Tina gaped, then color slowly started to rise in her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled. Logan reached in and put a hand on her arm. "Tina, before you lose that stereotypical redhead temper, Hank isn't accusing you. Listen to what he said--'according to this'. A lawman isn't going to go on just appearances."

"That's so," Hank agreed. "All this tells us is that these emails were sent from this particular computer." He clicked the mouse a couple of times. "Look here--time sent on both of them. Tina, I know darn good and well that you were at Logan's house fixing supper and visiting when these were sent. You've got two very reliable witnesses who will say so."

Tina's shoulders slumped slightly. "Well, thank goodness for that. My life is complicated enough without people believing that I'm sabotaging my own job." She frowned. "But if I didn't do it, who did?"

"That I can't say. If I was psychic, I'd have hit the lotto and own a few acres at both Lake Sam Rayburn and Crystal Beach. What I would suggest is that we switch this keyboard and mouse out, and have Detective Hoffman see if they can find any prints that have no business being there."

"I just don't understand this at all. I have a lock on my door..."

"Do you use a password on your computer?" She blushed, and Hank sighed. "You lock your door, but you don't lock your computer. Please tell me you haven't sent any banking information to some poobah in Nigeria who guaranties to give you a few million worth of illicitly gained national funds?"

"Don't be insulting."

"I knew you were a sensible woman." He shook his head. "It amazes me that there are still people who will actually fall for that one. You're sure that you locked your door when you left your office that afternoon?"

"Positive. I've made it a habit."

"Are you the only one who has a key?"

"Sure... no, wait. Security has one, and housekeeping."

"Is that one person in each division?"

She fidgeted. "Well, no. The security copies are with whichever guard is on duty at the time, and I think the housekeeping keys are kept in the maintenance office until they're needed."

"Locked up?"

"I have no idea."

"I'll want to check on that."

"But even with the door locked, what about the password?"

"You can't log on at all without a password?"

"You can't access my personal files, or get onto the net without one."

"How complicated is your password?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, is it completely random?"

"Good lord, no! I'd never remember it. I'm doing good to keep Chase's and my social security numbers, my license number, my plate number, and a few choice phone numbers memorized. If I try to memorize anything else these days, I'm afraid I'll forget something else."

"Don't tell me what it is, but give me some hint. Is it in the dictionary?"

"Um... not as such."

"Good. They have programs that can run through the dictionary, trying words till they strike."

"It's just something personal."

Hank shook his head. "That isn't good, if the hacker is someone who knows you fairly well. They'll run through the names of family members, pets, hometowns..."

She paled. "Oh, hell. It's Quebec."

Hank shook his head. "Tina, if you can memorize the lyrics to a song, you ought to be able to remember five or six random letters and numbers. Or use something that's personal, but off the beaten path. Your favorite comic strip, the first car you ever owned, part of a motto or quote--there are a lot of possibilities. I got Detective Hoffman's email address. You need to forward these to him, and anything else that looks suspicious."

"I'm just glad that we've put a stop to this part of the harassment."

Hank frowned. "I hate to disappoint you, but that might not be so. There are other computers in this building, aren't there--with Internet access?"

"Sure. We have at least a half dozen on the network."

"Then someone can use any one of those to impersonate you on the web. The ISP address won't be off more than one or two numbers, and there are very few people out there who are going to check that closely. I'd advise setting up an entirely new account for business, and telling anyone you've contacted since this began to be cautious. Are you sure that no one in particular has been targeted in this?"

"Most of the incidents don't seem to have been aimed specifically at one person."

"Any other possible grudges?"

"This is entertainment, Hank. Whenever egos are involved, there's always a chance. We think that the fish used to stink the place up were stolen from a refrigerator that Hunter uses for the demonstration ingredients for his show. By the time we found them, they were a little hard to identify, but the trout he'd been planning on using DID disappear, and he had to do a fast revamp on the show he'd planned. Never turned a hair, when I would have been doing my chicken with its head cut off impression. The man is a pro. But that's the closest thing to anyone being singled out."

"I'll talk to him this evening and see if there have been any incidents outside the studio."

"Thank goodness there hasn't been anything out of the ordinary today."

Logan was looking down the hall. "Don't speak so soon." He stepped back.

A man in a wheelchair rolled into sight, halting in the doorway, glaring in at Tina. He was a handsome man in his late twenties, with thick, sun-streaked blond hair, brown eyes, and a rich tan. The clean-cut good looks were a bit spoiled by his grim, irritated expression. "Pogey," said Tina weakly. "I didn't hear you coming." Hank gave her a look. He hardly thought that rubber tires on carpeting would be easy to hear. "What happened to that squeaky wheel?"

"It's been greased."

"That's good."

"Oh, I hardly think so, since everything else got greased, including me." He rolled a few inches into the room. That close, the thick, greenish fluid smearing his clothing, hands, hair, and face was clearly visible.

Tina gasped. "What happened?"

"Someone booby-trapped the handicapped stall in the second floor men's room. When I flushed, there was a shower of oil in the stall--30 weight, I think. I guess I could be grateful that it was fresh instead of someone's crank case leavings. It looks like someone had rigged a cord to run up to an open can balanced on a ceiling strut. They'd removed a ceiling tile. The can bounced off my shoulder. I'm just lucky that most of it had emptied out before it struck, and it hit me on the shoulder. I could have been brained."

Tina reached for the phone. "I'll call an ambulance."

"No, no, no. I said I could have been brained. The attempt failed."

Hank said, "You believe this was a personal attack?"

Pogey looked up at him suspiciously. "Who are you?"

Hank offered his hand. "Herbert Crank."

Pogey wiggled his fingers, showing off the glistening coating of oil. "Not a good idea right now, man. And of course it was a personal attack. I'm the only handicapped employee here. Who else could it have been aimed at?"

"Sometimes other people use the handicapped stall."

Penneman actually bared his teeth. "They'll stop that shit once we get legislation passed to make it a fined misdemeanor." Hank blinked. Given the length of his legs, he'd often used the handicapped stall, though only if the restroom was empty, and it was unlikely that someone who needed it would be along. Penneman was continuing. "No, this was deliberate. The only question is whether it was directed at differently-abled people in general, or me personally." He sat a little straighter in the chair. "I've stepped on a lot of toes with my crusade. That snob feed lot, Choyez, had to shut down for a week to get up to code after I aired my expose."

Tina was looking at the puddle that was forming on the floor around the wheels of the chair. "This is awful, Pogey, but if you don't want me to call an ambulance, do you want me to call the police?"

"Why?" he snorted. "Oh, sure, they like to have their pictures taken with the cute little crippled kids during the MD marathons, showing off with their so-called big hearted donations, but is there one--one--disabled person on their thin blue line?"

"We have a Ranger who had to take disability after a car accident," said Hank. "But he still works as a Special Ranger, helping out with research and such."

Penneman looked at him blankly for a moment. "I'm talking about really disabled."

"You don't consider losing both legs just below the hips disabling?"

Blonds aren't good at hiding emotions, not even with a deep tan, and the flush creeping over Pogey's face was evident. "Uh... yeah. But I'm talking about the long-term disabled--like me." He slapped his legs. "Twenty years, my friend. Twenty years I've been trapped in this rolling cage. But it hasn't stopped me from fighting for my affected brothers and sisters."

"Pogey, if you don't want me to call the authorities," said Tina, "what do you want--besides sympathy?"

Now the man's expression tightened, and the blush moved toward brick red. "I never ask for pity!" he snarled.

Hank's voice was sharp. "Son, you need to take that growl out of your voice when you talk to this lady!"

Now Pogey sneered. "Look, Galahad, any time someone tries to condescend to me, I..."

Hank bent down, putting his face very close to Pogey's. His voice was hard and deliberate. "There's a world of difference between sympathizing and condescending, and as much as you seem to condescend, I'm surprised you don't know that. Now, Tina didn't dump that Valvoline over your head, she didn't conspire to do it, and she's not laughing at your misfortune. You either tell her what you want to in a civil manner, or haul yourself on out of here--now."

Pogey blinked at him, eyeing him speculatively, probably wondering if someone Hank's size would beat up on someone in a wheelchair. Finally he said, "No need to get hostile." He looked back at Tina. "Luckily I'd finished taping my show before I went to the can. Do you have any idea of how to get oil out of clothes?"

"Maybe you can ask Doris, from the Domestic Divas show?" she suggested.

"What you do," said Hank, "is saturate it with a pre-treatment, and wait a few minutes for it to penetrate. Then you rub in some heavy-duty liquid laundry detergent. Those are dark clothes, so you probably won't have to worry about a stain, but if you get one, use an all-fabric bleach. If it still doesn't work, put down a thick pad of paper towels, and put dry cleaning fluid on the back of the stain. Follow the instructions for the cleaning fluid, and be sure to replace the towels often, then let it air dry." Tina, Logan, and Pogey were staring at him. He shrugged. "Mama made me learn. She said she wasn't going to do my laundry the rest of her life. You can always just take it to a dry cleaner, if it's too much bother. Oh, and when you bathe and wash your hair, I'd use Dawn dish liquid. That stuff cuts grease like nobody's business."

"Pre-treat, rub in, all-fabric bleach, paper towels, dry cleaning fluid--or send it out. Gotcha. Thanks." He started to wheel away, then paused and looked back over his shoulder. "That Special Ranger--do you suppose there's any chance of me talking him into doing, like, a taped interview? I'm pretty sure I could weasel enough money out of the budget for a round trip ticket to Texas."

"I tell you what--before I leave, I'll get you a number where you can call and ask him yourself."

"Terrific." He wheeled off down the hall.

Tina sighed. "Just what I needed."

"Tina," said Logan. "You aren't responsible for preventing what happened."

"I know. Pogey is sure to have a long list of people to bitch at for this--I was just the first one he could reach. Sure, Marva and Suelynn are the real head honchos, but I'm the one everybody sees, so I'm the one who's expected to deal with it. I guess I'd better have another talk with security." As they stepped out into the hall, she locked the door to the office, then glanced down at the floor. "Housekeeping is going to have a fit."

That afternoon, Hank played with Chase in Logan's backyard, giving his friend and Tina a little time alone together. Chase was trying to teach Chill how to fetch, and Hank told him, "That isn't going to work, Chase. Look at the size of that ball, then look at the size of Chill's mouth. He just couldn't pick it up, even if he wanted to."

"He could butt it with his head," said Chase reasonably.

"I tell you what--if you can persuade him to do that, I'll buy you a new ball."

"That's okay," said Chase cheerfully. "I gots lots of balls. I get one 'most every time I see my Dad."

"Well, that's nice," said Hank.

"Yeah. I kinda wish he had more 'magination, though. Last time he gave me one with a bell in it." He wrinkled his nose. "That's for babies. It said so right on the box. Ages six months up."

"Chase, that just means that the child should be at least six months old."

"Yeah, but only babies play with those kinds of balls. All the kids at daycare would laugh at me. He gave me a Pat the Bunny book, too. I like Dr. Seuss now."

"You do? Boy, that's Heloise's favorite author--right after J.K. Rowlings."

Chase clapped his hands. "Harry Potter!"

"Lord, that's everywhere these days."

"Yup. Mom says that if they ever have another Weasley boy, I could audition, 'cause of my hair. Logan says if that happens, he'll find me a good agent, then do all my contract negotiations for me."

"He'll take good care of you there."

Chase nodded. "Mamma says he's gonna take good care of both of us."

Hank smiled. "He sure will. Logan always wanted a little boy, Chase."

Chase grinned. "He said so. He says he hopes Mama has a little girl, so he'll have one of both, but that as long as Mama an' the baby are okay, he don't care if it's a boy, a girl, or an indy-tournament." He frowned. "Whatever that is."

"You don't have to worry about that right now."

"I asked Logan if I should call him Dad or Daddy, and he said he'd like that, but he wasn't trying to take my daddy's place, and he didn't want him to be mad if I called someone else Daddy. I told him my daddy wouldn't mind. Last time I stayed with him, he told me that when his girlfriend was around, I should call him Uncle Bob."

Hank stared at the little boy. "Uh-huh. Your dad sounds like quite a person."

"That's what Mama says, too, when somebody asks about him. They say, 'what sort of person is he?', and she says, 'oh, he's something else.'"

"Your mama could have a career in diplomacy if she wanted to."

Later on Hank allowed Chase to very carefully brush down his Stetson before he went out for dinner. When he was finally dressed, he did a slow turn in front of the others, arms outstretched. "Am I okay? It's been awhile since I went out to any place that had cloth napkins and no salad bar."

"Just be careful, Hank," said Tina, "Or you'll come out of there dripping Hollywood matrons."

"Logan, I hope you don't mind, but I borrowed some of your cologne."

"Of course not, Hank. What did you choose? Eternity? Polo? Safari? Rush? Envy?"

"You sure do have a collection. Old Spice."

"Old--? I have Old Spice?"

"It was pretty far back in the cabinet, and I had to wipe a little dust off it, but it still smells good."

Logan was shaking his head, smiling faintly. "Old Spice."

"Shut up," said Tina. "So he isn't cutting edge--it suits him."