Eyewitness. Part 2

Daisy hitched forward and picked up her coffee mug. " " Think that cop could be after Mary ? " she asked in a gravelly growl that was meant to be a whisper.

JoJo looked profoundly shocked. Preacher shook his head. "I would personally find that very hard to believe." He stroked his beard thoughtfully for a few moments. "Unless... I would be more inclined to think... information."

Daisy grunted agreement. "Knows something. Seen something, maybe. She's afraid to talk, hidin' out. I knew it," she said morosely into her coffee mug. "Had to be a reason why a pretty girl like that wants to hang out in a place like this. Spend all her time with losers like us."

"We her friends," JoJo protested in an injured tone. "She don't think we're losers."

"That," said Preacher with a belch and a sigh, "is what makes our Mary a unique and special human being. It does not speak well for her judgment."

"What's she doing?" JoJo asked suddenly. "Where's she g,"

"Splittin'," said Daisy. "Good for her. She don't want to talk to that cop. Don't blame her: '

"ITh-oh," said Preacher. JoJo sat up straight and opened his mouth in mute alarm. "Bear on the move," Daisy muttered "He's goin' after her," JoJo squeaked. "He's gonna stop her: '

"That," said Preacher grimly, "would appear to be his intention: '

"What we gonna do?" JoJo looked as if he might cry.

"We gotta do something." Daisy picked up her tray and shoved back her chair. " " She'd do the same for us. Come on you guys, follow me. " , "What we gonna do?" JoJo protested as he, heaved himself to his feet. "" You said he's a cop. We ain't gonna mess with no cop. "

"I believe," Preacher murmured, panting a little, "the play she has in mind is called " running interferenoe. " Or " setting a screen. " Depending on your sport: '

JoJo brightened. "Oh, yeah," he said, just as a loud crash echoed through the dining room.

Daisy Pepper had just plowed full tilt into the guy in the blue-gray suit.

Chapter 3.

Doug never saw it coming.

He blamed himself, having broken one of his own cardinal rules of self-defense, which was never, ever, to lose track of where you are and what's going on around you. But. oh man, Joy Donnelly. That was all he could think about. He was having trouble just believing it, that it was really her, in the flesh. And although his training and common sense told him she was a fugitive and a homicide suspect, all he could think of when she turned that megawatt smile on him was that this had to be the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life.

He didn't quite know what had happened to him at that moment, except that everything inside him seemed to s.h.i.+ft and resettle, as if it was something he'd been working toward , not just for the last ten years, but maybe even his whole life. And something had gone wrong with his breathing He kept having to remind himself to be cool, Just like when he was in junior high school and trying to get up enough nerve to ask Carol Ann Tuttle to go to the movies with him.

Even so, he had enough cop sense left not to do or say anything that might spook the target until he was ready to make his move. He didn't care much for the idea of confronting her over the chili pot, maybe causing a big scene in a room full of people that ranged from small children to dope addicts and the mentally unbalanced. No, he thought, better just to hang around for a while, keep an eye on her and wait for a chance to catch her alone, maybe when she left for the night. There wasn't any hurry, he told himself, since he was pretty sure she hadn't made him yet. She'd seemed a little nervous, sure, but the nervousness had a familiar feel to him, the kind of warm, fl.u.s.tered awareness that had more to do with chemistry than fear. The kind of awareness that quickens the pulse and kindles a fire in the loins and awakens the mind to all sorts of intriguing possibilities .

So he really wasn't prepared when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his fugitive witness suddenly cast a quick look in his direction, then shuck off her ap.r.o.n and head for the kitchen with obvious intent.

At that point there was only one thought in his mind, and that was to head her off before she got to the back door. It was a good safe bet she had her car parked out there somewhere , and his own vehicle was off in the opposite direction and not exactly built for high-speed chases. So he'd come up out of his chair like a dog flus.h.i.+ng a covey of quail, and starGed after her as if she'd had him on along leash. Which was the best explanation he could think of for why a fifteen-year veteran of the LAPD let himself be blindsided by a little old woman in a baseball cap.

Her dinner tray caught him in the side, just below his ribs. As he doubled over, he said owuff, which was the approximate sound the air made as it exploded from his lungs.

"Whyn't yah watch where yer goin', yah big galoot! " the woman screeched, and, to add injury to insult, began whacking him in the shoulder with the tray.

In spite of it all, Doug thought at first that he was doing okay. He grabbed the old ham dan arm to prevent further mayhem and was just about to regain his balance when 36 Eyewctness somebody's foot somehow got tangled up with his. Down they all went together, Doug, the woman and the owner of the foot, who turned out to be a tall, thin, hawk-nosed fellow with gray hair and a silvery beard who bore a striking resemblance to Moses-as played by Charlton Heston.

The tray landed with a clatter, Doug devoutly hoped somewhere safely out of the woman's reach. " " Ow, get off a me, lemme up, yah big clumsy ox ! " The woman was yelling and pounding on Doug with her fists, to the apparent dismay of the gray-bearded guy, who was trying without much success to restrain her.

Doug managed to get a good grip on those skinny, flailing arms and set the woman firmly to one side, then scrambled to his feet, swearing, breathing hard, pumped full of adrenaline and ready to resume pursuit. He caught a glimpse, just a glimpse, of his quarry in the kitchen doorway , her brown eyes wide with consternation and something he'd have sworn was blank terror. And then she was gone. Doug vaulted the two struggling bodies at his feet and started after her, but found that his way was inexplicably blocked, the aisle barricaded by a body the size of a small Volkswagen. Looking up, and up, he saw a chocolate colored face with droopy cheeks and large, sorrowful eyes.

"You okay, mister?" the VW asked in the thick, heavy speech of the brain-injured or simpleminded. "You ain't hurt, are you? Daisy didn't mean no harm. We didn't mean no harm, we was just-"

"Shut up, JoJo," the old woman said with a note of affection and familiarity that wasn't lost on Doug.

He hunkered down to the level of the pair on the floor and said patiently, "Now, look here, I don't think you understand This isn't-wasn't-what it looks like. I wasn't trying to hurt your friend-what's her name?"

"Mary," supplied JoJo helpfully, while the gray-haired man hissed sharply at him to be quiet.

"Mary..." Doug scrubbed a hand over his own unshaven jaws, then reached inside his jacket and reluctantly pulled out his badge. "Look, I just want to ask her some questions about a case I'm working on. You don't happen to know where she lives, do you?"

JoJo shook his head slowly, as if he was really sorry he couldn't help.

"Nope, sure don't," said the woman, obviously not sorry at all.

"We don't ask questions of one another," the bearded man added in a sonorous voice, as if he were about to launch into the Lord's Prayer. "First names is all.. only the good Lord knows the rest."

"Yeah, right," said Doug. He let his breath go in along, frustrated sigh and tucked his badge away. Gone again, just like that. He couldn't believe it. After ten years, he'd been close enough to touch her-he had touched her-and he'd let her get away from him.

Not for long, though, he told himself with grim resolve. If this was where she worked, she must get a paycheck. Her address would have to be on record. Couple phone calls and he'd have her. He figured he'd better be quick about it, though, because he had a pretty good idea "Mary" Joy Donnelly wasn't going to be coming back to Saint Vincent's anytime soon.

One thing he knew for sure. He wouldn't underestimate her next time. When he found her again he was going to take her in, in cuffs, if necessary.

It was a day she'd always known would have to come. "The day of reckoning. The day she'd finally have to face the consequences of the secret she'd carried for so long. But even though her whole life had been on hold now for-oh, G.o.d, had it been ten years?-she still didn't think she was ready. Not yet, she wanted to cry. Oh, please, not yet. Let me have a little more time.

She knew what she had to do. There had been so many times, especially when the nightmares were bad, when she'd thought she'd have to find the courage to put an end to them, no matter what the cost. But then. the sun would come up one more time and life would seem so sweet, so precious, that she just couldn't bear to think of losing it. Not yet. not yet.

But yesterday. yesterday she'd known that the time had come. She couldn't wait any longer, it had to be now. If she could just stay alive long enough. That cop at Saint Vincent 's-he'd said he was from L. A. How on earth had they found her? And why now, after so many years?

She'd have to leave, of course. She'd known that from the moment she'd seen that look in the cop's eyes-the look of recognition. It wasn't that big a deal, she could lose herself again easily enough-G.o.d knows she'd done it many times before, and this time it wouldn't have to be for very long. She just needed a little time to figure out exactly how to go about this so there was at least a chance she might come out of it alive.

She wished she could just leave-right now, just keep driving until it felt safe to stop. But she couldn't. In the past she'd always lived from one day to the next, ready to pack up and go at a moment's notice, but in the last few years she'd begun to feel safer, more settled. She'd even begun to put down a few tentative roots. She'd acquired a house, a cat. She couldn't very well leave Moki behind.

Mary first noticed the other car when she turned off of Imperial. She made the left turn after the light turned yellow , and the car behind her did, too, snugged right up on the b.u.mper of her Bronco so that she glanoed automatically in her rearview mirror to see why the lights were so close and bright. Right after that, though, the car dropped back, way back, which struck her as just a little odd.

She knew she was probably feeling paranoid after what had happened at the shelter, but just as an experiment, she tried slowing down. Then she slowed down some more. Strangely, the headlights in her mirror didn't seem to get any closer.

Something cold raced up her spine and clutched at her shoulders. Her breathing quickened, hurting deep inside her chest like a freezing wind. She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel, waiting. waiting. and at the next corner , jerked the wheel to the right without signaling. Then she watched her mirror with her heart hammering in her throat until she saw a car pull slowly, slowly, into the dark street behind her. She could see that it was a tan car, nothing special , probably American. A Ford, maybe.

Panic exploded through her in a single starry burst, then sifted away like embers in a night sky, leaving her mind clear. Clear and cold and dark. Oh, she thought with a grim little smile, she knew what it was to be hunted. But this was her turf, she knew it like the back of her hand, and by G.o.d, before she'd allow herself to be tracked down like a helpless doe she'd lead those hounds on a chase they'd remember!

She knew the next intersection was a four way stop, and she could see that there wasn't anybody at the cross street's stop sign. She ran the stop without touching her brakes. Halfway down the next block she cut her lights, slowed without braking and at the corner, made a hard right. Now, several long blocks ahead, she could see the bright lights and traffic on Imperial. It was along sprint-could she make it? She gripped the steering wheel and gunned it, roaring down the quiet residential street at freeway speed. In her mirror she could make out a set of headlights, tiny and far behind.

Half a block from Imperial she turned her headlights on, made a quick stop and then turned right, pulling in front of a red Toyota, which screeched and honked in indignation. Mary ignored it, and two blocks farther on, lurched into a supermarket parking lot, zipped into a s.p.a.ce between a mimvan and a two-toned station wagon, and once more cut her lights. She sat there, holding on to the wheel, shaking, tense and wide-eyed with dread, but her pounding heart ticked off seconds, then minutes, and no tan Ford pulled after her into the parking lot.

Gradually, the shaking subsided and her breathing slowed. She slid down on her spine and leaned her head back against the seat, swallowing repeatedly, tasting the bra.s.sy tang of her own fear. She realized that she was sweating, that her forehead was clammy and cold. No more, she thought, clenching her teeth in bitter fury. I can't live like this anymore. I can't.

She waited fifteen minutes, then drove home by along and roundabout route, watching her rearview mirror every inch of the way.

Moki was waiting for her, as usual, crouched on the table beside the front door in eager antic.i.p.ation of his nightly prowl.

"Not tonight," Mary muttered, and closed the door firmly behind her. If she let him out he might be gone for hours, and she couldn't risk the delay. "Sorry..."

She tried to scoop the cat into her arms, hoping to mollify him with a cuddle and a chin rub, but he eluded her with a graceful leap to the back of the couch, vocalizing his displeasure as only a Siamese can. She left him there, furiously pacing, and went to throw the few things she needed into her only suitcase.

When she came back into the living room with the suitcase in hand and a jacket over her arm, Moki was lying along the back of the couch like a panther on a tree limb, staring intently out the front windows. She knew he was still miffed, because the end of his long, almost prehensile tail was twitching back and forth. back and forth.

"Hey, look, I said I'm sorry, okay?" She picked the cat up and tried to tuck him under her arm, but his body felt like a bundle of springs wound up too tight. A singsong feline growl issued from his throat. "All right, so you're ticked off at me. I can't help it, okay? I swear I'll make it up to you "

d.a.m.n. This wasn't going to be easy. Where in the d.i.c.kens had she left the cat carrier after the last trip to the vet, anyway?

She didn't have time to look for it now. "We're going for a ride-I know you're going to just love that," she told the cat under her breath, getting a good grip on him before she opened the door. On the front steps she paused, set the suitcase down beside her feet and took one quick look back at the tiny duplex she'd called home for more than two years. Then she pulled the door shut and heard it lock with a firm and final click.

From that moment on, things happened in slow motion.

From somewhere nearby she dimly heard a car's engine fire, heard it roar to life. She turned, slowly, slowly, and saw the tan Ford across the street. She felt the cold shock of recognition numb her body even as Moki's body went rigid in her arms.

She opened her mouth, but wasn't sure what she shouted. Some instinctive rejection of what she knew was going to happen, perhaps. Or maybe it was Moki's name as she felt him catapult from her grasp. In any case, she remembered grabbing for the cat in one desperate lunge, and then she was falling, falling, while the night exploded all around her.

She felt pain-all over her arms and body, like a thousand tiny hot knives. She thought, Strange-I never expected bullets to feel like this.

And then she was lying in damp earth and p.r.i.c.kly leaves, while over the dying echoes of gunfire she could hear qhing tires, revved engines, door slams and running footsteps. Survival instincts whispered warnings that resounded in her stunned brain like HI axons Don't move. Don't breathe. Play dead.

She lay in the darkness with the smell of earth and decaying leaves in her nostrils and heard the thud of footsteps on thick gra.s.s, harsh breathing, muttered swearing. Something heavy jarred the ground nearby and the bushes around her began to thrash and shake. In spite of her resolve, she nearly screamed when she felt the hands touching her. It took every ounce of control she had left to lie still and let them roam as they pleased, first over her legs, then groping rapidly on up her body-accompanied by more shaking of shrubbery and a muttered " " Ouch! "to press finally and firmly against the side of her throat. She lay still, so still, wis.h.i.+ng she could somehow stop the rhythmic surge of her blood against the weight of those fingers. Now, she thought. Now he'll finish it. Please, make it quick. I don't want to know... She heard the soft hiss of an exhalation, and then, to her utter bewilderment, in a voice gravelly with emotion, " Thank G.o.d. Thank G.o.d, you're alive. "

Doug didn't think it was possible to feel any worse than To his greater surprise, he felt a rising bubble of laughter , which he firmly squelched. "Sorry. What do you want when he saw the object of his ten-year search take a dive off to know?" her front steps in a burst of automatic weapon fire. If it was, "you're the guy who came into Saint Vincent's tonight, he didn t ever want to know about it. However, now that he ( right?" knew his worst fears hadn t been realized, that Joy Don; "That's right: nelly was still a living witness-and judging from that pulse i He could hear a quick, tense breath. " Are you a cop? " of hers, not even badly hurt-he was beginning to be d.a.m.n " yeah, I'D " mad. What the h.e.l.l was going on here, anyway? i There was another, curiously vibrant pause before she Lights were coming on all over the neighborhood, and j said,"I knew it," and expelled her breath slowly, in what somewhere a dog was going crazy. It was a pretty safe bet was almost a sigh. somebody'd already called 911, so it was only a question of "pnd," he went on, any lingering impulses to laugh ex how long before he started hearing sirens. And before the tinguished by the renewed realization of disaster miraculocal authorities arrived there were one or two questions he lously avoided,"I have one or two questions of my own wanted answered. lady. However, in a very few minutes we're going to have a First things first. With some difficulty he took his hand ( lot of official company, and I'd like to be the one to handle from Joy Donnelly's neck, eased himself back away from ) things, if you don't mind. Let me do the talking. But first those d.a.m.ned thorns and asked, " Are you all right? Can " for G.o.d's sake, let's get out of these d.a.m.n bushes-do you you hear me? " You mind? " After a brief hesitation she answered grudgingly, " Yeah" He could hear her muttering furiously under her breath , I hear you" but there were also various grunts and scufflings, and in aree you hot? i minute or so she came worming out from under the bushes, " " Ha been s " Another pause. " I don't think so. " ; practically under his feet. He grasped her elbows and pulled " Are you hurt? Can you move? " i her the rest of the way, ignoring her efforts to avoid his help. " Yeah, I'm hurt: Her voice was stronger now and upright, however, she pulled out of his grasp like a sounded rea.s.suringly indignant. "I hurt like h.e.l.l, I hurt all qnqaq' child. q q J , " over. And I don't think I want to move. Dammit, this stuff Leave me alone,, I'm all right. She turned has thorns. " away from him and set about brus.h.i.+ng herself off and picking leaves and twigs out of her hair. Doug gave a sympathetic grunt; he was nursing a puncDoug said, " Yeah right," but his voice had gone gravture wound on the heel of his own hand. " Yeah, it's pyrelly all of a sudden. In the darkness she seemed unreal to acantha, I think. You've got to get out of there somehow, him again, ephemeral as a puff of smoke, and he had to tuck though. See if you can roll over on your stomach and crawl q his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching for through here. " her, just to a.s.sure himself that she wasn't a figment of his There was another, slightly longer pause before she said imagination. " Hey, tell me something. This neighborin a flats uspicious voice, "Before I do that, there's some- q hood-you got a lot of gang bangers around here?" thing I want to know. " She paused in her grooming to glance at him, the street That surprised him, but he said, " Shoot lights reflecting in the dark pools of her eyes. "No! It's " Don't say that. " mostly old people."

"That's what I figured. Any ideas why somebody might want to shoot at you?" " " Not a clue, " she said instantly. Too quickly. " "Guess they must have mistaken me for somebody else."

Her voice was trying hard to be flippant, but he heard a quiver in it. That made him wonder if she thought maybe he'd been the one doing the shooting. Then he thought about shock, and the fact that he really needed to get her inside, get her warm, see if those dark splotches on her pale face were blood or just dirt. Odd how much it bothered him to think of her injured, that incredible face damaged.

The sirens were very close now. He could hear them howling through the quiet streets, then saw a black and white turn onto this one a block or so farther down, splas.h.i.+ng red-and-blue light across blind windows and parked cars. Neighbors were beginning to peer cautiously out their front doors, stepping bravely onto their porches, sweaters and bathrobes hugged close with crossed arms. Doug took off his jacket and put it around Joy's shoulders, then went to greet the car that was just pulling up to the curb.

Left standing there alone, suddenly and unexpectedly enveloped in warmth, Mary found that she was shaking. To add to her confusion, she also had a terrible, demoralizing urge to cry. Why had he done that, anyway-given her his jacket? The guy was a cop. And what was worse, he'd said he was from L. A. " although it didn't look as if he was there to kill her. At any rate, he hadn't been the one in the tan Ford, which seemed to have disappeared. But if he wasn't here to kill her, then what did he want with her? Oh, G.o.d-she was so confused So scared. And so fed up with being scared.

She gave a violent s.h.i.+ver, then hunched her shoulders inside the jacket, snuggling into the warmth of it. It was so big, and it smelled like. like what? Like all sorts of things. Like him, she supposed. His very own personal and unique man-smell. How strange it felt to be sharing that warmth and that smell when they belonged to someone she didn't know at all. The intimacy of it was unsettling, and yet-and this was the strangest thing of all-she didn't want to take the coat off. In it she felt comforted, somehow. She felt. safe.

Safe. She was suddenly remembering the notion that had come to her tonight at Saint Vincent's, when she'd first seen the guy face to face. Oh, G.o.d, could she trust this guy? Did she dare? The seductive ness of the idea was awful, close to physical pain. Oh, if only I could. A wave of longing almost swamped her. How wonderful it would be, not to be alone anymore.

No. As powerful as the wave was, the backwash, when it hit her, was even stronger, rejection and denial so violent it qwas almost rewlsion. It had been too long, the habit of distrust was too deeply ingrained, so much a part of her now that she didn't think she would ever be free of it. No-no matter what sorts of weird, cozy feelings this man might stir in her, she couldn't trust anyone, least of all a cop. She'd learned that the hard way.

And speak of the devil, there he was now, coming up the walk toward her with a uniformed San Diego policeman at his side. The San Diego cop was young, slim and blond, and almost militarily tidy-a real contrast with the rumpled plainclothes cop from L. A. Funny, though. In spite of the fact that he hadn't shaved in a while and looked as though he'd slept in his clothes, Mary decided it was the L. A. cop who drew the eye and commanded the attention. There was just something about him, something indefinable-call it charisma, call it presence-but even the San Diego cop glanced at him first, almost as if asking for his permission, before he planted himself in front of Mary in an official-type stance and muttered, "Evening, ma'am: '

Mary nodded mutely back at him and tried to shrink deeper inside the enveloping jacket, while her eyes sought the confident blue gaze of the man from the LAPD.

She's scared to death, thought Doug. And no wonder, what with people taking potshots at her. What the h.e.l.l was going on, here, anyway?

He listened to the routine questions and mumbled calm and lucid replies, trying hard not to show impatience or undue concern, nothing that might snag the suspicions of the officer or impede the smooth flow of the investigation. Just let him finish the job and get the h.e.l.l out of here, he prayed silently, with the mental grinding of teeth. He had a few questions for the lady himself, questions he meant to ask her in private, if possible.

"I don't know, " she was saying for maybe the third time, sounding as tense as he was, as if she was clenching her jaws to keep her teeth from chattering. " " I just think they thought I was somebody else. What else can it be? Jeez, I don't even know anybody with a machine gun. "

And again, from out of nowhere, Doug felt a quick little lift of laughter.

"She works at Saint Vincent's," he offered in a low voice because he could see this young hotshot was the stubborn type and not apt to let it go until he had something to chew on.

The San Diego cop was up on the steps, hunkered down with his flashlight trained on the bullet holes in the door. He looked over at Doug in surprise. "The homeless shelter?" He rose and s.h.i.+fted his attention back to Mary like a dog sniffing a new scent. "There's a lot goes down in that neighborhood-maybe you saw something there you shouldn't have."

Her head moved, a sharp little shake of denial. "Nonothing -I swear."

"" Maybe. something you didn't know you saw. Think hard," Doug urged.

"I haven't seen anything," she whispered. And then, much more forcefully, almost defiantly, "And anyhow, the people down there wouldn't hurt me." She threw Doug a look that said she didn't appreciate his b.u.t.ting in. "They wouldn't: '

There was along pause while they just looked at her, Doug and the San Diego cop both. She stood there gazing back at them, with eyes like dark blotches in her pale face, lovely as a wild fawn, vulnerable as an abandoned waif. A man would have to be made of stone not to be affected by the sight, and the cop from the SDPD was definitely flesh and blood.

"Well," he said, abruptly clearing his throat, bl.u.s.tering a little to make up for his momentary lapse. He came back down the steps, pulling on his gloves. "You think about it , okay? Give us a call if you remember anything-anything at all. Right now, why don't you try and get some rest. You might want to have a doctor take a look at those cuts, too. You got a neighbor, a friend, somebody that could stay with you tonight?"

"I'll stay with her," said Doug, turning the cop with a subtle hand to the elbow before he could see the look of shock and dismay that had just flashed across Mary-Joy's face. "My wife would insist on it," he confided in a smooth undertone as the two of them walked together back to the patrol car. "She's her baby sister, you understand? Kind of the family black sheep, but... well, you know how it is."

The San Diego cop chuckled. "Yeah, sure do. Appreciate your help, Detective..."

"MacDougal," said Doug. "Hey-just glad I showed uF when I did." He leaned down to the open window of the patrol car and spoke to the young officer's partner, an older; heavy-set Hispanic man who was jotting things on a clip board and muttering sporadically into the radio mike, "Anything yet on that partial plate number?"

The cop gave him a glance. "Nothing yet. We'll let yoi know when we have something."

At that moment a new call came over the radio. Tht young cop lifterl a hand as the other responded. Doug stooc back and watched the patrol car ease away from the curt and accelerate down the street. In the quiet that came with its departure he heard mutters of distant conversation footsteps, the sounds of doors closing as neighbors re treated once more into the relative safety of their homes.

He turned and walked slowly back to the house, to thi lonely figure he'd left waiting at the foot of her bullet pocked steps. She was standing exactly as he'd left her, very straight and still, almost as if she'd taken root. His jacke hung loosely on her now, its shoulders making a ridiculously wide base for the slender column of her neck. There was something almost n.o.ble about her, Doug thought n.o.ble, but resigned. So might Anne Boleyn have awaited the approach of the headsman.

He didn't know what to say to her. He'd waited, hoped for this moment, for almost ten years, but now that it had come, it wasn't anything like he'd imagined it. He'd never felt less like a police officer, a fifteen-year veteran of one of the finest law enforcement agencies in the country. What he felt like was a rookie-no, worse, a high school kid. His hands were clammy, his heart was beating way too fast, and there was a curious, high-pitched ringing in his head that he hoped was only a bad case of nerves and not something potentially lethal, like high blood pressure. For what seemed like along time he stood there, face-to-face with her, so close he could hear the sounds of her breathing-quick and shallow , like that of a pursued animal. He could see the yellow orb of a street lamp reflected in her eyes.

"Joy Donnelly," he said at last, letting go of the breath he'd been holding, "I presume..."

Chapter 4.

Her eyes met his without flinching. "My name is Mary Jo Delinsky." She said it in a clear and sullen voice, and even though he knew better, Doug had the strangest sense that she might be telling him the truth.