He's so ... so personal about it."

"What about your friend? What does she see?

Maybe I could talk to her."

"No." Tara pushed herself off the wall. This was defeat.

"She wouldn't be able to help you. She is involved and love is blind."

Woodrow put his hand on Tara's shoulder.

"And you're the only one that sees this clearly, Tara?"

Startled, Tara paused, thinking hard for an instant.

"Yes. There's no black and white here, Woodrow. I don't know what he really wants. I have to take him at his word. I have to a.s.sume that he knows he needs a doctor's care. The roadblocks he throws up may be his madness. Like a child throwing a tantrum so the parents will prove their love. I don't know what the real story is, but I will protect him until I find out."

They stood silently together, each thinking. Finally, Tara spoke.

"Woodrow?"

"Yes?" he murmured.

"You didn't push the b.u.t.ton."

"You could have pushed it," he noted. They stared at the panel a little longer, Tara thinking it wouldn't be bad to hide here a bit longer. She was the one who finally poked it and the one who finally laughed once.

"We're going to be late."

*"Yeah, but I didn't mind the breather. Did you?"

"No, I didn't."

The elevator jerked gently. They were on their way. Friends again for a minute. The other side of her, Tara thought. The side that didn't keep secrets and needed a friend. Oh, how she needed someone to count on. They reached their destination and Tara split herself. The attorney Limey walked out and waited for DA Weber, who went ahead to announce their arrival.

"Mr. Weber. It's nice to see you again."

A mild-looking middle-aged man stood as Tara and Woodrow entered his well-turned-out office.

Wood desk, leather chairs, real paintings on the wall. The bar obviously thought more of its employees than did the state. Woodrow said his h.e.l.los then pa.s.sed the man's hand on to Tara.

"Nice of you to see us. This is Tara Limey."

Woodrow stepped back, his arm out as if to usher her into the inner circle. She didn't give him a glance as she pa.s.sed.

"Nice to meet you," Tara said and she meant it.

"Lovely to meet you. I was privileged to hear you speak to the Bar a.s.sociation last year. Lovely speech. Well delivered. Please, sit down." He smiled gently, and Tara did as he suggested, noting that he had gracefully managed not to refer to the content of her speech, the t.i.tle of which even she couldn't remember.

Frank Sepada laughed.

"I'm delighted you called. I'm afraid I don't see many people as the Bar's ethics liaison. I field phone calls, write letters, answer complaints. To see living, breathing human beings is truly nice. However, I'm aware that your presence here can mean only that your situation is serious. Compromised, if I might make that a.s.sumption."

They both nodded.

"Mr. Sepada," Tara said, anxious to be heard first, "I've been retained by a person who confessed to me that he committed a horrible crime."

Tara told the story again. Personal involvement, heinous cold-blooded murder, odd behavior, psychiatric history. When she was done, Frank Sepada turned to Woodrow.

"Mr. Weber?"

"I'd like to at least talk to the man before I take a step regarding state commitment." Woodrow leaned forward in his chair, his posture that of a concerned public servant.

"I have already agreed to make a decision based on the evaluation of her client by a qualified psychiatrist. I simply can't take her word for a psychological diagnosis. She is a lawyer, and, with all due respect, this might be a rather unique ploy by her in preparation for a defense.

She hasn't given me the evaluation I've requested.

I'll have to refuse any action, unless you can provide us with another solution. We have agreed to abide by your decision."

"This is refreshing. Seldom do I have adversaries willing to work even this closely together." He cleared his throat and tapped the side of his cheek.

"Ms. Limey, has your client threatened anyone or exhibited such odd behavior as to put himself in danger?"

"No," Tara said, a flush coloring her neck as she remembered the night before, his head on her thigh, crucifying himself to Shinin'. She shook off the tremors that caught hold where the two men would never see.

"No, but the potential is there.

I'm sure of that. He's unpredictable. Smart. Frightening.

But there have been no overt threats."

"You've corroborated his medical history?"

"Yes, with his psychiatrist."

"And what did he tell you?"

"Nothing specific. He confirmed the man's violent tendencies, but he wouldn't do so on record, citing privilege."

"I see. Well, Ms. Limey, I suggest you get more than that. It seems you have only two choices. Immediately seek Mr. Weber's help should your client become violent, and barring that, determine if your client is competent to waive his rights and release you from the attorney-client privilege. If he is, then you must explain the situation to him and offer him the option of working with the DA. If not, then I'm afraid the law can do nothing for, or with, this man." Mr. Sepada fluttered his eyes toward Woodrow, an oddly nervous gesture for a man who was so very calm.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weber, but I can't deliver her client into your hands because you wish it so. You'll have to work for him."

His eyes were back on Tara again.

"Ms. Limey, I would prefer to see you determine your client's competency and convince him he has options rather than wait for a violent outburst of any sort."

"I had hoped for something more, Mr. Sepada."

"Believe me, Ms. Limey, I wish I had a bag of tricks."

Tara nodded her understanding.

"We're sorry to have wasted your time."

"Not a waste of time. I wish you the best." Frank Sepada stood up.

"I do want to say, though, that I don't envy either of you. Your position, Mr. Weber, yours by virtue of the elected office you hold, has got to be based not only on legal considerations, but also on political ones. I wouldn't venture to guess how the percentages break down on your motivation."

He looked at Tara.

"I might say the same of you, Ms. Limey. You are torn between concern for your client and concern for your friend. These are considerations that I can't take under advis.e.m.e.nt. What we lawyers promise is to work only for the good of our client within the confines of the law, and to remain silent regarding issues that have been told to us in confidence.

It is the same difficulty priests pray about and doctors lose sleep over. The general perception that lawyers do not agonize over questions such as these always amazes me. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid Ms. Limey is, to use a nonlegal term, stuck."

They left Frank Sepada's office in silence. It wasn't until they were outside on the sidewalk once again that Tara found her voice. Standing close to Woodrow, she spoke over his shoulder, near his ear, looking at the building on the other side.

"Woodrow, I'm sorry about last night. I'm sorry about being angry. I'm asking you to please issue the pet.i.tion for hospitalization. Please." Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"The injury on my arm, Woodrow. I think he had something to do with it.

I think he was trying to get me to bleed to death, but my friend showed up. Last night I found the carving knife stuck into a note on the butcher block. I think he's watching me. I think .. ."

Woodrow shook his head.

"I don't know what I think, Tara. You're pulling every trick in the book to get me to do something I know isn't right."

Woodrow clamped his lips shut. There was pain in his expression, there was fear. He warred with his evil twin who, Tara knew, whispered against her.

Woodrow needed her man and hated himself for it.

"My position is clear. I see him, I evaluate him, or we do nothing."

Woodrow put his hand on her arm and pressed, offering his a.s.surance.

"Tara, I'm your friend, and you know it. Anyone else would have manipulated the little you've given me. I could have gone to the press. I could have just posed the questions: What if a local attorney knew who the Circle K killer was? Who do you think is right, Mr. John Q. Public? Tara protecting the rights of a killer, or me wanting to get him behind bars? We're pretty basic out here, Tara. You know what the answers would be. You know the public doesn't care about philosophy when it comes to their safety."

"I didn't think you had this in you, Woodrow," Tara muttered and stepped back. She had begged him and he wanted her on her knees. Now Tara didn't want to be anywhere near Woodrow.

"I'm not threatening. I'm only showing you this can play a hundred different ways. You have my offer. I don't want to see you compromised, but I have a lot at stake too. I'm not throwing it away."

Woodrow gave her arm one last squeeze and walked away. Tara let him go. Anxious, tired, her arm hurting, she got behind the wheel of her car, turned the ignition, and sat quite still. Finally, dred of listening to the motor idle, tired of just about everything, Tara threw the gear, pulled out into traffic, and made a U the first place she could.

Home wasn't where she wanted to go. She wanted to be with a real friend.

"Woodrow, if you don't stop pacing, I'm going to hogtie you. Now, either you have something to say, or you don't. If you don't, then I've got work to do."

Woodrow stopped and glared at George Amos.

George threw back his hands, giving up.

"Okay Okay," he chuckled.

"I'm sorry I called Tara. I'm sorry I tipped my hand. She already yelled at me. You don't have to."

"I don't see anything funny about this, George."

Woodrow stopped his pacing. He was thoughtful.

He was concerned.

"I just don't know what you thought you'd gain."

"Nothing," George answered. Woodrow's eyes snapped his way, challenging him.

"That's the truth, Woodrow. I didn't expect anything. I just wanted confirmation. I'm ent.i.tled. You put it on my plate, I can push it around a little bit."

"That's intimidation."

"h.e.l.l, she couldn't be intimidated," George scoffed.

"But there's a lot to be told by someone's reaction. And Tara Limey reacted like a cat in a bath. She is skittish and she's got something hot."

"All that from a phone call, huh?" Woodrow drawled.

"What a lawman."

"Better doing something than just sitting around waiting to do her bidding like another lawman I know."

"Look .. ." Woodrow put his hands on the back of the nearest chair.

"I don't want to be a part of your game. I want to do this right. I'll hold out and that's legal. You're going down a road that might be a little crooked. I just think you should consider that."

"Woodrow, get off the fence. Don't you think this is going to come out sooner or later? It may not be a big to-do that breaks it. Maybe a little whisper here or there. Maybe a secretary will gossip about something she overheard when you finally get this mess straightened out. And when it does come out, people will know Tara Limey did the best for her client. They'll know I did what I could to find out who this guy was so I could keep an eye on him. And you? You'll be the one who sat back and waited. Do you think the voters will respect a man who doesn't take a stand?"

"I've given her options," Woodrow said quietly.

"And if she doesn't take advantage of those options?"

"Then it's her problem."

"That will seem so special to all those women who want to run to the Circle K for milk at midnight for the baby," George drawled.

"Woodrow, I don't have time for this. I'm going to put that poor woman's soul to rest if I can. You can either help me or you can stay out of my way. And if I break the law, then you can come after me. But until then, you just go back to your office and sit there and wait until Tara brings him in, or I find out who this guy is and I find a reason to bring him in, or ..."

"What?" Woodrow asked.

"Or we find Tara Limey dead somewhere.