Small sounds came from someplace deep in her lungs, bubbling out of her lips. A mewling of horror that popped, faded, and was lost in the echo of that first scream. Now mute, Tara watched her life's blood pumping from the horrendous rent in her arm. Oddly aware that she was in shock, mindful that the pain was now nonexistent, she clutched her right arm with her left hand. But the wound was too long. The blood poured through her fingers, flowed under her nails, stained the ground around her, and mixed its scent with the dirt and dung. She was sweating in the cold, but the sweat became icy and the noises in the corral surrealistic.

Feeling faint, Tara forced herself to let go of her arm long enough to push herself up. Terrified her arm would fall off if she didn't clasp it again, Tara held it tight against her stomach, half stumbling, half running out of the corral.

Shinin' was on her instantly, nuzzling and pushing, alarmed by the scent of blood. Feebly she tried to push him away, but he stood fifteen hands.

Whole she was hardly a match if he decided to be against her, wounded she was his victim. Somehow Tara managed to get herself out of the corral.

Nausea rising, she stumbled toward the pump that seemed to fade in and out of her line of vision.

"Please. Please, G.o.d," she mumbled, sure He wouldn't hear such a frail cry but she felt better for it. She heard herself sobbing into the frosty day, the sound trailing around trees and bushes hoping to find someone to hear and help.

Suddenly strong arms were around her. A voice whispered comfort. Tara was caught up against a strong chest, and in her relief, she half held up her arm, half cried, half smiled as she looked up, not into the face of a savior, but that of a gray-eyed devil. Bill Hamilton held her and there was no choice but to put her faith in him.

"I'm hurt," she whimpered.

"I'm hurt."

"d.a.m.n if you aren't, little lady." He held her tighter, pressing her arm against his chest, working the pump with his other arm until the cold water ran hard and fast as it came out of the spout.

"You've had yourself an accident. d.a.m.nation. Bad one. Bad. Bad.

Bad."

He whispered and whispered and turned her around so she was cupped into him like a lover, held affectionately from behind. With care he moved her arm, so gently she didn't know why she resisted. The cold water flowed over the wounds and Tara's knees buckled with relief. She was saved. Closing her eyes she fell back into him, half conscious but fighting for the whole of her senses all the same. Something wasn't right. Something just wasn't right.

She forced her eyes to open. The water was still pumping. But so was her blood. Bill's hand around her arm was pressing from the side so the blood flowed more freely than ever. She struggled feebly, knowing now he wasn't trying to help her at all.

Insane. He was insane. Holding her arm lower than her heart so the blood poured out of her and into the drain. No one would ever know what he had done. She would be dead. He would live.

Swooning, her sudden weight caught Bill Hamilton off guard and down he went with her until they were both kneeling in the b.l.o.o.d.y, muddy earth. With one last breath, Tara rallied, refusing to let him kill her. Refusing to be another woman lost to his moment of nothingness. Her life was worth more than that.

"No," Tara whispered, weak though she was.

"No," she said again and struggled as best she could, blinded by the hideous exhaustion that was overtaking her. With her free hand she pushed him hard as she could. Off balance still, he fell and the stream of water stopped as suddenly as it began. Tara managed to find her feet. Woozy, she took a step. Then another. But he was fast, up and grabbing for her. He twirled her into him and held her tight against his chest. Too tight. She couldn't fight him and she knew it. She couldn't run and she knew it. And her blood was binding them together her wounded arm caught between her and the man who tormented her. Through bleary eyes she saw him smile, grin really. He opened his mouth.

"Donna!" he yelled and grinned once more so that Tara would know he was saving her. He turned his head, his beautiful expression of endearment changing to one of panic. Tara closed her eyes and lay against him. There was nothing more she could do except listen to the vibrations in his chest of his liar's call for help.

"Donna!

Come quick!"

"Bill! Tara!"

Tara was in other arms. Thin arms were holding her. Tiny hands caressing her. A golden head and angelic face hovered above hers. They slipped on the pulpy earth until she was lying half on her hip and half in Donna's lap.

"Help me, Bill. Help me now. I think she's in shock. Come on, quick."

Bill picked her up and they got to the guest house with Donna trailing behind making hysterical noises. That was the last thing Tara remembered until she opened her eyes to find Donna cleaning her wounds, heedless of her dress, touching her as if she was the most precious thing on the face of the earth.

"No st.i.tches," was the only thing Tara could think to say.

"You need st.i.tches. I've cut b.u.t.terflies, but I don't know if they'll hold." Donna didn't look up but Tara could see that her face was tear streaked even as she worked the gauze around her arm.

"Tara, this was so ugly. I've never seen so much blood gush out of one person. I thought"*she hiccupped a sob*"you were dying. I thought I wouldn't have you anymore. What would I do without you? Thank goodness Bill was there. What would have happened if Bill hadn't been there?"

"He hurt me," Tara managed to say but her mouth was dry and dirt-encrusted. She tried again but Donna lay her hand on Tara's forehead.

"I know, honey. He had to press so hard."

Donna cooed her soothing, gentle words. Tara shook her head back and forth, half out of her mind with fear and pain and anger.

"Holding so tight," Tara croaked.

"I know, sweetie, I know." Donna pushed her back once more and secured the bandage.

"He had to, honey. To stop the blood. You have to understand."

"No," Tara said, near tears.

"Before, Donna. Before."

"I found it."

There he was. Bill Hamilton, savior, standing with long legs apart as if he owned the place. In his hand was the pitchfork, on his body a blood drenched shirt. Donna flew to him, Tara forgotten.

He was Neptune ready to spear his little fishy with his muddy, b.l.o.o.d.y trident. A little appetizer before indulging in the already helpless main meal.

"This did it?" Donna whispered. Bill ignored her.

"How's she doin'?" She followed him meekly until they both stood over the couch looking down at Tara. But Tara only had eyes for him. He bent his knees; he balanced on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. He smiled at her so gently Tara thought she might cry. Had she imagined Bill Hamilton malicious and savage when he was only saintly? Had she dreamed of her blood running river-like down the drain?

She closed her eyes, but he touched her shoulder.

"You rest, little lady. You should be tired," Bill cooed, his lips so close Tara could feel the warmth of his breath on her.

"You made a h.e.l.l of a mess out of me, didn't you?" Tara was mute. He leaned into her and maybe his lips brushed her hair. Perhaps he only leaned too far as he stood up and handed Donna the pitchfork, knowing Tara watched him from under lowered lashes, feeling safer with her eyes on him.

One. Two. Three b.u.t.tons. Bill Hamilton's chest was bared on six. He slipped off his shirt and even Tara could see the stain of her blood down the front of his naked torso. It had matted the dark curling hair that covered his chest and ran a fine line down his stomach to the buckle of his belt.

He ran his hand over that hair, his lips parting so slightly Tara hoped she imagined it.

"You should shower, honey. Go on. I can take care of her." Donna was tugging on his arm, taking him away from Tara, reclaiming him for her own. There was no reluctance in him. He turned and kissed her atop her head, touching her own bloodied clothes.

"You need one too," he said and kissed her again, on the lips, a triumphant statement of his hold on Donna that he made her forget about the wounded Tara.

"Later," Donna breathed the moment he let her up for air.

Tara turned her head, too tired to watch him go or see Donna look adoringly after him. Too dred to figure out what was going on here.

"Tara?" Donna touched the wounded woman.

"Honey, do you think you'll be all right *til Bill and I clean up or do you want to go to the hospital now?"

Panicked, Tara struggled to sit up. She held out her good hand.

"No. I don't need a hospital.

Please just get me home, to my house."

"I'll do no such thing," Donna gasped.

"You've got to have a doctor st.i.tch that."

"I will. I promise. Not now. Please. I have an appointment. I have to go." Tara knew how irrational she sounded, but for her, Woodrow was the key to life and death. Her arm was only a painful inconvenience.

"Don't be ridiculous," Donna protested, but Tara already had her feet planted on the floor, her head and arm exploding with a fiery pain she tried to hide without success. With a screech Donna was on her.

"Tara, go to the hospital, please. You'll die if you don't. I couldn't be here without you. You're the most important thing in the world to me. Please, Tara. I'm not good at this. Please go*for me."

Donna cried big, real tears. They fell out of her eyes in glops, taking her mascara with them. Tara saw the fright her friend felt. But what could she do? There was no choice as long as that man, that puzzle, remained in her life.

"This can't wait. Donna. It can't," Tara half sobbed, half insisted, pushing Donna up as she forced herself to stand. Donna held on, her grip loosening, afraid to hurt Tara if she held too tight.

"Tara. Tara."

"I have an hour and a half. Just do this for me.

Help me get to the house. Put me in a hot bath.

I promise, if I'm not feeling a hundred percent better, I'll cancel.

Let me try. Please."

"All right, sweetie. All right," Donna fussed, sniffling, afraid Tara was out of her mind. Gingerly, Donna wrapped her arms around her friend and helped her cross the yard. They stopped more often than Donna liked, Tara crumpled once too often. But they forged ahead.

In the house Tara sat on a small vanity chair watching her bath water run, wondering when she would see it run red, tinged with her own blood somehow spit up from the ground. She couldn't take her eyes off it even as Donna ever so gently stripped off Tara's clothes. Deftly she wadded them into a ball and took them away. When she came back, Tara was already halfway in the tub. Without another word. Donna eased her in. When she was settled , Donna disappeared again, only to return with a huge gla.s.s of orange juice. This she put on a small table beside the claw-foot tub.

"You shouldn't go, Tara," Donna whispered, sadly aware that she didn't hold as much sway over Tara as Tara did over her. With a sigh, she closed the door and left Tara alone in the steaming tub.

A second later Tara heard the back door close.

She willed her eyes to stay shut, wanting to see nothing but darkness. But the darkness was full of pictures. Blood and mud, gray eyes, a smile, lips that whispered. Donna standing in the arms of a killer or a madman or both. Still Tara Limey kept her counsel and that made her a part of the darkness too.

"Hi."

Tara slid gingerly into the booth knowing she looked like death warmed over. Woodrow had the courtesy not to say anything, or he had a bee in his bonnet that was buzzing like mad and didn't notice how horrid she looked. From his expression Tara a.s.sumed it was the latter because he'd forgotten himself too.

Usually a picture-perfect gubernatorial candidate, Woodrow looked like a man on the edge of his luck. He wore a sweater, not a jacket, and Tara noticed a hole in the sleeve. His eyes were red rimmed He was a tired man. A defeated one? Just looking at him made Tara feel her own debilitation more acutely. Donna was right. She should have postponed this meeting. But another day with Bill Hamilton was unthinkable. Exhausted, sick, or even dying, she had to Finish this.

"I saw the file," he said without ceremony or eye contact. Along with every photo, statement, and, opinion given by everyone involved.

"There's a good chance your guy is the right one. A very good chance, Tara. All we need to confirm is his fingerprints.

There was a clean set lifted at the scene and that would be conclusive if we could do a comparison."

"Who's *we," Woodrow?"

Woodrow started to lie, then changed course.

His mind was made up so no amount of affront could sway him.

"George," he said, his eyes leveled at her collarbone.

"You told George?" Tara's voice was so plaintive Woodrow looked her in the eye and his brow twisted in commiseration.

"I did. I told George because I wanted to hear more about the investigation. It's my duty as*" "Woodrow, please don't try to make it better," Tara moaned.

"And don't try to railroad me," he said, lowering his voice.

"We may be friends, Tara, and colleagues, but I have to make my own decision. I didn't accept your proposition on face value. And now that I've seen the photos of that woman, I don't think I could live with myself if I just signed your man over to a hospital and left it at that.

Tara, a woman died."

"Oh, Woodrow," Tara sighed. Her arm throbbed, her head pounded with this unexpected turn of events.

"Don't you think that's all I've thought about? I know a woman died. Women die all the time and their killers aren't caught. Sometimes they're killed by the men they love and sometimes by men they don't know, and I don't want another one to be victimized by my client.

But he is my client and his welfare has to be uppermost in my mind. I know that sounds hollow, I know it sounds cold, but that's the way it is. The ethics of our legal obligations are in question now.

Not just mine as a defense attorney, but yours as a prosecutor. You're not bound to prosecute every case presented to you. You're bound to do what's right for your const.i.tuency. I think you've proven you can do that if we take the Strober incident."

"That wasn't murder, Tara," Woodrow snapped.

"It could have been if that building failed," she reminded him quietly. Her voice trailed off until there was hardly a sound made on the last all-important word. When she spoke again, there was a sadness in her voice that pained her to listen to it.

"Woodrow, please tell me this isn't what I think it might be."

"Tara, listen to me. I'm in a bad spot. I'm sorry, I really am. At any other time I would stand by you.

But I talked it over with George and he agrees. This is big. It needs public closure."

"And it sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't hurt your campaign if you could deliver the Circle K killer, right?"

"No, it wouldn't. I'm not going to lie to you and I'm not going to tell you this decision has been easy. You have no idea what I've been going through trying to come to it."

"And I don't care," Tara said curtly.

"I didn't think you were this low, Woodrow. In fact, I'd al ways been proud to death of you. I thought you had guts. Now I can see you're just like every other sleazy politician around."