"Bill, where're you going?" Donna sat up straighter, shaking off sleep. Her shoulders didn't clear the seat. She looked like a child sitting next to him.

"Honey, come on. Tara's tired, Bill."

But Bill wasn't with them any longer. He was somewhere else, seeing something else on the road, and he was speeding toward it. Both hands on the wheel, he suddenly snapped his arm and flipped a switch. The window rolled down, smooth and silent, letting in the roar of the highway wind.

"Bill?" Donna had scooted away only far enough to turn toward him and lay her hand on his shoulder.

"Bill, where are we going?"

In the backseat Tara clutched the armrest, her eyes bright, her heart slowing as she saw where they were: nowhere. Nothing but desert, a house or two, a mile out, blurring as they sped by. Suddenly Bill threw himself toward the door and his head went out the window.

"Whooeeee! I am the Marlboro Man! Hot d.a.m.n!"

He hollered and the cold, cold air blew his hair back and the wind whipped through the car until Tara was sure she would freeze to death or die of fright in the face of Bill Hamilton's insanity. It had to be insanity.

"Bill. Come on. Stop," Donna hollered over the cacophony.

"Come on. It's cold."

The car swerved off the road and Bill slammed on the brakes. Donna was thrown forward but he caught her before she hit the dashboard. Tara's breath was knocked out of her, the tight belt holding her midriff in place while the rest of her jackknifed.

"Ow, baby, that was fun. Wasn't that just a dandy ride? Just a h.e.l.l of a ride." He pulled Donna to him and held her tight, then he grinned at Tara.

A little boy done wrong, a little boy with a secret.

His voice lowered. They might as well have been alone together.

"I just wanted me some smokes.

Just a pack of smokes."

With that he sat Donna upright, opened the car door, and got out. Tara watched him saunter across the hard dry ground. She watched him reach in his back pocket and pull out a comb, run it through his hair just as he hit a pool of light She watched him open the door and she watched him disappear inside the Circle K. "Isn't he crazy? I swear, that man is crazy," Donna muttered and Tara thought she heard a note of pride.

"Yeah, I think he is," Tara answered and in her voice was a note of surety.

Seven.

"I cannot*repeat*cannot believe this. What is it? Is the entire world conspiring against me? Explain this debacle, Joanie. No, don't try to explain.

Let me just go over the facts, and see if there's a glimmer of hope that somehow this can be explained to me."

Woodrow Weber measured his paces to the window of his office, looked toward downtown Albuquerque, noting the gleaming high-rises and the fine architectural figure the Hyatt Hotel, tallest structure in the city, cut across the sky. Then he looked down and considered the unpaved, dirt parking lot that surrounded his own, square, ugly, brick building. He pivoted, clasped his hands behind his back and paced back again, pa.s.sing his secretary on step five. He held up his hand, the pointer finger heavenward.

"One. The rapist that's terrorizing the university is caught in the act. With great fanfare we*I-make the decision to indict. With greater fanfare, we go to trial. I a.s.sign our finest team with the full confidence in their ability, believing every a.s.surance they give me. Then, with the greatest fanfare of all, the district attorney's office bites the big one and there's a mistrial because of our incompetence.

We have to start from scratch.

r "Two." Up popped another finger.

"We finally find out who's been fixing the high school basketball games. George Amos makes an arrest. The kid's been in high school for six years, making more money taking bribes and flunking his cla.s.ses while he plays basketball than he ever could pumping gas. Now half the city is in an uproar because we've arrested a child. A child, they call him! The other half of this city is mad because we're not already in court sending the b.a.s.t.a.r.d up for daring to tinker with the outcome of a sporting match."

"But Mr. Weber, we're going to pretrial hearings," the young woman began, knowing she shouldn't be put in the position of defending anything in this office. She wasn't an attorney.

Woodrow held up his hand, did a precision turn, and headed back. He stood over her, the scent of Aqua Velva wafting down upon her. He spoke gently, carefully, and condescendingly.

"Joanie, don't try to make it better. What does the public know about pretrial hearings? What, I ask you?" The poor girl shrugged, having no clue what the proper response was. Not that it mattered.

The entire conversation seemed to be rhetorical.

"I'll tell you what they know. Nothing!

Nothing! The voting public thinks I try every case myself. I swear, the way the editorials have been running lately I might as well. It couldn't get any worse. And now dlis!"

Woodrow stopped, held out his hands, palms up, invidng her to look at die pamphlet on the desk.

Joanie turned her head but her eyes were closed.

She'd already seen it.

"Five hundred thousand mailers." He whispered and stepped forward.

"Five hundred thousand direct mail pieces that are supposed to convince the good people of the entire state of New Mexico that I would make a wonderful governor. Now." He took in a ragged breath and let his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

"It is my understanding that a good mailer, one that should convince people to vote for the right candidate, the one who would be the best governor, should at least spell the candidate's name properly. Don't you think, Joanie? Don't you think that someone .. ." He bent from the waist and looked at her close up, his middle-aged gnome face taking on unusual and unattractive proportions.

"... someone who was responsible for proofreading such material, might have noticed that the name "Woorfrow Weber' is not spelled WooArow We<>< p="">

Joanie slid her eyes his way. His face was purple.

It wasn't a pretty sight.

"I suppose the last person who saw it should have caught that mistake," she squeaked, as defiant as she dared be. He was, after all, the person who had signed off on the proof. With everything else that was going on around the office, he shouldn't expect her to be responsible for his campaign literature.

It wasn't in her job description and she would have told him except, as usual, they were interrupted. Gratefully, Joanie stood up and grinned at Tara Limey.

"Hi," Tara called from the outer office and walked right into Woodrow's. One look at him and she wondered which of them was worse off.

"Sorry.

I interrupted. I'll wait outside."

"No, no," Woodrow said and waved her in. He looked better already. The purplish color was draining from his face.

"Might as well interrupt now before I kill someone or jump out the window.

Look at this, Tara. Just look. Woodrow We<>< p="">

r Five hundred thousand of these were drop-shipped this morning."

Joanie slipped past Tara, gave her a pat on the arm, and disappeared.

Tara closed the door to Woodrow's office and went to the sideboard.

They could both use a cup of coffee. Cream in his. Hers was black.

"Here," she said, handing it to him while he keened over his misprinted mailers. She patted his back and stood for a silent minute.

"Tara, I don't know if I'm cut out for this. Running for district attorney was one thing, but a governor's slot, I don't know." He shook his head, pushed up his tortoisesh.e.l.l-rimmed gla.s.ses, and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his winter-white pants. His bucks were white too. A blue-striped shirt, old school tie. She'd bet her bottom dollar there was a blue blazer hanging around somewhere.

Such a dapper guy. She loved Woodrow because he had style and he was smart and still there was something awfully vulnerable about him. It was a unique combination in an educated man.

"It's a huge leap, Woodrow. Maybe there was a stepping stone you should have taken before you went for the big one," she commiserated.

He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. A word came with it.

"Maybe."

He sounded so despondent, Tara felt terrible for even suggesting it.

"Hey, Woodrow, I wasn't thinking. The old gov himself is going to make mistakes, too. Besides, Charlotte called early this morning and said that you'd taken in more last night than you'd expected."

Tara hoped this would brighten his mood a bit. She needed to have his complete attention.

"You really think this isn't a disaster?" He picked up the offending material and looked at it.

Tara slipped it out of his fingers.

"I know it isn't. Really. But it's not going to help if you keep it on your desk and look at it all day long." She took it away and put it under a stack of papers on the credenza.

"Drink your coffee. It'll make you feel better."

"I guess you're right. Oh, before I forget .. ."

Woodrow had coffee in hand. He headed for his chair, turned, and back stepped into it.

"Are you going to that tea Charlotte's giving for the Women Voters Coalition?"

"I don't know," Tara said wearily.

"What if I just send a check? Couldn't I just do that?"

"Come on, Tara. You know that's not it. I don't want your money," Woodrow insisted.

"I mean money's really appreciated, but it's you I want. You show up and the fact that a Limey's hanging around will really give me a boost. And boy, do I need a boost. Especially after last night and that thing with Strober Industries. Could you believe that? I've had Sandy trying to figure out who that woman was and who she worked for. I don't know what she's got but it was d.a.m.n scary, I'll tell you."

"Any truth to it?" Tara asked, seating herself.

"I don't think so. I mean that investigation was so long ago. I swear, I really think the decisions made were a matter of expediency. I hadn't even decided to run yet. I'm going to review the file, of course, but as I recall, the civil division was overextended when that came across my desk. Inspectors had approved changes. The company paid some kind of fine. It was arbitrated." He rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

"Boy, I'm tired. I don't know how Charlotte keeps up with all this. She's always fresh as a toothpaste ad and on to the next thing." He let his gla.s.ses fall back on his nose and pushed them into place.

"Speaking of which, that tea isn't for a few months. And no, you don't have to go. I just appreciate all the support you do give me. I won't push it." He chuckled affectionately.

"Won't make the same promise for Charlotte, though, so if you can't come, I suggest you lie low."

"I'll try I will."

" "Preciate it." He drank his coffee. She stared at hers. He studied her over the rim of his cup.

When Tara didn't speak, Woodrow took it upon himself.

"I guess you didn't come in to scream at me for a miserable evening last night."

"When have you known me to scream?"

"Never. You're more formidable when you don't, actually. Always throws me when we're in court together, and you pull that righteous persona out of your hat. Hard, smart, sure of yourself. Meticulous."

"That's how I am in court, huh?" Tara smiled and put her coffee aside.

"In court. Not now." He c.o.c.ked his head.

"Something's on your mind. Charlotte get under your skin by setting you and Ben up last night?"

Tara bit her bottom lip. She looked away from him. He owed her for last night and a few other things so he remained patient. It was one of his best traits*and his worst. He'd patiently followed Tara around in high school, driving her crazy, until finally realizing Charlotte was the woman of his dreams. Funny how things worked out. Charlotte and Woodrow a steady item, she and Ben strangers.

But even Woodrow's patience had a limit.

"Earth to Tara." She looked at him.

"I'm in a bind, Woodrow. I'm not happy about it. In fact, it's really thrown me for a loop. The good news is, I think I have a solution to my problem if you'll help." Tara laced her hands together.

"Off the record?" Woodrow asked.

"Pretty much. I'm not going to give you much.

I don't want to compromise you, or myself, in any way."

Woodrow nodded, sagely. Enough said. He was a good attorney, a dedicated attorney. She'd been up all night working this out and he would understand what she needed. There was no other way for Tara to discharge her duty as a sworn officer of the court, be faithful to her client, and keep Donna safe.

"Woodrow, I've taken on a new client. This person came to me for help. I believe he's mentally unstable, but lucid. He is very intelligent and knows exactly what he wants. This client has given me specific instructions as to the disposition of his problem."

"Tara, you sound like you're giving an opening statement. It's me.