Reprisal

TWELVE

The following day Lisl opened her apartment door and was startled to find a seedy-looking stranger standing outside. She'd been expecting Rafe. He was due within the hour and when she heard the bell she figured he was showing up early.

"Can I help you?" she said.

He was thin, haggard-looking, but clean-shaven and smelling of a spicy after-shave. A bulky overcoat rounded off the sharp edges of his wiry frame.

"You can if you're Miss Lisa Whitman."

"Lisl. That's me. Who are you?"

He fished a black leather folder from within his coat and flashed a badge at her.

"Detective Augustino, Miss Whitman. State Police."

She caught a fleeting glimpse of a blue and gold shield before the flap covered it again, then the folder was on its way back inside the coat.

A sudden surge of panic lanced through Lisl.

Police! They know about the stealing!

She glanced down at her sweater where the gold butterfly with the filigree wings was pinned. She had an urge to cover it with her hand—but that would be like pointing it out to him, wouldn't it?

This was it: shame, disgrace, a criminal record, the end of her career.

"What…" Her mouth was dry. "What do you want with me?"

"Are you the lady who made the complaint about a crank phone call on December sixteenth?"

Crank phone call? December 16th? What on earth was he—?

"Oh, the party! The call at the party! Oh, that's right! Ohmigod, I thought you were—" She cut herself off.

"Thought I was what, Miss Whitman?"

"Nothing! Nothing!" Lisl fought an insane urge to burst out laughing. "Nothing at all!"

"May I come in, Miss Whitman?"

"Yes! Come on in!" she said, opening the door wider and stepping back. She was so weak with relief she had to sit down. "And call me Lisl."

He glanced at the notepad in his hand.

"So it really is Lisl, with an '1' on the end? I thought it was a misprint."

"No. My mother was Scandinavian."

Lisl realized with a shock that she had referred to her mother in the past tense, as if she were dead. After that trip home for Christmas last week, maybe she was dead, in a sense. She brushed the thought away.

"Have a seat, Detective…?"

"Augustino. Sergeant Augustino."

As he sat on her tiny couch and took out a pen, Lisl tried to pin down his accent. There was something strange about the way he talked.

"Now, about that phone call—" he began.

"Why are the police involved?" Lisl said. "I reported it to the phone company."

"Yes, but there's been more than one incident like yours. Southern Bell felt it was serious enough to refer it to the State Police."

Lisl remembered the terror in that child's voice.

"I'm glad they did. It was awful."

"I'm sure it was. Could you describe to me exactly what happened, including the surrounding events? In detail?"

"I already gave that information to the phone company."

"I know, but their report is vague. I need your firsthand account to be sure this is the same. Start at the beginning, please."

Lisl shrank from the thought of reliving that call, but if it would help track down the twisted mind that would pull such a sick stunt, she was all for it.

She told Augustino about the party at Rafe's place, the crowded living room, about the strange endless ring that had set everyone's teeth on edge. She watched him leaning farther and farther forward as she spoke. He was so intent that he wasn't taking any notes.

"And since no one else seemed to want to do it," she said, "I picked up the phone. And that's when I heard that voice." She paused, shivering. "How can I describe the terror in that child's voice?"

Lisl glanced at Sergeant Augustino and knew immediately that she didn't have to describe the voice to him. She saw it in his eyes—the look. Almost like the look she caught in Will Ryerson's eyes every so often.

She said, "You've heard it too, haven't you?"

The woman's words jolted Renny.

How the hell did she know? How could she tell?

Shit, yes, he'd heard that voice. He'd had the unnerving experience five years ago—Christ, it was almost five years ago to the freaking day!—of lifting the receiver on one of those drawn-out rings. He'd heard it. And he'd never forget it. How could he? The voice replayed night after night in his sleep.

He studied Lisl Whitman with renewed respect. This was one sharp gal. Good-looking too.

Looks and smarts—a deadly combination. Renny knew he'd have to watch himself. Not only did he lack any official capacity here in North Carolina, he was impersonating a state cop. And that was molto illegal.

"No, not really," he lied—not well, he knew. "But I've heard the description so many times I almost feel like I have."

She nodded absently. He could tell she didn't believe him.

"Who's behind this?" she said.

"A very sick man. We're trying to track him down."

She looked him squarely in the eyes and said, "Was that a… a real child on the phone?"

"No," Renny said, hoping his eyes didn't betray him. "That was a recording." It has to be.

"But what about my phone cord?"

"What about it?"

"Didn't they tell you? It was disconnected."

He didn't remember the phone company rep mentioning anything about that.

"I don't understand."

"The phone… it wasn't plugged into the wall when I got the call. How is that possible?"

An awful lot of things about this case aren't possible, lady.

"It's not," he told her. "It must have come loose at the end of the call."

"But it didn't. I distinctly remember looking down and seeing the phone cord coiled on the floor a couple of feet away from the phone."

A chill skittered across Renny's shoulders. She had to be mistaken. But after what he'd seen five years ago, wasn't anything possible?

He pulled himself together. This was no way to think. He'd always followed the old Sherlock Holmes dictum to eliminate the impossible. Well, what she was telling him was pretty goddam impossible. It would only muddy the waters if he gave it any space.

Renny shook his head and changed the subject.

"But this is not the address at which the incident occurred, am I correct?"

Renny congratulated himself on how official that sounded.

"No," she said. "It was at Rafe Losmara's. That should be in the report too."

"It is. But every time I call Mr. Losmara or stop by his place, there's no one home."

"That's strange…" she said.

"How long have you known Mr. Losmara?"

"Only a few months."

"Only a few months." Renny sensed he was getting warm. He could feel the excitement building. "So you don't know him that well."

He saw her back stiffen.

"I know him very well."

"Could you describe him to me?" Renny said.

He'd been looking for an answer to that question for nearly two weeks now.

She described Losmara in glowing terms. Obviously these two had a thing going. Lucky Losmara. But Renny found his hot trail cooling rapidly. The man she described was too short, too dark, too small, and about twenty-five years too young.

Not Ryan. No way.

So much for that theory. But that didn't mean that Ryan hadn't been there. Maybe he didn't own the place, but he'd been at that party. No question. Renny would stake his life on it.

"Could I have a guest list?"

"You can't think that anyone at the party—?"

"Of course not. But it's all we have to go on for now. It might be useful."

She rose and went to a small desk in the corner of the living room and began rummaging through the papers that cluttered its surface. Abruptly she held up a sheet of paper.

"Got it! I always knew there was a reason never to throw anything away."

She handed it to him.

"I'll tell you what, though," he said, glancing down at the long list of names. "You could do me a favor and pare this down by eliminating anyone you've known for more than five years or who you're certain has been in the area at least that long."

She picked up a pencil and began drawing lines through some of the names.

"Does that mean you have a suspect?"

Renny chewed the inside of his lip. He'd have to be real careful here.

"We don't have a name, but we do have an old photo."

She handed back the list, then took her seat again.

"Well…?"

Renny pulled the photo out of his breast pocket and placed it on the coffee table between them. He wished he could have arranged for one of those computer-generated drawings that aged a suspect's face.

"A priest?"

Anxiously, Renny watched her face, searching for some hint of recognition as she picked it up and studied it.

"A Jesuit. As I said, this is an old picture. No doubt he looks a lot different now."

She said, "And you say he's been here less than five years?"

"We believe so. That's when he disappeared. Give it a good look. He might have a beard or a mustache these days." He thought he saw her stiffen. "Remind you of anyone?"

She shook her head quickly. "No. No one."

A thrill shot through Renny as he realized she might be lying. Those last two words, the extra, unnecessary emphasis, gave her away. What was that look in her eyes now? Uncertainty? He caught her quick glance at the list in his hand. The photo must remind her of someone at her party.

"Sure?"

"Positive."

If he'd been on his home turf, Renny would have jumped all over her, maybe even gone so far as to bring her down to the station. But he was in a legally precarious position here. If the department got even a whiff of what he was up to, he'd be in big trouble. So he stood and stuffed the guest list in his pocket. He reached across and took the photo from her.

"Thank you, Miss Whitman. You've been a big help. Maybe we'll finally track down this pervo."

She was staring at him.

"Your accent… you sound like a New Yorker now."

Damn! Time to beat it.

"Yes, well, I spent part of my youth in Queens. Hard to kick some things, don't you think?"

She said nothing.

"Okay, well, I've got to get back to Raleigh. Thanks again."

He hurried out the door and fairly danced down the steps after it closed behind him. Somewhere on that list in his pocket was the new identity of Father Bill Ryan. He was closing in. He could taste it.

And when he found him, he'd drag him back for trial. But not before he'd extracted down payment on five years worth of rage from his worthless hide.

Wouldn't be long now. Not long at all.

Rafe showed up only moments after the detective had departed. Lisl told him about the encounter but didn't mention how the photo of the priest had reminded her vaguely of Will. But it was so hard to tell. The priest in the photo had been so young and fresh-faced, with a straight nose and unscarred forehead, so different from Will. But still, there was something there. Plus the fact that Will had been working around Darnell less than three years now, and a beard was a good disguise if you were on the run…

She shook off the apprehensions. Groundless. Silly. Will was the gentlest of men. She couldn't imagine him hurting anyone, especially a child. And besides, Will had been nowhere near the phone when it rang. She distinctly remembered seeing him standing in the middle of'the room.

But why had Will disappeared immediately after?

No matter. She was sure he'd have a good explanation the next time they talked. And she didn't have to worry about the cop bothering him—Will had been so adamant about not coming, she hadn't bothered to put his name on the guest list.

Rafe brushed off her puzzlement as to why the State Police were getting involved, saying it had nothing to do with them, that they had more important things to concern them.

But she noticed that he was unusually quiet and pensive as they drove through town on their way to his mystery destination.

They wound up sitting at the curb near the rear parking lots of County Medical Center for a good twenty minutes or more. With Rafe so quiet she found herself thinking about Will again. Why had he disappeared from her party like that? Right when that awful phone call had come through. She could have used a little comfort from him then.

She wished she could find him and talk to him but she hadn't seen him since the party. Christmas break had a lot to do with that. The students were gone and campus routine was on hold until the second week in January. The few times she'd been back to her office she'd checked the old elm tree but he'd been nowhere in sight.

And she couldn't call him because he had no phone…

Phone… she wondered if there was any connection between his aversion to phones and the call at the party. But how could there be?

The only way to find out would be to ask him, and that would have to wait until she saw him again. Right now she was chilly and bored.

"What are we waiting for?" she asked Rafe for the fourth time.

"A face. The face we will be targeting. Just watch that nine-twelve over there."

"What's a nine-twelve?"

"A car. A Porsche. That little black one, third from the right in the lot over there."

Lisl spotted the car he meant. A sleek, sporty-looking two-seater. It looked built for speed.

"That's the doctor's parking lot."

"Yes. I know."

Lisl was just beginning to get an inkling of why they might be here when she saw him. A tall, dark-haired man in brushed wool slacks and a camel hair overcoat.

"Oh, God! It's Brian!"

"Yes. Dr. Brian Callahan. Your ex-husband. Very good-looking. I compliment you on your taste. Reminds me a little of Mel Gibson. I suspect he tries to emphasize the resemblance."

Lisl felt something akin to panic gripping her throat.

"Get me out of here."

"Why? Does he frighten you?"

"No. I just don't want to have anything to do with him."

"Why not?"

Lisl didn't answer. How could she? She wasn't sure herself. She hadn't seen Brian for years, and hadn't thought of him much at all since she'd met Rafe. But seeing him now brought back that awful, searing moment outside the attorney's office. The look on his face, the contempt in his voice, the words… I never loved you…

And with the memory came the pain.

She couldn't face him again, couldn't bear to have those hard, cold eyes pierce her again. She had come so far since that day. She couldn't risk letting him drag her down again. And he could do it. She knew he could look at her with that face and make her feel like nothing. Lisl never wanted to feel like nothing again.

Yes. She was afraid of Brian. He had never struck her, never harmed her physically. She almost wished he had. That would have been easier to deal with than the punishment he had meted out to her at the end of their marriage.

"Why not?" Rafe repeated.

"He's simply not worth the time," Lisl said.

"Oh, but he is. You helped put him where he is. You worked to pay the rent, you cooked his meals, you made it possible for him to get through medical school while he was sticking it to anything in a skirt."

"Drop it, Rafe. It's yesterday's news."

"And then when he was ready for his residency and could start making some money on his own, he dumped you."

"Enough."

"Look at him, Lisl. Tall, handsome, prosperous—only a couple of years into private practice and already he's driving an expensive sports car, wearing Armani clothes. And he owes much of it to you."

"I don't want anything from him!"

"Yes, you do." Rafe's eyes were fierce. "You want to be free of him."

"I am free of him."

"Legally, yes. But are you?"

Lisl heard/Brian's car start, saw him back out of his space, then race to the -lot exit. When the gate rose to let him out, he roared away with squealing, smoking tires.

"Let's follow Dr. Callahan, shall we?"

Lisl said nothing. She felt cold and sick as she sat with her arms folded across her chest while Rafe followed Brian through town.

"Dr. Callahan has a heavy foot," Rafe said.

Lisl remembered Brian's love of fast driving. A trip across town with him was an invitation to whiplash.

"You're not exactly a turtle yourself."

"Just trying to keep up with the good doctor."

They followed him through the black section at the southern end of town—"Downtown Browntown" as the students called it—and then into a development of luxury custom homes. The sign at the entrance read Rolling Oaks.

"What on earth is a Rolling Oak?" Rafe said.

Brian's car zipped into a short asphalt driveway and screeched to a halt before a two-car garage attached to a new two-story colonial. The garage door opened automatically and he eased his car inside.

"Nice house," Rafe said. "A 'starter home,' if you plan to be wealthy. Could have been yours."

"I don't want anything of his. I told you that."

"He's got a custom home, you've got a garden apartment."

Lisl realized she was angry—very angry. But somehow admitting that would allow Brian another victory. So she said nothing.

Rafe looked at her a long time, then said, "Doesn't seem fair, does it?"

"Life isn't fair, Rafe. If you expect fairness from life you'll go crazy long before you die."

"Excellent!" he said. "Couldn't have said it better myself. Fairness is a human construct. Life doesn't supply it—we do. That's why I brought you here. Now that we know where Dr. Brian Callahan lives, we are going to create a little fairness in his neck of the woods."

Rafe's smile frightened Lisl as he chirped the tires and roared past Brian's closing garage door.

They had a light dinner, and Rafe asked her to stay over. They had just removed the last of their clothing when Rafe pulled a black leather belt out of the drawer and handed it to her.

"What's this for?" Lisl asked.

She uncoiled it in her hands. It was long, close to four feet in length, and two inches wide.

"I want you to use it on me." -,.:

Lisl felt a sudden tightening inside.

"What do you mean, 'use it'?"

"I want you to hit me with it."

Her stomach turned. "This is sick."

"What's sick?"

"Look, I love you, Rafe, but I can't get with this masochism thing of yours."

His eyes suddenly blazed.

"My masochism thing? Lisl, you are the masochist! You've let people put you down, grind you down, chain you down until you've come to accept it as your state of being, your lot in life. Day-to-day life is a masochistic event for you, Lisl. You should be on top of the world yet you're content to live under its heel!"

"I don't want to hurt anyone, Rafe."

He stepped up and gently slipped his arms around her.

"I know you don't, Lisl. That's because you're a good person. But there's so much anger in you it's frightening. You seethe with it."

She knew he was right. She'd never been aware of her anger before. But she could not deny its existence now. She had discovered it since meeting Rafe—a boiling rage deep down inside her. And with each passing week she could feel it bubbling closer to the surface.

"I can't help that."

"Oh, but you can. And you will. You've got to let that anger go before you can be the new Lisl."

"I don't know if I want to be the new Lisl."

"Do you like the old Lisl?"

"No." God, no!

"Then don't be afraid to change."

His words were so soft, so soothing, the touch of his bare skin against hers was so warm. She floated on the sound of his voice.

"That's why I've led you through these little faceless crimes. They're symbolic. They let you bleed off the anger in tiny, harmless doses, and that brings you closer to the new Lisl. The same is true with the belt."

"No, I—"

"Listen to me, listen to me," he said softly, almost cooing in her ear. "It's a symbolic act. I don't want you to really hurt me. Believe me, I'm into pleasure, not pain. Just think of it as comparable to our little thefts—no one was really hurt. This will be much the same. You won't strike me with any force. You'll just lay the strap across my back arid pretend I'm Brian."

"Rafe, please…" She was beginning to feel sick.

"Where's the harm? You won't be hurting me and you won't be hurting Brian. You'll only be helping yourself. This is symbolic, remember? Symbolic."

"Okay," she said finally. "Symbolic."

She didn't want to do this, but if Rafe thought it was so important, she'd give it a try. And if it did release some of this anger in her—although she didn't see how it could—that would be to the good. And if nothing else, once she got through it they could make love. That was what she really wanted to do.

Rafe lay across the bed, facedown, the smooth skin of his bare back awaiting the belt.

"All right," he said. "Twenty strokes. Just think of me as Brian and slap it across my back."

Feeling silly, Lisl raised the belt and let its length fall onto Rafe's back.

He laughed. "Come on, Lisl. That was wimpy. This is Brian here. The guy you loved, the guy you trusted enough to marry."

Lisl swung again and put just a little more into it.

"Is that the best you can do? Lisl, this is the guy who was probably cheating on you during your engagement. And you know from the divorce hearings that he was putting the moves on his female fellow med students the week you got back from your honeymoon."

She swung harder this time.

"There you go. Just imagine I'm the guy who let you work for him all day to help earn his tuition, and then while you were out taking a night course would sneak a little chippy into your apartment and fuck her right in your own bed."

Lisl remembered the savage look on Brian's face when he'd told her that. The belt made a loud slap against Rafe's back when she swung this time. She swung again, even harder.

Slap!

"Good! Here's the guy who took you in marriage not as his wife but as his beast of burden, his meal ticket."

Slap!

"And when he didn't need you anymore, he tossed you away like an old newspaper."

"Damn you!" Lisl heard herself say. Rage suffused her, clouded her vision as she swung the belt with everything she had. And again, over and over, until she saw red… on Rafe's back.

Blood. There was a deep gash across his back.

"Oh, my God!"

Suddenly the rage retreated, leaving her cold and sick and weak.

Did I do that? What's happening? This isn't me!

She dropped to her knees beside the bed.

"Oh, Rafe, I'm so sorry!"

He turned toward her. "Are you kidding? It's just a scratch. Come here."

He pulled her onto the bed beside him. She could see that he was excited. He began kissing her, warming her, chasing the cold and dread and doubt, building the heat within her until it burst into flame.

Afterward he held her close and stroked her hair.

"There. Don't you feel better?"

Lisl knew what he was referring to but didn't feel like talking about it.

"I always feel good after we make love."

"I meant with the belt. Didn't that leave you feeling a bit cleaner, refreshed?"

"No! How could I possibly feel good about hurting you like that?"

"Don't be silly. You didn't hurt me."

"You were bleeding!"

"A scratch."

"That was no scratch. Turn over and I'll show you."

Rafe rolled onto his stomach and presented his back to her.

His unmarred back.

Lisl ran a hand over the smooth skin. There had been welts there only a short while ago. Blood too. She was sure of it.

"How…?"

"I'm a fast healer. You know that."

"But nobody's that fast."

"Which means that you didn't hurt me anywhere near as badly as you thought."

He turned toward her and pulled her down to his side. Lisl snuggled against him.

"You see," he said, "it was all symbolic. You got some of the anger out without hurting me. The anger was real but my wounds were not. You simply magnified them in your mind. The net result: I'm unhurt and you're a little bit closer to being the new Lisl."

"I'm not so sure about this 'new Lisl' business."

"Don't hinder yourself, Lisl. You're on the way to setting yourself free. And when you become the new Lisl, you truly will be a new person. No one who knew you before will recognize you. A new Lisl—that's my promise to you."

"Fine, but this bit with the belt—"

"That's just a part of it—the symbolic part. That must continue. But we won't limit ourselves to the merely symbolic with Dr. Callahan."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll see. My plans aren't fully formed yet, but you'll be a part of them, never fear. Stage one is all worked out, however. We execute that in a few hours."

"A few hours? It's after midnight!"

"I know, don't worry. It'll be fun. Trust me."

Lisl hugged Rafe close, a shipwreck victim clinging to a lifeboat on a sea of roiling emotions. She trusted him, but she worried about him as well. Rafe didn't seem to recognize the same limits as most other people.

Lisl shivered as she stood by Rafe's side at the telephone booth. She glanced at her watch. Five forty-five A.M. What was she doing at this hour standing in the chilly darkness outside an all-night gas station?

For one thing, she was listening to Rafe call her ex-husband. She could have waited in the car and stayed warm but that hadn't seemed right. She wanted to know exactly what Rafe was up to, wanted to hear every word he said. She was uneasy about this whole trip.

"Rafe," she said, "are you sure—?"

He cut her off with a wave of his hand and put a finger to his lips. He spoke into the receiver in an accented voice pitched a few tones higher than his own. He sounded Indian or Pakistani.

"Dr. Callahan?" he said with a grin and a wink at her. 'This is Dr. Krishna from the emergency room at County. So sorry to awaken you at this hour. Yes, I am being very new here. I just started this very evening. Thank you very much. Yes, I have a seventy-six-year-old woman here, a Mrs. Cranston, who says her daughter is a patient of yours. Yes, well, let me see… no, I am not having the daughter's name at hand. However, Mrs. Cranston has suffered a displaced fracture of her left hip. She is being in very much pain at this time. No, I am very sorry to say she is not stable. In fact, her blood pressure is falling. Yes, I have done that. Also she is being very obese and I am worried about the possibility of a pulmonary embolism." A long pause, then: "Yes, I will be doing that. And I will be telling her daughter that you are coming in immediately. She will be most pleased. Thank you. I am most looking forward to meeting you, Dr. Callahan."

Lisl stared at him in amazement.

"You sounded just like a doctor. Where did you learn all that?"

He laughed as he led her back to the warmth of the car.

"The same place doctors learn it: a medical textbook. I went to the library and looked up the major complications of a broken hip."

"But why?"

"To get him out of the house, of course."

He helped her into the passenger seat and closed the car door. But instead of getting in the driver side, he headed back to the gas station.

What's he up to? she wondered. He'd been so secretive about his plans for tonight.

A moment later he emerged carrying a cardboard box. He placed it in the space behind the seats, then got behind the wheel.

"What did you buy?" Lisl asked.

"Motor oil."

"Does that have anything to do with Brian?"

"It sure does."

"Can I ask what?"

His smile was enigmatic.

"All in good time, my dear. All in good time."

"You sound like the Wicked Witch of the West."

Rafe let out a high-pitched cackle as the Maserati roared to life.

As they entered the Rolling Oaks development Lisl saw Brian speeding out.

"There he goes. The good Dr. Callahan on a mission of mercy," Rafe said.

"Don't knock that."

"He's covering orthopedic call for the emergency room tonight. He has to go or he'll be suspended from the medical center."

"How do you know?"

"I checked. All it took was a telephone call. And besides, he figures on picking up a couple of grand for pinning some old lady's broken hip, so let's not award him a halo yet."

Rafe shut off his headlights before he reached Brian's house. They cruised to a stop just past the entrance to his driveway.

Lisl felt cold. Her stomach fluttered.

"You're not planning something illegal, are you?"

"You mean like breaking and entering? No. But I suppose it could be considered malicious mischief."

"Oh, great!"

"Come on. This is for you, not me."

"A few hours sleep would do more for me."

Rafe got out of the car and lifted the box of motor oil from behind the seats.

"Come on now. And be quiet. We don't want to wake the neighbors."

As he eased his door shut, Lisl got out and joined him on the driveway. The sky was winter-clear, full of glittering stars in the west but growing pale in the east. She could see Rafe twisting the cap off a half-gallon white plastic container of motor oil. He broke the foil seal and handed it to her.

"Start pouring."

"Where?"

"On the driveway, of course. Start at the bottom and work your way up. A good thick coat."

"But—?"

"Trust me. This will be good."

Lisl looked around. She felt exposed and vulnerable out here in the growing predawn light, but she knew Rafe would never leave before he'd accomplished what he'd come here for, so she began pouring.

The oil glugged from the container and splashed on the asphalt but soon she got the hang of pouring it in an even stream, back and forth, slowly backing up as she poured, container after container, letting the viscous golden liquid ooze down the slight decline of the driveway to merge like warm honey into a slick, uniform coat.

"Right up to the garage door there," Rafe said, handing her the last half gallon. "We're not going to give this sucker one little bit of traction."

Lisl complied, then handed him the empty.

"Okay. What now?"

"Now we sit and wait." He glanced at his watch. "Shouldn't be long now."

They returned to the car and Rafe drove it half a block to a corner where he parked at the curb. Almost dawn now. Lisl had a sharp, clear, unobstructed view of Brain's garage and driveway.

They waited. Rafe kept the car idling with the heater on. It was warm. Too warm. Lisl began to feel drowsy. She was ready to doze off when a black sports car roared past them.

Rafe let out a low whistle.

"Ooh, he's ticked. I wonder why? A wild goose chase to the hospital, maybe? Looking foolish in front of the emergency room staff, perhaps? But that's no excuse. A doctor should know better than to hot-rod like that through a residential neighborhood."

Brian's car made a sharp, tire-squealing turn into his driveway—

—and kept on going.

It swerved as its brakes locked but found no purchase on the oil-slick asphalt, plowing through the garage door and coming to rest at a crazy angle amid its splintered remnants.

Lisl gasped in shock and stared, fighting an urge to get out of the car and run to the site of the accident.

"Ohmigod, is he hurt?" Lisl cried.

"No such luck," Rafe said. "Watch."

The door to Brian's car opened and Lisl watched his white-coated figure stagger out. He was rubbing his head and he looked dazed, but he didn't seem seriously hurt.

She felt a smile slowly work its way onto her lips.

Serves you right, you bastard.

As he moved away from his car to survey the damage, he stepped onto the oiled asphalt. Suddenly his arms began windmilling as his feet did a spastic soft-shoe routine. He went down flat on his back with his legs straight up in the air.

Lisl burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. She'd never seen Brian look so ridiculous. She loved it.

With her hand clapped over her mouth, she watched him roll over and work his way to his hands and knees. The back of his white coat was now black and he had motor oil in his blow-dried hair. He was halfway to his feet when his legs slipped out from under him again and he went down on his face.

Lisl was laughing so hard now she could barely breathe. She beat a fist against Rafe's shoulder.

"Get me out of here!" she gasped. "Before I die laughing!"

Rafe was smiling as he shifted the car into gear.

"Not so scary now, is he?" he said.

Lisl shook her head. She couldn't answer because she was still laughing. Brian Callahan would never be able to intimidate her again.

A question leapt to her mind.

"Why me, Rafe? Why are you doing all this for me?"

"Because I love you," he said, smiling brightly. "And this is only the beginning."