lawyer." She headed into ER.

Robert stared after her, then the evening abruptly caught up with him. He went to find the quietest chair he could.

*

Three hours later, Mickey found him asleep next to a mumbling bag lady. "McCall, wake up," he said from out of arm's reach. When McCall was on combat footing, waking him up by grabbing his shoulder could lose you precious body parts.

Robert's eyes flew open and quickly scanned the room. He fixed on Mickey and relaxed. "You're back."

"I'm back. You're a mess."

"So kind, as always. What's that?" He nodded at the bundle Mickey carried.

"I saw what a mess your jacket was and thought you might want a replacement."

Robert rubbed his face, trying to get some sense back into his head. "Thank you, Mickey." He looked at his watch. "My god, 2 AM. So what happened when you made the delivery?" He set Ann's briefcase on his knees and opened it.

"I don't like seeing my boss shocked," Mickey said. He moved to stand between Robert and the nurse's station as Robert quickly pulled out his holster, shoved it into his waistband and put on the jacket. "It took Jonah about ten minutes to figure out how Cochran put the system together," he continued. "I think what upsets the powers most is how simple all this was. Jonah said something about an Internet connection, and Control started swearing in Arabic."

"Oh, dear." Robert stood and buttoned his jacket, feeling much more in charge of the situation. "What are they doing?"

"Prodigal Systems will not be open for business tomorrow. And I'd advise your lady friend to dump her stock options. Jonah was taking a team in before I left. Whether they find anything or not, I don't know. My boss wants you to call him."

"I imagine I should." Robert saw Susan Johnson come out of the ER doors. "Concerned civilian approaching."

"So you're finally awake," Susan said when she got in earshot. "Every time I've come out, you've been in dreamland." She looked at Mickey pointedly.

"Ms. Johnson, Mickey Kostmeyer, a friend of mine. Mickey, Susan Johnson, Ann's lawyer."

"And best friend," Susan added as she shook Mickey's hand.

"How is she?" Mickey asked.

"They say OK, but they've decided to admit her for the night. She's so hopped up she needs somebody looking after her."

"Is she awake?" Robert asked.

Susan snorted. "She's off where the little birdies sing. I got to see her for thirty seconds and didn't get a lick of sense out of her."

Mickey looked Susan over carefully. He wasn't a fan of lawyers, with their ill-timed demands for information they had no right to in the name of Constitutional liberties. Mickey certainly believed in the Constitution, he'd bled enough for it over the years. He just didn't agree with some people's interpretations.

"What kind of lawyer are you?" he asked.

Susan looked at him curiously. "Estate. Wills and trusts. I work for Wilcox, Jones & Monroe," she added almost defensively.

Robert was impressed. WJM made Rockefellers wait for appointments. "You must be good."

She shrugged. "When they hire tokens, they hire the best."

"They weren't that blatant, were they?" Mickey asked.

"They didn't have to be. I've got eyes. Not that I mind too much. I own a condo in Greenwich and I'm sponsoring three kids at a high school in Harlem."

They all stared at each other, wondering what and who to trust. The tension broke when Susan yawned.

"Oh, god, and I've got a meeting with a client at ten. Annie's got to start scheduling her crises better. I'm out of here." She held her hand out to Robert. "Nice to meet you, Mr. McCall."

"And you, Ms. Johnson."

One more uncertain look at Mickey, then Susan left.

"I wonder what she knows," Mickey said.

"Hopefully we'll find out in the morning." Robert stretched. "Maybe I am getting old. Three hours sleep in a chair used to be enough."

"Yeah. Remember Quang Tri?"

"Oh, yes."

"It was only 'cause you outranked me that you got that chair. I had to make do with ammo boxes."

"Are you still holding that against me?"

Ann knew it was time to wake up when the lamb she was snuggled next to started claiming to be Hermann Goring and that she was a traitor to the Fatherland. Actually opening her eyes, however, was not much of an improvement. Another fucking hospital bed. Why was she here this time? She tried to stretch and remembered when her left arm exploded.

The night before came back to her in all its gruesome glory. She vaguely remembered seeing Susan in the midst of everything, so her family at least knew where she was. What to tell them, what to tell them? Had she told Robert to let Suzy in on the situation or not? God, morphine hangovers were the worst.

A candy-striper poked her bleached blonde head in. "Good morning," she chirped.

"May all your fingernails break," Ann snarled.

The candy-striper blinked, then recovered her poise. "Is it hunger or pain?" she asked understandingly.

Ann had to think. "Food would probably help. And can I have a couple of Tylenol 3's?"

"I'll send your breakfast in and ask the nurse. Toodles." The door closed behind her, then swung open again. "Oh, and there's this sexy grey-haired guy out here who sounds like Richard Burton. He says he's a relative and wants to see you. Should I let him in?"

Sexy grey-haired--? "Robert McCall?"

"Something like that."

"Yeah, send him in." Hell, she'd bled all over him, she could stand to let him see her hung over.

She closed her eyes, but the sound of sheep speaking German started fading in, so she reluctantly re-embraced consciousness. When she opened her eyes, Robert sat next to the bed. "How did you get here?"

"I've been sitting here for ten minutes. The candy-striper said you were only partly awake." He looked at her closely. "Morphine hangover?"

"God, yes. And my arm feels like a ham. So what's going on?"

"Some former associates of mine express their thanks for the information. They moved on Prodigal last night."

Ann heaved a sigh of relief. "So it's over."

"Not quite," Robert said reluctantly.

She stared at him unhappily. "What does that mean?"

They were interrupted by the candy-striper and a nurse.

"Good morning," the nurse said. "Cindy has your breakfast, and I've brought something for the discomfort."

Ann raised an eyebrow. Yeah, discomfort. She heard Robert's noise of derision.

The nurse handed her a paper cup with two pills. "What are they?" Ann asked.

"Demerol."

Ann handed the cup back. "No, thank you. I asked for Tylenol 3's, not Demerol."

"It's all right. Dr. Kitchner authorized it."

"I imagine he did. But I don't want Demerol. I don't like what it does to my head." The nurse glared. "Look, just take the damn things and give me my breakfast."

"I'll have to talk to your doctor."

"Fine, you do that. Cindy, give me the food."

Cindy obeyed quickly, trying not to grin. The nurse harumphed and shepherded Cindy out ahead of her.

Ann shook her head as she lifted the lid on her breakfast. "Oh, boy, sausage. I smell Suzy's hand in this." She reached for the fork and jostled her left arm. She bit her tongue and drove the fork into the mattress.

Robert watched her with patient resignation and reached into his jacket pocket. He put a small pill bottle on her table.

"What's that?" she asked blearily.

"Codeine. Yes, it's potentially addictive, but you won't have hallucinations."

"Bless you. Oh, it doesn't even have an adult-proof cap."

"I'd take two if I were you."

Ann obeyed and wondered where he'd gotten his pharmacological knowledge. Or maybe she didn't wonder. With a sense of unreality, she remembered the file she'd seen. Retired from the CIA. There'd been something about bureau chief and a coordination position, but terror had made her avert her eyes. He didn't seem to hold it against her that she'd seen this information, but she couldn't help wondering about possible repercussions to her discovery. "Yes, I am a spy," said a dozen movie villains, "and now that you know that, I have to kill you."

"Your friend Susan didn't believe the mugging story," Robert said. He pulled the fork out of the mattress for her.

"I'm not surprised. I told her there was trouble going on. She knows I called you, but I haven't told her anything about you."

"Which explains the calculating looks. How much can we trust her with?"

"Most everything, I think." She sighed in relief as the pain started ebbing, then she started eating. "I don't think former employers need to be brought up." She veered away from that subject. "You said it wasn't over yet."

Robert sighed. "Dushenko and Cochran got away, and the computers were empty when my former colleagues arrived."

"Who's Cochran?"

"You know him as Brewster."

"Brewster?" She thought a moment. "You said he was a hit man. What's he doing tied up with that stuff in the computer?" She saw the discomfort on his face. "Oh, I think I can guess. Never mind. So now what? Are they going to be after me?"

"It depends on if they're smart or foolish."

"Smart would be to run for it?" Robert nodded. "You said the computer was empty," she said slowly. "That means you guys didn't get any more information than what I pulled off. Do you think Dushenko and Brew--Cochran know I got a copy?"

Robert looked grim. "I don't know. I have to be honest with you, they may come looking for you to find out."

Ann took a deep breath. "I thought as much. So once again, now what?"

"Now we get you out of here, back to your house and your security system, and Mickey and I take turns watching over you until Dushenko and Cochran are tracked down. Mickey will be here soon to keep an eye on you here."

"In the hospital?" Suddenly breakfast didn't sit too well. "They could try something here?"

"It's not likely, but one doesn't get anywhere by ignoring long shots."

"How long is this going to take?"

"I honestly don't know. This sort of information is very time sensitive, though. If they don't move soon, we should be safe in assuming they've cut their losses and run."

"Not like I was going anywhere, I guess."

*

A knock on the door heralded Suzy poking her head in. "Hey, girlfriend, you're awake."

"Hey, yourself," Ann answered. "Suzy, you've met Robert McCall, right?"

"Yeah, last night." Suzy looked like she was about to demand explanations, but she peeked over her shoulder and down the hall. "Your mother's right behind me."

"Damn," Ann muttered. She looked at Robert. "Do you want to be here for this?"

"It would look odd to scuttle away." He stood, preparing to be polite.

Suzy scurried to the other side of the room as a well-bred dynamo swept into the room. "Ann, darling, are you all right?"

"Yes, Mom, I'm fine." She accepted her mother's careful hug.

Sylvia Marshall had accepted aging, but she did all things gracefully. Her hair was no longer the shade of her daughter's, but neither did it have the amount of grey it was entitled to. As always, she had dressed with taste and precision, in a designer summer suit. When she pulled back to examine her injured daughter, her frown of concern showed the lines she was only now beginning to worry about.

"Darling, how many times have I told you, it's dangerous in Manhattan."

"Mom, there are muggers in Brooklyn, too. That's just life in the big city." Over her mother's shoulder, Ann saw Suzy's eyebrows go up in reaction to their age-old code phrase that not all of a story was being told.

"Still..." Sylvia glanced over at Robert, then back at Ann pointedly.

"Mom, may I introduce Robert McCall. Robert, my mother, Sylvia Marshall."

Sylvia held her hand out to Robert. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. McCall. Susan tells me you were with Ann when this unpleasantness occurred." The faintest note of accusation was in her voice.

"My apologies, Mrs. Marshall." Robert let some of his harmless persona slip back in. "I never dreamed there'd be such danger in a simple stroll after dinner."

Suzy maneuvered closer to Ann, watching Robert suspiciously. This was a different man from the one she'd met last night. "Which is the act, sis?"

"This," Ann whispered back.

Sylvia was quickly relaxing. Robert McCall obviously posed no threat to her daughter's virtue. "Such a dangerous city. Decent people aren't safe."

"They haven't been for quite a while, I fear."

Ann smothered a giggle.

Robert glanced at his watch. "Ann, forgive me, but I must be going. Make sure I know when you're released." He gave her a significant look.

"I will. See you later."

"Mrs. Marshall, a pleasure."

"Indeed, Mr. McCall." Sylvia waited till the door closed behind him. "So, Anastasia, who is that?"

"Just a man I met, Mom."

"Indeed. Isn't he a bit old for you?"

Oh, lord, time to head of that line of thought. "Mom, we had dinner, you don't have to worry about what you're worrying about." Intriguing thought, though, but very irrelevant.

"So what does he do? Where did you meet him? And when?"

"Well, Grand Inquisitor, I met him Sunday at the zoo, and I really don't know what he does. He took early retirement from somewhere, and we didn't really talk about it."

"What did you talk about?"

"Mother!"

"All right, all right, I'm sorry." She leaned down to kiss her daughter. "I worry about you, I do. Men in whose company you get shot make me nervous."

Ann bit back the six dozen remarks that came flying to her lips. "It's probably just as well."

Sylvia glanced surreptitiously at her own watch, then smiled when she saw she'd been caught. "I said I'd help plan the debutante ball this season, and the preliminary meeting is in Southampton this afternoon. But you, my dear, take precedence."

"I'm fine, Mom, really. Go to your meeting."

Sylvia hesitated, then kissed Ann again. "All right. Take care, my dear, and call me when they let you out."

"I will. Bye-bye."

"Bye-bye. Take care, Suzy dear."

"You, too, Sylvia. Drive carefully."

The two young women held their breath as the door settled into its frame, then Suzy yanked a chair up beside the bed. "OK, girlfriend, talk. Why do you have a hole in you and who is that silver fox?"

"Suzy!"

"Annie! He came over all swishy at your mother, but I saw him and his friend last night, and both of them looked like the kind of people who take out muggers and don't worry about it."

"OK, OK. Remember the ad in the paper?"

"Uh huh." After a pointed moment, she squeaked, "Him?!"

"Yeah."

Terror went across Suzy's face. "Oh, Annie, you got shot over it?" Ann nodded. "Tell me the worst, sis."

With suitable editing, she did.

Robert strolled the paths of Central Park with a sense of deja vu. Finally he sat down on a bench. A man sat on the other end reading a Daily News.

"And here I always thought you were a New York Times man," Robert said.

"I'm a man of parts," Control answered, turning a page. "But they need Page 3 girls. So is your lady innocent or guilty?"

"Of what?"

"Conspiracy. She got that information very easily."

"She's a hacker. Mickey says Jonah thought it was a childishly simple system. And Ann helped set up Prodigal's systems. Of course it was easy for her."

"I've been running some checks on Ms. Marshall. Cum laude at MIT. Member of something called the Geek Squad, a bunch of hackers notorious for routing city officials' phone calls through massage parlors and other such things. Interesting family background. Want to hear it?"

"Not particularly. All I want to hear is that you've caught Cochran and Dushenko."

"Not yet, but we will. You should be more concerned about Ms. Marshall, though. Certain entities find her very suspicious. Is it coincidence that she called you or did she have prior knowledge of the contents of those files? Enquiring minds want to know."

"You didn't used to have this appalling taste in puns."

"And you like this girl."

"Why does everyone keep saying that so childishly?" Robert burst out. "Yes, I like her. I always like courageous, smart people. Am I supposed to dislike her?"

Control raised an eyebrow. "So did she know what was in there beforehand or not? Could she be a former partner in the enterprise who got cut out of the money? Any ideas?"

"She says she didn't know. And I don't think she needs the money."

"Not normally, not with her family. But stranger things have happened."

"True enough," Robert admitted. "So is the company going to go after her?"

"Probably not, too many dicey connections. But keep in mind, Robert, that she's compromised, at the least, you and Kostmeyer. We don't know who else she saw."

After a moment, Robert asked, "So can you bust this ring?"

"If we want to, yes."

Robert looked at his old boss and friend. "Were you involved in this set-up?"

"Please, Robert, you know better than that. I don't answer yes-no questions."

"When it suits you, you do. I ask just in case Cochran is sanctioned or something. If he shows up to try and kill Ann again, I'm going to have to stop him. He's oh-for-two, his professional pride must be hurting."

Control studied him for a moment. "If you have to use extreme measures in defense of your client, no one on my end will blame you."

"Good. Is there any progress at all at catching them?"

"A bit. I'll make sure you find out when we get them. And despite your suspicions, the company does not approve of entrepreneurs."

Robert smiled slightly. He and Control understood one another. "In case you're wondering, she hasn't asked any impertinent questions that I'd have to brush off."

"An intelligent person wouldn't, and of everyone involved in this, she seems to have the most brains. Maybe she's actually the ring leader."

"Then Cochran would be in a great deal of trouble for shooting his boss."

Control was silent a moment. "Robert, Mark Cochran is not known for letting his targets survive. As you said, he's 0-for-2. Just a thought." He began folding his paper. "By the way, Harvey Giberto was picked up at Kennedy. He's not talking. And Paula Creer is apparently the computer operator of the ring. We're closing in on her." He stood, and three people feeding the ducks started moving his way. "Give my best to your client."

He walked away, leaving Robert in anxious thought.

When Suzy left to go back to work, Ann lay in bed for quite a while, shuttling through the soap operas and talk shows on TV and trying not to think how scared she was. The man who had twice tried to kill her was still out there.

She flinched slightly at the knock on the door. "Come in."

Instead of Cindy the Candy Striper, Mickey Kostmayer came in, carrying a large flower arrangement.

"Oh, that's right," Ann said. "Robert told me you were coming."

"Yep. I'll see you home once the doctors say you can go. Oh, and the flowers are from McCall." He rummaged among the zinnias and pulled out a card, which he handed to Ann.

"Do what Mickey tells you," she read. "And call me when you're released." She chuckled. "He's being very emphatic."

"I think he got the impression that you might try to run off on your own." Mickey looked for a place to put the vase. "Who sent the African violet?" he asked, nudging the small pot to one side on the table.

"My brother. He would have brought it himself but he had a meeting with some gnomes."

"With some what?"

"Oh, sorry. Swiss bankers."

Mickey pulled up a chair. "The Gnomes of Zurich, huh?"

"Yes." But Ann was distracted, looking at the plant and thinking of the lies she'd told her family. As well as her brother, her sister had checked in from the theater between rehearsals. They both had breezily commiserated with her becoming a crime statistic, and she's had to bite back her terror and match their sophisticated New Yorker nonchalance. The truth would never have served, but she didn't know how well she could keep up the lie.

She looked over at her guard. "Do you know how close they are to catching Dushenko and Brewster--I mean, Cochran?"

"Sorry, no. Not my part of the operation." Mickey didn't think he'd tell her even if he did know. He was dealing with dueling loyalties, to McCall and to his employers. McCall's priorities would be to reassure the scared woman, but the Company most definitely did not want Ann Marshall any closer to their operations than she already was. But that was genuine fear in her eyes, no matter how well masked by training. "We are looking for them, I promise. We want them more than you do."

That 'we' made Ann antsy. "Am I in trouble because of this?"

"You mean, other than having people shoot you?" Mickey asked with a grin.

"Yes."

"Well, you didn't break any laws--except for conspiring to submit a false crime report about a mugging and all that. Nobody's pleased that you saw that stuff, but they're not going to prosecute or anything."

"Well, I guess that's something. So we just sit and wait?"

Mickey shifted around in the chair till he was comfortable and facing the TV. "We sit. Do they have cable here?"

Halfway through Oprah, Dr. Kitchner arrived, accompanied by a nurse to help him change the dressing on Ann's arm. Mickey retreated to let Ann have privacy for her grimaces of pain.

"There," Kitchner finally said. "That'll hold you. The entry wound shouldn't give you much problem after a couple of days, but don't get the other side wet for about a week. Check with your regular doctor."

Ann was absolutely unable to help herself. "Doc, will I be able to play the piano?"

Kitchner stared at her balefully.

"I play the blues," she added.

He grimaced. "I don't believe you asked me that. Yes, in a couple of weeks it should be getting back to normal. Now about the discomfort."

"The pain. Discomfort is cramps. This is not cramps."

"You don't know my wife. I've written a prescription for Demerol, but Nurse Correo says you won't take it."

"Nope. Ever see lamps bleed? I have, on that stuff. Tylenol 4's if I'm absolutely desperate, but that's it. Tylenol 3's by preference."

"It might not be enough."

"It'll do."

Kitchner shrugged and pulled out a prescription pad. "Braver man than I am, Gunga Din."

"So can I get out of here now?"

"What, not even going to stay for lunch?"

"Doctor, I've eaten at Le Cirque. Your kitchen is not theirs."

"Sorry, I can't tell you. I don't move in those circles. But sure, when you're ready to leave, go to the nurses' station. Any other questions?"

She folded her prescription. "No, that should do it. Thanks for everything."

"Take it easy for the next few days. You lost a good bit of blood. Don't skip meals."

"Right."

"Then hopefully I won't see you later."

"Hope not," she grinned and shook his hand.

Mickey poked his head in after Dr. Kitchener left. "How'd it go?"

"I'm free to go as soon as I sign some paperwork."

"Great, I'll call McCall." Mickey headed for the phone.

"Uh, can I change my clothes first?"

"Oh, yeah, right." Ann looked at him pointedly until Mickey got the hint. "Oh, right. I'll be outside. Call me when you're done."

"Thank you."

Suzy had brought a nice loose sleeveless tank top for her, and she only had to stop to get her stomach back once while putting it on. Her jeans were a challenge. When Ann saw the dark spots on the left leg, she wished Suzy had thought to bring a fresh pair. But she thanked God she wore loose jeans, not fashionably blood-constricting ones. As for the shoes, she decided to go for the rap singer look and leave them untied.

Finally she sat on the bed and got her breath back. Shrugging, she decided to call Robert herself. The card that had come with the flowers had a number on it she didn't recognize. The short beeps of a cellular phone were followed by a click. "McCall."

The relief she felt at hearing his voice disturbed her. "Hello, it's Ann. Your card was emphatic about calling you."

He chuckled. "So you're being released. Where's Mickey?"

"I threw him out so I could change clothes. All I have to do is sign some paperwork and I'm out of here."

"Good, I was on my way over there anyway. Give me fifteen minutes."

"OK. I'll be at the nurse's station--" A movement in the doorway caught her eye. "Oh, my god."

"What's wrong?" Robert asked sharply.

Adam Dushenko closed the door behind him and smiled. He gestured for Ann to hang up.

"Gotta go, Mom," she said calmly. "My boss, Mr. Dushenko, just showed up."

"Damn," Robert snapped, and his phone cut off.

"Bye," Ann said, hearing her voice from a distance, and she gently hung up the phone.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Ann," Dushenko said. "Industrial espionage, tsk, tsk."

"How did you find me?"

"Paula's a brilliant girl. She looked in the hospital computers until she found your insurance number. Something about a network between the hospitals and the insurer. But I'm an idea man, I don't need to know that technical stuff."

"Paula's your sysop? No wonder it was such a pathetic set up."

Dushenko's smile turned to a snarl. "Yes, you got in and out of there far too easily. We need to chat about that." He pulled a small pistol from his pocket. "I borrowed this from Sam, but I know how to use it. Shall we?"

Ann got to her feet slowly. "People know where I am."

"Not for long." He opened the door, peeked out, and gestured for her to precede him. She considered several karate moves, but her balance was off with her arm in a sling, and Dushenko was staying out of arm's reach. A chat with sensei was in order--if she got out of this.

She looked around for Mickey out in the hall. He was leaning against the wall near the nurse's station, a cell phone to his ear. By the tense way he held himself, Ann guessed it was Robert on the other end of the connection. He looked at Ann, then scanned the hallway. Orderlies wheeled a bed into another room three doors down, and several patients were moving slowly about, trundling IV stands with them. Too many innocent, vulnerable people around to make a move. He met Ann's eyes as she went past and shook his head very slightly.

Dushenko solicitously held her right arm as they passed the nurse's station. Cindy was just disappearing into a rear room, and the nurses were too busy to notice two more people in street clothes pass by.

"They're headed for the elevator," Mickey snapped into the phone. "There's too many people around."

"Where the hell were you when he showed up, Mickey?" Robert pounded the horn at a taxi that was attempting to outrun the Jaguar to a light.

"If someone had ever bothered to tell me what Dushenko looked like, I might have realized that the guy who showed up was someone to worry about! I was expecting Cochran!"

"So was I," Robert said grimly. "And they knew we would be. Damn it. Meet me out front."

"Right." Mickey pocketed the phone and ran for the stairs.

*

Ann thought of making a break for it at the elevator, but the family attending a new mother and her baby held the door for them. Dushenko pulled her to the back of the car.

"So when did you find out what was in there?" Dushenko asked.

"Last night."

He looked at her in surprise. "If you didn't know what was in there, why did you go in?"

"I wanted to know why I was being shot at. If you hadn't sicced watchdogs on me this would never have happened. I was perfectly willing to let you have whatever was in there."

He shrugged. "Oh, well, spilled milk. So who are you working for?"

"No one."

"The copy, Ann. We know you got one. Where did it go?" He took her arm again as the elevator slowed for the lobby. "Who helped you last night?"

"And if I don't tell you?"

"Oh, Ann. Must we be blatant about it?"

Ann held her breath as the door opened. A quick scan of the lobby chilled her heart. Robert wasn't there. Maybe he was watching from somewhere...

Dushenko led the way to the main entrance, this time at Ann's left elbow. The barest nudge of her arm as they approached the guard told her everything she needed to know about what could happen to her.

Cochran sat at the wheel of a car near the door. He smiled predatorially when he saw Ann. She looked around, praying. Dushenko opened the rear door. Ann reluctantly slid in behind Cochran. She desperately scanned the street again. No black Jaguar. What could have happened? Oh, lord, what could not have happened? Traffic jams, car wrecks-- For the first time, Ann felt sick, hopeless despair.

"Has she talked yet?" Cochran asked as he drove away.

"Not yet."

"We'll have time on the plane."

"True enough." Dushenko gave Ann his management seminar smile. "It would be so much easier if you'd just tell us what we want to know now."

"Why would I want to make it easier on you?"

"I was thinking of you, actually."

"Don't bother," Cochran said. "I work better when I can take my time." He gave Ann an evil smile in the rearview mirror. A cab cut him off as he started to leave. As he turned to shout at the driver, Ann saw, half a block away, the nose of a familiar black car slide out of an alley. She held her breath. There must be hundreds of black Jaguars in New York. Cochran crawled with the midday traffic past the alley. Ann closed her eyes and turned away when she saw Robert McCall behind the wheel, with Mickey beside him.

"So where are we going?" she managed to ask, proud of what nonchalance she could muster.

"La Guardia," Cochran answered readily. "Adam and I have an appointment in Belize."

"Can we step on it a little, Sam?" Dushenko complained. "Someone will miss her eventually."

"And how many places will they have to look?"

Dushenko glared at Ann. "Somebody's helping her. I'd feel better if you could remember where you'd seen that man on the bus."

"So would I," Cochran muttered.

It slowly dawned on Ann that Dushenko didn't know Cochran's connections. He'd never called him anything but Brewster, so what else didn't he know? She couldn't decide if that was an advantage or not. She longed to look out the back window but didn't dare.

Dushenko gnawed on a thumbnail as they traveled in silence. Was he worried about what was going to happen or only about the logistics of dealing with an extraneous witness? At a red light, Ann considered the handle of her door. Better to risk the traffic then what these two had planned for her. But as she started to slide her hand to the handle, Dushenko glanced at her.

"Don't be stupid," he said, annoyed. "You'd never get out of here before I grabbed you."

"What's she doing?" Cochran asked.

"I think she's considering jumping ship in mid-stream."

"Put a bullet through her foot if she tries anything," Cochran advised casually. Ann swallowed and subsided.

Traffic was heavy on the main road into La Guardia, but it thinned considerably as Cochran turned onto the access for the general aviation area.

He looked into the rearview mirror for several seconds. "Dog," he finally muttered with an unpleasant smile.

"Excuse me?" Dushenko said.

"We have a tail. A large black car that I'd bet good money is the same as the one that helped our Miss Marshall escape last night."

Ann turned with Dushenko to look out the back window. One car back was the Jaguar.

"Who is that?" Dushenko demanded of her.

"I can almost remember," Cochran murmured. He gasped and stared at Ann in the rearview mirror. "You're working for the Company!"

"I am not!" she denied, offended.

"What's Prodigal got to do with this?" Dushenko demanded.

"Not that company, dolt!" Cochran snapped. "God, Robert McCall. And that was Kostmayer on the bus. They always work together."

"What are you talking about?" Dushenko asked plaintively.

"You don't know, do you," Ann said in disbelief.

"Shut up," Cochran told her. "Adam, the database. You read it. Robert McCall. The operations coordinator."

"But he quit! Retired or something. What's he doing here?" Dushenko was halfway to hysterics.

"Odd sort of retirement," Cochran muttered. "Not if Kostmayer's still working with him. He's supposed to be in line for McCall's old job. Did you find him or did he find you?" he snapped at Ann.

"No time, we're almost there," Dushenko said. "We can ask her on the plane."

"If we get there. Adam, you tell the pilot to get ready to leave. I'll have a chat with McCall."

"What about her?"

"Leave her to me. McCall won't try anything with her in the way." Cochran sneered at Ann. "He's a gentleman."

He put on a burst of speed when they reached the hanger area and screeched to a halt next to a small jet. Dushenko jumped out and ran to the plane. Ann thought of making a break for it, but Cochran turned and pointed a gun at her.

"Out, slowly. And stay close. At this range I won't miss, and you've already messed up my average."

A hundred feet behind, Robert pulled his gun when the other car came to a halt. He pulled around and stopped in front of the jet, blocking its path to the runway.

"Go find our reinforcements," he ordered Mickey, who bailed out the passenger door and ran towards the control buildings.

As Robert jumped out, he saw Dushenko run to the plane. Robert leaned across the roof of his car and aimed his gun at Cochran, waiting for the driver's door to open. But he hesitated when the rear door opened first and Ann stepped slowly out.

"Are you all right?" he yelled to her.

She nodded and started to speak, but Cochran slipped out of the car and grabbed her, pulling her in front of him. He shoved the muzzle of his gun against her temple.

"How long she stays in good shape depends on you, McCall," he yelled.

"If you mean that, let her go."

"Move your car first. Where'd Kostmayer go?"

"We've got back-up coming in, you won't get away. Let her go."

Ann, never having been good at passivity, yelled, "They have no intention of letting me go!"

"Shut up, you," Cochran growled. He shifted his grip to her left arm and squeezed. She whimpered before she could stop herself, and her knees almost gave out. "Don't worry, it can get worse." He yanked her upright by her hair, making her yell again.

Robert bit back his fury. New blood was spreading on the bandage around Ann's arm. "You won't get far, Cochran. They know what you're up to. They'll be after you."

"So the bitch is working for you." Cochran started edging for the plane. Ann dug her heels in. "Move it, or I'll put a bullet in you again."

Ann wanted to be brave, but she couldn't help looking desperately at Robert. If she set foot on that plane, she wasn't getting off it alive.

Robert came out from behind his car. He kept listening for reinforcements, but time was running out. "Cochran, give her to me and I'll move the car. I won't stop you."

"You can't stop me anyway. And the girl will tell us what she copied for you."

"I can tell you that. They've got everything, the inventory, the active accounts, the names of everyone you were in contact with. There's nothing Ann can tell you. Let her go." He hated letting them get away, but he had to get Ann out of there. She was trying to look brave, but fear and pain were written large on her face. Sirens sounded faintly, but Robert couldn't tell if they were getting closer.

Dushenko peeked cautiously out the door, his borrowed pistol ready. "Sam, come aboard. The pilot says he can get around. And he wants paid extra for the trouble."

"Later for him. Well, McCall," Cochran grinned, backing up to the steps, "time for us to go. We'll just take the lady along anyway. Why leave witnesses?"

The sirens were getting closer, and off down the taxiway a car raced in their direction. "Hurry up, Sam!" Dushenko yelled.

Cochran got a grip on Ann's shoulder and started pulling her up the stairs. In a final burst of desperate determination, she grabbed the railing and hung back. "They're going to Belize," she shouted. Be damned if she'd die for nothing. "Dushenko doesn't know who Cochran is, but he's read the stuff in the computer--"

"Damn bitch!" Cochran yanked hard on her injured arm. She cried out in agony and collapsed at his feet.

Robert fired, as much to drive Cochran back as in any hope of hitting him. "Ann! Get out of there!"

Don't die on your butt, she thought, and struggled to her feet.

Cochran fired at Robert, then lowered his aim to Ann's face just two feet away. "You're going first," he growled.

Ann dove for his foot as he fired, and she yanked, pulling him off balance.

Dushenko saw the new car slam to a halt beyond McCall's and men with guns pour out the doors. "Sam, come on!" he yelled, diving into the plane. The jet engines began firing up.

Robert fired again to encourage Cochran away from Ann as he ran to her. Cochran made a grab for her that she barely dodged. He abandoned his shield and jumped up the steps as bullets started flying from the new arrivals.

"Stay low," Robert ordered as he grabbed Ann's good arm and pulled her away. "Our side, I hope, is trying to miss us."

Pain and the noise spun in Ann's head, and she clung to Robert as the only thing marginally familiar. She tried to keep up with him, but her knees kept trying to give out. They finally collapsed behind a crate.

"Are you all right?" Robert demanded. Ann nodded shakily. "I'm sorry I couldn't get to you sooner." A bullet ricocheted off the top of the crate, and he pulled her close to him to shield her.

"Who are those people?" she gasped.

"Former colleagues, and any other questions are extremely inadvisable."

"Oh."

The jet's engines whined louder for a few seconds, prompting a fusillade of gunfire, then there was nothing but shouting.

"I told them not to come in like a wild west show," Robert muttered. Sirens came screaming in, causing more shouts.

"Is it over?" Ann asked weakly.

"I certainly hope so." Robert peeked cautiously around the crate. Suits and uniforms were yelling at each other.

Ann focused all her will on getting the bottle of codeine out of her jeans pocket. When she looked into the open bottle she suddenly remembered staring down the barrel of Cochran's gun and seeing his finger tightening. She slid to the ground and shook.

Robert glanced over at her and crouched beside her quickly. "You said you were all right."

"I am," she whispered. "I've never stared down a gun before." Her arm, tired of being ignored, throbbed unpleasantly. "Shit," she muttered. "I'm tired of hurting."

"I know the feeling." He took the pill bottle from her limp hand and shook out two tablets. "Here." He heard footsteps approaching. "Rest while you can, a lot of people are about to demand to know what's going on."

"Hell, they're asking me?"

Robert chuckled but hid it quickly as he stood to face whomever approached.

Control, backed by Mickey and a suit whose crewcut and shades screamed Federal agent, came to a stop near the crate. "Is she all right?" Control asked.

"As well as can be expected after being roughed up," Robert answered, not bothering to hide the displeasure in his voice. He saw the police had withdrawn to the perimeter of the taxiway and were keeping gawkers away. "What about them?" he asked, nodding at the jet.

"The pilot survived. He says Cochran shot Dushenko when Dushenko wanted to surrender, then Cochran held a gun to the pilot's head and told him to get to the runway. One of our men got on the plane and took Cochran down. So now we're left with the subsidiary players."

"Do you still think she was in on it?"

Control shrugged. "I may have misjudged the dynamics of the situation. We need to talk to her." Robert headed for the other side of the crate. "Are you all right?" Control asked.

"Me? Nothing came near me, no thanks to you."

"An overzealous lieutenant."

Ann was deep in one of Sensei Rayburn's preferred meditation techniques, isolating a sense and concentrating on the input. She was working on touch and enjoying the very real and prosaic feel of asphalt beneath her hand when Robert touched her good shoulder. It took a couple of moments to focus on him.

"So is it over?" she asked.

"I think so."

"Thank god," she sighed. "Can I go home now?" His hesitation made her look askance at the men with him.

"You're Ann Marshall?" Control asked.

"Yes," she said suspiciously.

"We need to ask you some questions."

Ann glanced at Robert, who looked somewhat anxious. She licked her lips. "What if I don't want to answer any right now?"

"It would be much simpler if you would."

Her temper suddenly snapped. "Which is what Dushenko told me when he pointed a gun at me and I'm tired of being yelled at and I just want to go home." Pain and fear and confusion finally wore down her resistance, and she started to cry. "Oh, hell."

Robert glared at Control. "Can we do this later?" he said, not as a request.

Control had the grace to look abashed. "No, not really. Miss Marshall, the sooner you tell me what I need to know, the sooner you can go home." He looked her over. "And I think an ambulance would be the best place for the conversation. Morenci, go find an ambulance we can commandeer." The silent suit left.

Robert crouched down beside Ann once again. "Oh, dear," he said, looking at her arm.

"How bad is it?" Ann asked softly, ashamed at her lack of control.

"Not as bad as it was, if that's any comfort. You might need some stitches replaced."

"Damn. And all my stuff's still at the hospital, I never checked out, people are going to be wondering where the hell I am, and what am I going to tell them this time?" She shoved the knuckle of her thumb between her teeth and bore down, determined not to cry again.

"I'll take care of it," Robert told her, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Morenci returned. "Boss, there's a police captain here who wants to know what's going on. He wants to talk to whomever's in charge."

Control sighed. "Robert, see she gets patched up, and don't leave."

With officialdom gone, Robert sat down beside Ann. "He's not as bad as he seems," he told her.

Ann felt three years old again. "I want to go home," she muttered.

"You will. Stand up now and we'll get your arm repatched." He stood and held his hand out. After a petulant moment she took it and let him help her up.

Mickey, looking mortified, came up. "Ms. Marshall, I'm sorry--"

"Please, don't," she said. She didn't have the energy for apologies. "God know what he would have done to get me out of there." She wobbled and grabbed at Robert to stay upright.

"Mickey, where's that ambulance?" Robert demanded.

Mickey, grateful to be of use, glanced toward the chaos around the jet. An agency morgue wagon had pulled up next to the door, and several people were backing down the stairs carrying one end of a long black bag. An ambulance was on the other side of the morgue wagon. "Let me go get it," Mickey said. "She shouldn't go wandering over there just now."

Robert looked over and nodded grimly. "You're right. Go ahead."

"It hasn't even been three days since I called you," Ann said when Mickey was gone. She was just a computer geek. All she'd done was her job, and people started shooting at her. "I'm going to go home and it'll seem like nothing has happened."

Robert recognized the signs of shell shock and put an arm around her carefully. "And you'll have to tell lies to the people who care about what happens to you and no one will understand why you're so upset."

She heard the bitterness in his voice but didn't comment. A lot of things she couldn't comment on. "So it just sits in my head in a corner and I can't do anything about it."

"I'm afraid so."

With a sigh, Ann decided to be weak for a little while and rested her head on his shoulder, not thinking about anything.

Robert watched the scene by the jet. Two body bags came out and disappeared into the wagon, which drove off quickly. Control had dismissed the police captain and was currently directing the investigation of the car the fugitives had arrived in. Mickey paused to talk to him, then they moved to the ambulance and had a brief, pointed discussion with the driver. The driver scooted over and Mickey took the wheel as Control climbed in the back.

"They're on their way," Robert said to Ann. She nodded silently.

Mickey backed the ambulance into position, and the rear doors swung open.

"This is highly irregular!" someone inside said loudly.

"Most things in life are, doctor," Control said calmly. "Right now you have a patient. Robert?"

Ann climbed in the ambulance, fighting back anxiety caused by the hospital smells. She sat on a gurney and proceeded to zone out on the world. Robert sat next to her to supervise both the treatment and the debriefing.

Control looked at him, amused. "I'm not going to eat her," he said mildly.

"No, you're not," Robert agreed pleasantly.

Mickey glanced back from the driver's seat and assessed the situation. "Go take a walk," he told the driver, who went quickly. He'd seen enough for his taste anyway.

The EMT muttered to himself as he unwrapped Ann's arm. The words "gang war" and "intolerable" were heard. Ann's only reaction was to go paler than she already was. Robert quietly took her free hand and felt her grip it tightly.

"What happened to Dushenko and Cochran?" she suddenly asked.

"They didn't make it," Control said flatly.

Ann stared at him a moment, then closed her eyes to hide the odd grief she felt. She remembered the company picnic last month, long before all this had started. Dushenko had been working the crowd, being an obsequious jerk but doing it well. He'd even taken a turn at bat in the softball game. He'd hit a homer, of course. Ann had hung out with a couple of her engineering friends, making nasty cynical jokes about him and wondering if he'd dress up as Santa Claus for the Christmas party. Now he was dead. No more homers, no more working the crowd. He wouldn't have stopped Cochran from hurting her, but she hadn't wanted him dead.

She barely winced when the doctor gave her a shot of a local anaesthetic for her arm, and ten minutes later, when he started putting in sutures, she didn't even blink. Pain was becoming commonplace.

"She should be in a hospital," the EMT said, for form's sake.

"Yes, doctor," Control answered, also for form's sake. "Are you almost done?"

He nodded grumpily. "I'm just putting the bandages on now."

"Excellent. Then it would be a good idea for you to get some exercise."

The EMT snarled quietly and finished quickly. "Make sure a doctor checks this in a couple of days," he told Ann, who nodded slowly. He looked around at the silent people watching him, harumphed, then went out the back doors.

Mickey checked the side mirrors. "He's clear."

"Thank you, Mickey," Control said. "Miss Marshall, tell me everything you know about this."

Ann stared at him. "I'm assuming you don't need to know from the day I was hired." Control raised an eyebrow at her tone. "And when I'm done I go home." It was not a question.

"Miss Marshall--"

"Or I go home now. And if I don't reappear soon, my mother will be worried, my lawyer will be frantic, my brother will call the police, and somewhere along the line my cousin the U.S. Senator, who calls me every few weeks to bitch about bureaucrats, will hear about it." She looked at the quiet man across from her and didn't need to wonder who he was, not if he was giving Mickey orders, and demanding--and getting--explanations from Robert. She didn't particularly care anymore.

Control glanced at Robert, whose mildly amused expression was not helpful. He looked back at the girl, who still had that very calm, very serious look in her eyes. Yes, she did have a U.S. Senator for a cousin, and he was, unfortunately, on some committees that could cause problems. And Control did not put it past her to have some way of triggering trouble. Why had she called Robert, of all people? Couldn't she have found someone else to help her? And he was looking far too pleased at her attitude. Not good. Finally, Control sighed.

"Yes, Miss Marshall, when you're done you can go home. Now, if you please, will you tell me everything relevant you know regarding what Cochran and Dushenko were up to?"

Ann proceeded to do just that, sparing not a jot of technicalese. The man whose name she hadn't been told never batted an eye. Finally her voice gave out as she told about Dushenko's appearance in her hospital room.

"I think that's enough," Robert said.

Control nodded. "Did either of them say anything useful on your way here?"

Ann shook her head as she massaged her throat.

"Ah, well. I'm sure we'll get what we need from that information you got for us." He glanced at Mickey, then stood. "Robert, I'll need to chat with you later."

"All right."

"Thank you again, Miss Marshall. You've done a great service to your country." With that he left.

Mickey came back from the driver's seat as Robert heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, that's it, I guess. I'm glad you made it through OK--relatively speaking."

Ann swallowed and got most of her voice back. "I wouldn't have if not for you and Robert. Thank you."

Mickey shrugged. "You do what you can." He looked at Robert. "I've got work to do."

Robert nodded. "So do I. I'll see you later."

"Take care of yourself," Mickey said to Ann, then he followed his boss out the back door.

*

Ann sighed and rested her head against the wall behind her. So it was done. Her enemies dispatched, her allies bidding her well and departing, her life ready to resume its normal course. Except it couldn't. She had to heal first, and then, somehow, go back to friends, family and co-workers as if nothing more than a statistic-made-real had happened. She'd been threatened, injured, kidnapped, had her life threatened, and she was going to have to shrug it off. She was going to have to go back to her routine and pick up the strand of her life and go on her way.

Robert rested a hand on her good shoulder. "Are you ready to go home now?"

"Yes, please."

They left the ambulance and walked to his car. Only a few people remained around the jet. The cargo doors were open, and luggage was being hauled out. Ann looked at the scene with a sense of detachment.

Robert held the door for her, then got in and started the engine. Ann couldn't help but look at the back seat. Only a few small stains marked where she'd bled all over everything.

"The people who take care of my car are very good at cleaning leather," Robert said when he saw the direction of her interest.

"Good. I was concerned."

Robert glanced at her as he drove away from the scene. Her remoteness might be shock, or it might be something else. A chill of isolation was creeping into her voice.

A reporter, or at least someone with a camera, lurked at the gate, but Robert swerved enough towards him to make him jump back instead of take a picture. As they drove into Manhattan, Robert handed Ann his car phone. "Here. Call the hospital and tell them you're coming to get your things. Directory assistance is Star-5. Then you might want to call your family and tell them you're all right and that you'll be home soon."

"Bless your organized mind," Ann said as she obeyed.

The hospital was displeased at her disappearance but easily mollified. Mother was still in her meeting, and Suzy had been quietly going nuts. Ann promised her as full an explanation as she could then hung up.

"She's a chatterbox. My apologies for using up your air time. Make sure you add it to my bill."

"I would, if I were submitting one. I refuse to charge money for letting people in my care get shot."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was," he said firmly.

"I bet people call you stubborn a lot."

"As often as they do you, I imagine." He was rewarded with a faint chuckle.

Ann looked out at the busy streets. A million stories in the naked city, and most people didn't even know they were happening. Another whole universe moved beneath the one she knew, a universe of violence, betrayal, and distrust. Luckily she had only visited for a short time. What must it do to the people who spent their lives there? She glanced briefly at Robert. He had lived there, but he left. He went back every now and then, knew the rules, but he didn't stay. She wondered what had happened to make him leave.

"Would you like me to go get your things?" Robert asked as they neared the hospital.

"No, they probably wouldn't give them to you. And there's probably paperwork to do." She almost suggested that she could take a cab home from the hospital and he didn't have to bother, but the cowardly part of her soul wasn't ready to dismiss her guardian just yet. But she was going to have to say good-bye to him soon and deal with everything on her own. Surely a self-sufficient woman could do that.

Robert pulled into a parking space near the door. "I don't know how long this will take," Ann said diffidently.

"I'll wait," he assured her. She smiled slightly and got out of the car.

Robert angled the rear view mirror to watch her and wondered if he should have gone with her. Cochran and Dushenko might have had unknown allies who would object to the network's removal. But he couldn't guard her forever, and the job he'd been hired for was almost done. So why was he so reluctant to leave Ann to fend for herself? She was strong, competent, had devoted friends and family. It just seemed that there was a portion of her soul that huddled away from the world and cringed when anything came too close. She tried to keep distance between herself and those who would help her, insisting on dealing with things on her own, even if she couldn't. The past few days were more bricks in that wall, more of her soul that she had to lock away. These weren't the kind of days respectable, well-brought up people were supposed to have.

Ann walked through the retrieval of her belongings, the paperwork and her scolding in the same sort of haze she'd been in when her father had died. She answered all the questions and made all the right noises, but the voice belonged to someone with a lot more self-possession than she had. Finally she headed for the elevator once more, with her briefcase and her African violet. She had the elevator to herself, and her autopilot got her as far as the lobby. Then she glanced out, saw Robert's car, and took a detour to sit down.

It was cowardly to want to have him around to guard her back. But when he was gone, she'd have no one who understood what had happened to her. Not that this was anything new. Maybe it was because for the first time in years she felt she was living her life instead of walking through it. She'd been pulled out of her pastel existence and yanked into a world of vivid colors and deep shadows. The people there knew life was sometimes hard and didn't hold it against you if you got scared and asked for help. Sometimes they helped you before you needed it. They knew about secrets and weaknesses. Oh, sure, her family would help her--if they knew. But old hurts were considered thankfully past and this new terror couldn't be mentioned.

Besides, Robert found her cynicism amusing, and a man with his past surely had more reasons to be cynical than a pampered, sheltered computer nerd. Maybe she wanted to figure out how to turn her jaundiced look on life into something a little more idealistic.

At the bottom of it, though, she didn't want to go back to her old, predictable, unextreme life. There were no depths of pain, she didn't allow those anymore, but had she also cut off her ability to feel heights as well? The busy have no time for tears, Lord Byron had said. That had seemed wisdom once. Now it seemed only to lead to where tears of joy were considered as superfluous as tears of pain.

But she couldn't tell Robert that. For all she knew, he was just waiting to take her home and write finis to a successful case. Well, mostly successful. He seemed to take her injury personally, and she remembered the anger in his voice when the threats against her were discussed. All that meant, though, was that he was conscientious.

But he was comforting, forgiving of what she thought of as loathsome weakness, approving of the parts of her that Mom called, with loving disapproval, tomboyish. She wanted him as a friend.

She glanced at her watch. She'd been gone half an hour. Time to go back and go home.

Robert gave a small sigh of relief when he saw her, and he got out to help. "Let me take the plant for you."

"Thanks. Though I don't know why I'm taking it home. If the cats don't eat it, it'll only commit seppuku to get away from my notorious brown thumb."

"But you have flower boxes on your house."

"Perennials, weeds, and marigolds. God with a tac nuke couldn't kill marigolds."

Robert helped her into the car. "My uncle thought me horticulturally inept when I couldn't keep an azalea bush alive."

"My mother took a back hoe to our azaleas and they still came back."

"The cat came back," he commented as he navigated out of the parking lot.

"The very next day," Ann completed.

"You know that song?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

Robert laughed and relaxed. She seemed in better spirits now, but she looked tired. When she leaned her head back against the seat and sighed, he let her have her peace.

Chelsea was quiet, with only a few cars on the street. A nanny pushed a baby carriage down the sidewalk, chatting with a small boy who held onto the side of the expensive, old-fashioned pram and chewed on his designer shirt collar. Someone else's maid was walking a pair of Dalmatians who were quite enamored of the trees in their little iron enclosures.

"St. John's Wood," Robert commented to himself.

"Hm?" Ann said, blinking back from her partial nap.

"It looks like St. John's Wood around here." He smiled faintly. "Or at least the St. John's Wood I remember. But that's almost ten years ago, the last time I saw London."

"I liked London." Ann hadn't thought of the high school senior class trip to England in years. "Suzy and I skipped out on the tour group and claimed we were lost in the British Museum. We wanted to see more than just the Elgin Marbles."

Robert wanted to ask her more about her trip to England, but they were almost to her house and she was looking out at the neighborhood anxiously. He pulled in in front of her garage door and shut off the engine.

*

"Oh, god, home," Ann whispered, fighting back tears. A day ago she hadn't been sure she'd ever see it again.

Robert got out and took his time going around to open her door. He glanced around the neighborhood automatically. A BMW sat where Giberto's car had been Sunday night, and no one sat in any of the cars. A quick scan of windows showed only one with a curtain pulled back, that with a young girl watching with unabashed curiosity. As he watched, Robert saw her glance over her shoulder furtively and drop the curtain. Neighborhood snoop.

Ann had her homesick tears under control by the time Robert opened her door. She handed him the plant and propped her briefcase open to retrieve her keys.

"Let me," Robert said, taking the briefcase as she tried to juggle it and the keys one-handed.

"Oh, thanks." It was nice to be coddled.

She unlocked the door and quickly headed down the hall. "Alarm," she explained over her shoulder. Robert nodded and closed the door, throwing the deadbolt and looking over the locks. It was a good steel door with a plexiglas speakeasy spyhole at a short woman's height. There'd been an intercom by the door outside, but the other end must be deeper in the house.

The hallway was dark, and he flipped the light switch nearby. The narrow hallway stretched off for a few dozen feet; it was lined with framed prints. Robert studied her taste as he walked deeper into the house. Most of the prints were Art Nouveau, Mucha and the like, with Art Deco and Maxfield Parrish thrown in.

The foyer at the end of the hall had green-gold wallpaper that nicely accented the alarm master panel. Ann was pushing buttons.

"I like your prints," Robert said.

"Oh, thanks. But I don't have enough wall space."

"In a four-story house?" She shrugged self-consciously. Robert looked for a place to put the plant and the briefcase and found a beautiful antique Georgian occasional table in the middle of the foyer. In the room beyond, at an angle off the hall, he saw the glitter of gold. "May I?" he asked, headed towards that room.

"Huh? Oh, sure. I'll give you the ha'penny tour." She dropped her keys on the table and went to turn on the lights.

"My word." He'd known she was well off financially, but it hadn't really sunk in. In her parlour was one of the finest 16th century Chinese cabinets he'd ever seen outside of a museum. Flanking it where it stood at the far wall were two gold-leafed mirror paintings of exceptional quality. And on the shelves of the cabinet were several small ivory netsuke. On that one wall alone was a breathtakingly valuable collection of Oriental art. "Who's your decorator?" he asked in a somewhat dazed voice as he went to examine the cabinet.

"Decorators exist only for access and wholesale prices," Ann said firmly. "No one is going to tell me how my house should look."

"Then I admire your taste." He blinked when he saw the scroll painting above the Georgian sideboard at another wall. "Is that Ming?"

"T'ang. Ming is decadent."

Robert laughed. "My dear girl, you live in a four-story house and complain about a lack of wall space, and you call Ming decadent?"

"Well, they are." She looked around in concern. "Where are they?"

"What?"

"Who. The cats."

"Ah, the infamous felines." He followed her out of the parlour but hesitated before another scroll, this one with a Japanese woman holding an umbrella. "'The tale of the sisters' rice bowl,'" he read.

"You know Japanese?"

"I lived there for a while."

"Oh, cool." But she was starting to look concerned. "They should have come to meet me, especially after two days."

"Perhaps they're sulking somewhere. We'll find them."

Ann led the way down an extension of the front corridor and into a small barroom. A Victorian-style billiard table took up most of the room. Robert noticed dust on the felt. Ann didn't hesitate but headed up the stairs to the next floor. There was sunlight up here, and Robert blinked a moment before his eyes adjusted.

He stood in an atrium three stories tall. On one side were balconies for the next two floors connected by a winding wooden staircase. Opposite that was the original brick wall rising unbroken to the roof and the large skylight. Bolted to the wall was an Art Deco iron sculpture of birds rising in flight.

As Robert stared, Ann looked around anxiously. "Ankh, Tut, I'm home!" she called. She listened intently and relaxed at the faint sound of a howl. "Where are you, you silly creatures?"

The feline complaints localized to the third floor, and two heads poked through the railings.

"Siamese," Robert noted. "What were their names again?"

"Yes, he's talking about you," Ann said for the benefit of the cats. "Are you going to forgive me or not?" One head disappeared, followed more slowly by the other. Thumping noises came down the stairs. "And they only weigh ten pounds each, and the stairs are carpeted." One cat came trotting towards them, mewing, with tail upright. "Hello, darling. Robert, may I introduce Her Majesty, Ankhesenamon, Lady of the Two Lands, High Priestess of Isis, etc., etc., known to her familiars as Ankh." Ankh stopped to sniff Ann's foot suspiciously. "Yes, I imagine I'm just loaded with odd smells. Where's your co-ruler? There you are." The other cat sat on the bottom stair, blue eyes glowing with displeasure.

"I don't think it likes me," Robert said.

"He's very possessive. This is the Lord of the Two Lands, Son of the Sun, Wearer of the Two Crowns, and all that, Tutankhamon, sometimes called Tut, most usually called Rotten Cat. You're going to sulk, aren't you." The cat laid his ears back. Ankh, meanwhile, was investigating Robert and started stropping his ankles.

"Does she bite?" Robert asked, stooping to pet her.

"Her? She'd show a burglar the silver." Ann watched Ankh make a fool of herself at Robert's feet. "I think I'd go mad without someone to come home to," she said softly.

Robert glanced at her as he rubbed Ankh's belly. "You have lots of people who would make sure you don't go mad." She didn't answer.

She went to the stairs and bent down to Tut. "Hello, baby." The cat sniffed her fingers disapprovingly and stretched up to sniff the sling. He was not pleased. "I know, it's nasty. But I'm home now, and I'm going to stay here." The peace of her home was settling in her soul, the tired part of her mind retreating to the quiet place with doors she could close. The world could go on its merry way, she was home.

Robert straightened and looked at her. Maybe she was just tired, but she seemed more remote than usual--unless this was usual for her, and the woman he'd been associating with was the aberration. Ankh protested his abandonment of his attentions and jumped onto a baby grand piano sitting near the brick wall. A sheet music stand stood near it, with a sculpture on top. Ankh jumped to the cabinet and arranged herself. Robert noticed a faint trail of cat prints in the dust on the piano.

He suddenly looked at Ann and her cats and felt himself on the other side of a glass wall. He felt a pull to the door and the street, back to the world of sound and bustle, away from this quiet cloister. Yes, he'd brought her back safely, but she was slipping away, like a boat sliding slowly out to sea. This house was a place apart, with all that was beautiful. He didn't doubt that the rest of the place matched what he'd seen. But there was a stillness at the heart of it that he misliked, a stillness more of locks, walls, and abjuration than of true peace and tranquility. Was this a safe haven where one rested after a struggle and made ready for the next, or was it the land of the lotos-eaters, where the world was far away and couldn't hurt you if you stayed inside?

Creatures who loved her, the material joys of her life, and a very expensive alarm system. If the prisoner is safe and content, why should she leave her prison? Especially if the prison was of her own choosing?

Ann felt at a loss as she scratched Tut's ears. She was safe in her refuge and grateful to Robert for getting her past the dragons at her gate, but she really didn't know what to do with him now, this man who carried so much chaotic life in his wake. She couldn't just dismiss him like a hired lackey, even though, to a degree, that was what he was. Her thoughts at the hospital seemed odd and out of kilter. Now that she was home, the past few days were fading to something seen on a movie screen, very involving but not quite real. Her normal life wouldn't be that hard to resume--though she imagined she should call her supervisor at work to find out when and if she should return. It wasn't like she'd never before locked off things that got in the way.

His job was done, but why did Robert feel like the most harmful thing he could do would be to leave her to her solitude? He remembered his impression of a scared soul hiding and covering its head. But would she let him try to peel off some of that shell? Damn it, he liked the tough, gutsy lady who refused to scream and went toe to toe with his old boss. He didn't want to see her subsumed in this proper, restrained mouse. He thought he saw the brilliant hues of a sunny Van Gogh behind the respectably pastel Turner. What would remove the veil?

"I imagine you missed your lunch," he said casually.

The question seemed to take her by surprise. "Yes, I think I did." Thinking about the events of barely three hours ago was difficult. They seemed hazy already. "I suppose I should be hungry, but I'm not."

Robert studied her, concerned for her physical well-being now. "Today was rougher on you than you let on. You need some rest, then I think you'll feel more your old self."

A flash of uncertainty went through her. Which old self? "I hope you're right. The world seems pretty unreal right now," she admitted.

"Then why don't you go get some sleep, and when you wake up I'll take you to dinner. I owe you that, at least." When she hesitated, he added, "You're not really in shape to be working in a kitchen."

"I'm sure there's something in the freezer I can throw in the microwave," she said, not quite as an argument.

"If ever there was a time to pamper yourself, getting out of the hospital is it."

Blame it on weakness, she told herself, not on a cowardly desire for his company. "You're right, and I accept. Shall I call you when I wake up?"

"Actually," he smiled ruefully, "you still seem like you could use someone keeping an eye on you. If it's not an imposition, I'll just stay here. I'm sure there's enough in your tower to occupy me for a few hours."

Now that it was settled, Ann felt the stirring of anticipation. "And you haven't even seen the library yet."

"Your library?"

"The crown of my tower, as you put it." She liked that image. It spoke of a strong place to be safe in. She didn't realize Robert was thinking more in terms of somewhere to be locked in and away, whether willingly or no. "Up here."

She headed for the stairs. Ankh leaped from the music cabinet to follow Robert, and Tut led the procession. The third-floor balcony turned towards the brick wall and ran the full width of the house. Backing this end of the balcony was a wall of Arts & Crafts style stained glassed windows, with a double door in the center. Ann pushed open one side, then the other.

"Welcome to the heart of my world."

Robert walked in slowly, eyes wide in admiration.

The dark room was easily seventy feet long and filled the width of the building. Bookshelves covered the long walls, and cabinets of old editions and curios filled the wall at the door end. At the far end of the room, backed by the three windows with seats in the embrasures, sat a massive executive desk covered in computer equipment. Between the windows were shelves and filing cabinets and a printer. A long, heavy library table littered with boxes and stacks of books ran down the center of the room.

"This is wonderful," Robert said, gazing about. He noticed a microfilm reader in a corner by the door. Facing it across the room was an overstuffed wingback chair and ottoman next to a table and floor lamp. "What a lovely place to be stranded in."

Ann looked around serenely. "I think so. I could spend the rest of my life in here and never worry."

The contented sound of her voice woke worries in his mind. He didn't know much about computers, but he knew they talked to each other. One could do her work and never leave the house to make a living. The only reason one needed see another person was to meet delivery people at the door.

He remembered how she'd described her house, a guilt present from her family. What guilt would be worth a person's private universe?

All at once the library became, not a lovely den, but the lure that drew the prey to the trap.

"I think I could spend several hours here quite pleasantly," he said casually. "Do you have a favorite restaurant in the area I should get reservations at?"

Ann blinked as if she'd forgotten the plans to go out. "Um, Salvatore's is good, and it's only a couple of blocks away."

"Excellent. You get some rest, and I'll take care of everything else."

She obeyed, but paused in the doorway to glance quizzically at him. Ankh jumped up on the table near Robert and chirped at him while Tut yowled commandingly from the balcony outside.

"Yes, Your Majesty, your command is my wish," she said, leaving the library.

Robert scratched Ankh's ears and chuckled. "May I have your cooperation in making sure she's all right?" The cat only angled her head so he could scratch under her collar.

He wandered the library, cat curled up in his arms. Ann's tastes were eclectic. The fiction side of the room held mysteries, science fiction, fantasy, silly romances, and Greek epics. Three shelves were devoted to nothing but the Sherlock Holmes canon and assorted apocrypha, with the two shelves below given over to Tolkien, hard bound and original paperbacks. Robert perused "The Hobbit" briefly in fond recollection, wishing he'd kept up his correspondence with that odd friend of his father's. He went to look at the non-fiction.

Was there anything she didn't have an interest in? The science and mathematics books were to be expected with her computer background, but why astrophysics? "A Brief History of Time" had corners turned down on various pages. Life sciences were pretty meager except for a couple of popular overviews and some works on psychology. But history took up half the long wall.

Robert pulled a couple of books and took them, along with the cat, to the wingback chair. Two hours later he remembered to call for reservations. He used the multi-line phone in the midst of the arcane computer junk, which he left strictly alone.

Three hours after that, Ann peeked in. Well, he was still here. He was happily ensconced in the chair, Ankh in his lap as he read P.G. Wodehouse. "Farmer Giles of Ham" was on the table next to him. She watched him a moment. The house felt different with another person in it. She felt oddly jealous that he should be so comfortable in her chair and with her cat. But at the same time it was nice to have company.

As he turned a page, he glanced up and saw her in the doorway. "Ah, there you are." He put down the book and took off his glasses. "How do you feel?"

"Sub-human. But that's an improvement. Before, I was asking animal, vegetable, or mineral."

"What answer were you getting?"

"Something on the vegetable end. At least at sub-human I have a chance at evolving."

Robert gently put Ankh on the floor. "There you go, kitty. Thank you for your company."

"She stayed with you the whole time?"

"Except for a few explorations, yes. Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

"Good. We have reservations for eight o'clock. It's seven now."

"Is it?" Ann rubbed her face. "Maybe I can achieve sentience by then. If you'll excuse me, you can finish what you were reading. I'll be getting a bit more presentable."

"Of course."

Ankh followed Ann out. After a few moments, Tut stalked into the room, sat down in front of Robert, and stared at him.

"I'm not leaving," Robert said. The eyes narrowed slightly. "I assure you, my intentions are the most honorable." The tip of the tail began flicking. "Why am I talking to you? You're a cat." Robert picked up Wodehouse and continued reading, doing his best to ignore the sapphire laser stare.

Ann was ready in twenty minutes. She wore loose clothes that were easy to manage one-handed.

"Shall we walk?" she said. "It's only two blocks."

"Certainly, if you're up to it."

They discussed cats as they walked, which segued into women who lived alone with cats, which segued to people through history who got into trouble for being different. This led to history in general, which lasted through ordering, the salad, and well into the entree.

"But England has always had a much higher tolerance for eccentricity than America," Ann said, gesturing emphatically with her fork and impaled ravioli.

"Please eat that," Robert said. "I don't want it flung into my lap to prove a point. But you're right about English eccentrics. Though if people got too odd we'd ship them over here."

"No, just the ones who got caught or were too poor to buy off the judge. America was settled by poor malcontents and stupid crooks. England kept the good ones."

"Have you seen Dame Edna?"

Ann giggled. "All right, point taken."

"And malcontents put together quite a remarkable government."

"Unwieldy as it is."

"That's as may be, but in over two hundred years you've never had a war over who would lead the nation."

"True enough. The late 18th and early 19th centuries were a mess."

"The first world wars."

"Yeah, and you people came stomping over on us in 1812 once you had Napoleon out of the way."

"Not my people, not anymore. I've been an American citizen for decades," he said proudly.

"Really? I've read that oath. I'm not sure I'd take it. Did you have to renounce your allegiance to the Queen and all that?"

"Oh, yes. And I'd only sworn an oath to her father a few years before in the Royal Army."

All sorts of questions that seemed to push the boundaries of advisable occurred to her. She resisted. "So how long have you lived in New York?"

"Years and years. I wanted to see if it was like the movies I watched as a child."

"Was it?"

"Then? Yes." He decided not to go into detail about the timeline involved.

Ann didn't notice. "I grew up here. True, we lived in one of the nicer suburbs of Brooklyn, but I was navigating the subways by myself at twelve."

"What?"

"Sure. You grow up here, you learn to keep moving and not be a target. I had a couple of close calls, but on the whole you could depend on the cops to help you out." She sipped her water thoughtfully. "That's the thing I find oddest about those movies. Everyone trusts the cops implicitly. Corruption isn't new."

"You grew up during Watergate, didn't you."

"Yeah. That must have been rough, seeing everything you trusted revealed to have feet of clay."

"Rougher than you could believe."

Ann caught the bitter note and wondered what he was remembering. "Why was everyone so shocked to find out that people in charge are only human?" she asked softly.

"Because we thought we were part of something better." He stared into the candle in the middle of the table. "Somehow we knew we were only kidding ourselves, but we had such hopes that the world would be better."

"Did you vote for Kennedy?"

The non sequitur didn't throw him. He saw the way her logic worked. "Oh, yes," he answered. 1963 came back in all its gruesomeness for a very nasty second.

"All I know of Kennedy is what I see in retrospectives," Ann said pensively. "The curse of youth, history is second-hand."

"That's what makes it history. Otherwise it's memory."

"True enough."

"Why this interest in history?" he asked after a moment. "I thought most people your age were most involved with their careers and their status."

"I am not a yuppie," she snapped. "None of the people I call my friends are yuppies. I drive a seventeen-year-old VW microbus. The nice things I own are because I need something to stop the house echoing." The pretentiousness caught her ear. "True," she grinned, "orange crates would do just as well."

"I apologize for insinuating you were a yuppie," Robert said, hiding his amusement. "But I was quite taken with your library. I found your range of tastes quite intriguing."

"Scatterbrained, is what I was once told."

"Renaissance is what crossed my mind."

"Bless you. Buying books kept me busy after my divorce." She blinked in shock that she'd actually mentioned that.

Robert saw her dismay and understood some of the pain he saw in her. "Keeping busy didn't help for me," he said mildly.

Ann stared at him. "You, too, huh?" Her glance fell on the ring on his left hand. She'd wondered about that, especially when his apartment had been such a bachelor establishment. But the old defense patterns kicked in. "A couple of winners, huh? Considering the odds on marriages these days, I'm not surprised."

He recognized verbal sidestepping and changed the subject. "Do you have a lot of family around here?"

She was grateful for the change. "My mother, my brother and sister, and various aunts, uncles and cousins. Oh, and my ninety-year-old grandmother, for whom I was named. I was named for my mother, too, but I wanted a name of my own and shortened it to Ann." She was babbling, she realized, and got a grip.

But Robert was interested. "Annabell?" he guessed.

"No, thank God."

"Angelique?"

His accent made her wish it was her name, but she shook her head.

He thought a moment more. "I give up."

"Anastasia."

"I should have known. It's very elegant."

"Thank you, but it was a bit unwieldy for an eight-year-old. My first name is Sylvia, but Daddy got tired of having to specify who he was talking to." She wondered at his interest. It had been a long time since she'd explained herself to someone new. She didn't know which pits to avoid, and she kept wanting to empty all her thoughts on him. "What time is it?"

Robert checked his watch, then looked again. "A quarter to eleven?"

"We've been sitting here nearly three hours? No wonder the waiters are glaring at us."

On cue, Hi-I'm-Pete-your-waiter showed up to inquire cautiously about dessert.

Robert glanced at Ann, who shook her head. "Not tonight, thank you."

The waiter looked relieved. "Here's your check, then, sir."

Ann debated arguing over the bill as she watched Robert hand Pete a credit card, but she imagined he was the old-fashioned sort when it came to such things. She finished her water and started pulling herself together to leave. An odd apprehension was running around her stomach. She tracked it down to an unwillingness to say good-bye.

Robert held her chair for her. "Do you like French food?" he asked.

"Only when I know what it is. I read 'Joy of Cooking', those people will eat anything." She shuddered. "Tripe, ig."

"Properly prepared, it's quite good."

"So's an old shoe, I imagine."

He chuckled as he held the door for her to leave. "Then I imagine offering you escargot is not a good idea."

"I've never had the courage to try them."

"Perhaps we should try La Poisson to lend verisimilitude to our alibis."

"Perhaps." But the reminder of terror swept away any anticipation of spending more time with him. "Robert, is it really all over? That man to whom I was so carefully not introduced didn't seem inclined to accept my story."

He took her arm as he thought. "I can't tell you who he is," he sighed.

"I know who he is." She saw him look sharply at her with distrust flaring in his eyes. "He orders Mickey around," she said quickly, "and when he tells you to jump, you at least think about it. Cochran was rather free with reasons why having you on his trail scared the shit out of him."

Robert stared at her, hoping his dismay was well hidden. Old habits warned him of the danger of her knowledge. Control was right in wondering if she could be trusted. She had put too many pieces together for anyone with Robert's job history to be comfortable. But he wanted to trust her, though he wondered why he thought he could. A clever woman could have called him when a proposal of collaboration with Cochran had fallen through.

But too many years of watching people in fear had taught Robert what real terror looked like, and he'd seen it in Ann Marshall's eyes. What really worried him was her opinion of his former employment. Did she find the thought of what he might have done distasteful? Many people refused to see the necessity of the work he'd done.

He cared what she thought of him. He wanted to tell her that those days were far behind him, but they weren't. Not when the past had the habit of rearing up and clawing him. He liked Ann, and he wanted the chance to find out how her mind worked and why.

He saw her uneasiness at his silence and marveled at her restraint. It was past time to reassure her. "As far as you're concerned," he said finally, "it is over. I was told there's no more reason for anyone to be interested in you."

"Thank god," Ann said devoutly.

"Prodigal Systems, however..."

"Oh, god. Am I unemployed?"

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"Damn it, I didn't want to put several hundred people out of work. I just wanted people to stop following me."

"It may not be that bad. They'll probably just shut things down for a while to see what else can be found."

"Probably use it for a front or something," she muttered. She glanced over at Robert's silence. He was giving her uncertain looks again. "Oh, come on, what with all the Congressional investigations and books and movies, an observant person can figure out a few things."

"But most people don't get to observe what you have."

"True enough." She looked around the streets of her neighborhood. "Mirrors and mis-direction and denials and outright lies. The world doesn't need to know anything some people say it doesn't. 'We know what's best for you, just watch the bread and circuses.' Which is the puppet show and who's holding whose strings? And which side am I on now? Truth or illusion?"

"Somewhere in the grey area in the middle with the rest of us who have seen both sides," Robert said softly. "But you get to go home and leave it all behind you."

"I'm not as good at pretending as I used to be."

"Neither am I."

Ann met his eyes and saw some of the reason why he'd left that world. They were on the corner near her house where a street lamp had burnt out. A refuge of shadows lurked there, and she decided to dare a question. "Why risk so much for total strangers? You were in the way of bullets yourself."

The dark loosened his tongue, the dark and her unexpected vision of what the shadow world was like. "I was raised to help people if I could. That's what a gentleman did. I found myself in a unique position to do a lot of good for a great many people. But one day I realized I'd lost track of which people I was supposed to be helping. So I went back to the basics I was taught, helping who you can how you can. Yes, the other work was important, but so is driving the fear from the eyes of a woman running for her life."

She had to look away for a moment. "It's a rough world for an honorable man," she said softly. "I thought people like you were out of fashion."

"How would you know, being honorable yourself?"

She laughed. "That's not a word commonly applied to hackers."

"True, only to those hackers who don't use what they find for their own profit. Or hadn't it occurred to you that what you found was very valuable?"

"Uh, actually, no. All I thought was that I'd rather be handling live plague bacteria."

He smiled and took her arm to walk her the last block home. "The danger equivalent is very close."

"You and Mickey could have been hurt because of that stuff, couldn't you." She saw the look on his face. "Forgive me, that's none of my business."

"But thank you for worrying."

They walked in silence to her door. Ann had left the lights on, and the house looked comfortable and welcoming. Robert felt safe leaving her there. He helped her dig her keys out of her large, awkward bag.

"What will you do with yourself now?" he asked.

"I don't know," she answered in some dismay. "I'm going to wake up tomorrow for the first time in years without a purpose. I haven't had to look for a job in years."

"Surely you don't need to worry about income just yet."

"Well, no. In point of fact, I suppose I don't need to work at all. But I've always had a job. Only parasites don't want a job. Hell, I hate starting over."

"You need time to heal, though." She shrugged impatiently. "You're allowed to relax every now and then. Rest is good."

"Oh, and when do you relax? Not often, I imagine."

"I've been known to snatch moments for myself. In fact, I'd planned to take a few this weekend. The Metropolitan Opera Summer Rep is doing 'Tosca.'"

Interest appeared in her eyes. "Yes, I saw. And it's not included in my season ticket package, darn them."

"I have two tickets. Would you care to join me?"

"I would love to. That's my favorite opera after a well-done 'Aida'. And my arm should be cooperating by then."

"True enough. Shall I pick you up at seven? We could get a quick bite beforehand."

"So long as it's not snails or tripe. Seven is fine."

"Excellent. Then you take yourself in and rest and I'll see you Saturday." He gave her a sympathetic smile. "And if anything happens which makes you wonder if your story has truly been accepted, don't hesitate to call. I still have some influence."

"If I need you I'll call. Good night."

"Good night."

Robert stood by his car and waited till she was inside with the door locked behind her. In a few minutes, lights began going out. He opened his car door and got in. He was putting his key in the ignition when it hit him. He'd asked her out for a date and she'd said yes. In the mutual anticipation, he doubted either had noticed the social ramifications. The last time he'd dated a client it had ended badly. But in the pleasure of getting to know her intricate mind, he'd forgotten what had brought them together.

Oh, well, it was just the opera. Surely he could risk that. But he kept thinking of things to tell her, points he wanted her opinion on. Never mind, they were both adults. Besides, he could always use another friend who mostly knew him for what he was. As he drove home, he wondered if his dress suit was back from the cleaners.

Ann had been hit by the realization thirteen seconds after locking the front door. For the first time in three years, she had a date. She couldn't decide if she should call Suzy or her therapist. Call Suzy. She was free and there was always the chance she would approve. Dr. Metzenbaum never approved of anything. Perhaps it was time to retire Dr. Metzenbaum.

As she went upstairs, she wondered how much cat hair was on her summer little black dress.