Eighteen.

Tara leaned over and flipped off the radio.

"I can't listen anymore."

"I never knew you could hear people sweating through the radio. I think Woodrow's broken ground," Ben said, his eyes on the road. One hand held Tara's; the other was on the steering wheel as they listened to Woodrow defend himself, only to have the interviewer parry with another embarra.s.sing question.

"It's his own fault," Tara said without sympathy.

Ben gave her a glance that was as good as a whack on the behind. She shifted, but wouldn't back down.

"Okay, I'm being catty but he deserves it.

He's the one that started this. That reporter Martinez wrote the profile and as much as said there's a suspect. Woodrow's leak backfired, and I'm glad. He can't say that he doesn't know who or where the suspect is, so he sounds like a fool."

Tara slid her hand from Ben's.

"I'm not really worried about Woodrow, it's Bill. He's bound to hear about this. Then what will he do?"

"Considering what I know about him, I think he's too narcissistic to be worried about this. If anything, it might give him a sense of well-being, that he hasn't been forgotten."

"I don't think Bill Hamilton will ever be forgotten by anyone whose life he's touched." Tara sat up straighter and put out her arm to point the way.

"There's the turnoff. Ecold Drive."

"Cute," Ben mumbled. He had both hands on the wheel.

"At least she could've paved it and put in a few lights."

"Donna may be eccentric, but she's not stupid when it comes to her money."

"Smart woman."

"She was," Tara murmured.

"I don't want to go tonight. Every time I think about Shinin', about that man being in my house, it makes me furious."

"I know, but you've got to hang in. Remember, this isn't personal. It can't be if we're going to put him where he belongs."

"I know. I'll do my best. You are going to try to get enough evidence tonight, aren't you?

Enough to give me some leverage with Woodrow."

"I'll do my best. I need time and he's the only one that can give it to me. Remember, he's been through this before with a psychiatrist. He'll know instantly what I'm up to."

"Then we have to hope that he wants to give you time. He can't go on playing sick jokes forever."

"Maybe he'll want to prove that he's better than me. Depending on what you represent to him, I could be a hindrance as much as a help."

"There is that," Tara said quietly, hoping she never had to find out what she meant to Bill Hamilton.

Ben put both hands back on the wheel and Tara flipped down the pa.s.senger mirror. It was lighted.

She checked her lipstick. Hardly there, a bare color like the one on her cheeks. In this tiny bit of light she looked ghostly with her dark hair falling down. Was this who Bill saw when he looked at her? Pale with apprehension? Did he see the fear behind her eyes? She flipped the visor back up.

"So who's going to be at this shindig?" Ben asked.

"Couples carrying white-wrapped, silver bowed engagement presents?"

Tara laughed, grateful he was there to step between those memories and her mind.

"I don't think there will be a paper wedding bell in sight. You're going to be hobn.o.bbing with the cream of Albuquerque, plus Donna's hairdresser and his significant other of the moment. Probably one or two people from New York. Sometimes I think Donna built this place far away from everything to test how much her friends love her."

"Sounds like I may have my hands full with more than Bill Hamilton.

Maybe I should go back into private practice."

"Maybe you'll be happy you're not in it when you meet these folks.

We'll know in a minute.

There's the manor house now. Ain't it something?"

They both eyed the incredible structure.

Tonight the place was lit up. The party was in full swing, it seemed. Silhouettes of Donna's guests moved across the windows and Tara could see the place was packed.

"Where do they all come from?" Tara whispered.

"The woodwork." Ben laughed.

"Throw a party, people come." He pulled on the emergency brake and looked at the house instead of her.

"Shall we?"

Tara frowned.

"If you're ready, so am I."

* * * "Tara, over here."

Ben called from the back of the house. She found him a second later.

"I love this woman," he said and pointed toward the porch. Laid over the three steps that led to it was a large piece of wood that had been stabilized into a ramp. Tara walked toward him, leaned down, kissed him in the darkness.

"She can be very special. I never said she wasn't," Tara whispered.

"Shall we?" Tara asked, her arms still lying lightly around his neck.

"Neck in the dark?" Ben mused.

"Nah, we better go in now that we're here."

Tara laughed against his lips, then lay her forehead on his, wishing she could stay this way forever.

She was afraid to go in, even with Ben. Bill Hamilton might touch her again, or look at her with those metallic eyes and know that she knew everything about him. What could Ben do to save her then? Straightening, Tara stood beside Ben and knew that she had come to hate Bill Hamilton on one level and admire him on another. He posed questions she couldn't answer without thinking deeply. In the challenge of him was a challenge to herself.

Was she better than he? Was she as good as the system? More honorable than Woodrow? Yes. And she would prove all of the above. But the persistent fear was something she hadn't expected. She wasn't quite sure where that fit in at all.

"I'm so glad you're here!" Donna had Tara in a Lilliputian bearhug, her little face tipped up so that her cheek lay against her friend's. She whispered so only Tara could hear.

"I was so worried you wouldn't come. But Bill said you would."

Tara held Donna away. Yellow was the color of the day, bright and young and joyous. Donna was her own little ray of sunshine. She thought she saw something in Donna's face that didn't belong. Triumph?

As if she'd proved her upper hand, and Bill's. But the look was fleeting and Donna was her own self again. So Tara smiled.

"I'm really sorry. I've just been so worried about you," Tara began, but Donna talked over her.

"Stop it right now. I'm not going to fight with you again. I know you can act your way out of any paper bag. So act happy for me."

Tara held back. Everything was shaded by the antic.i.p.ation of seeing Bill Hamilton. She looked over her shoulder now, wishing he would appear and grin at her so it could be over. But Donna was pulling Tara close, giving her a pep-up look when her attention was diverted and the flirt meter began running overtime.

"It's Ben, isn't it?" Donna let go of Tara and shook Ben's hand.

"I've heard about you since I was a girl. It's about time you two got together.

Tara's been pining long enough." She winked at Tara.

"He is a dream." Back to Ben. Donna's version of tennis. She didn't even work up a sweat.

"If you get tired of this horsey woman, just let me know."

"I thought this was an engagement party. I wouldn't want any trouble from the lucky guy," Ben said.

"I promise. No trouble from Bill. He's very open-minded no matter what you've heard." Her voice dropped a tone to show her displeasure but she recovered nicely, before Tara could take offense.

"You both need a drink. Then we'll find Bill. And Tara," she warned, "I'm a.s.suming the only words out of your mouth are going to be congratulations or something of that nature. Ben, I expect you to make sure she doesn't get out of line."

Donna led them away before Tara could reply.

She held her arm up, cradling the champagne gla.s.s like Lady Liberty's torch. Ben and Tara followed, Ben taking time to whisper.

"Do you get the feeling that you just lost Round One?"

"Funny you should mention it," Tara said under her breath as Donna ushered them into the heart of the party.

For ten minutes Ben and Tara were the center of attention of a group of people who thought black was the proper color to wear to a joyous occasion.

They were introduced from right to left and heads nodded. Donna left first. Ben and Tara made small talk, holding hands, Bill Hamilton's appearance uppermost in their mind. More than once Tara saw Ben scan the room, heard him falter because he couldn't remember the thread of a conversation, so intent was he on finding the man in question.

Finally, the others melted away, leaving them with a clear path to the bar. Polite smiles still plastered on their faces, they breathed a sigh of relief.

Ben raised Tara's hand to his lips. She smiled, ready to tell him how she loved him, and then he was there.

Bill Hamilton materialized, resplendent in new jeans and black and gold boots, a shirt pressed just so, open to show off a marvelous chest. He was smiling. Good old boy grin. Had she missed him?

He swooped down on Tara. He touched her. Fingertips at her waist, body turned into hers so the tips of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s barely touched him. His face was close. She thought he might kiss her. Tara shuddered, paralyzed by surprise and the intensity of her reaction to him. Alarmed, she lifted her face, then with disgust, she raised her hands to push him away.

He kissed her.

On the lips, moving one step closer like a lover.

His tongue darted out to cross her lips, a fluttery thing that she could have imagined, but knew she hadn't. Tears were coming, filling up hard and painful behind her eyes. She stepped back. It had taken no more than seconds for him to terrify her.

No more than a blink for him to become the aggressor instead of the one in need of protection.

"Tara," he greeted her with a whisper.

She moved back two steps. He lost interest in her and turned to Ben, hoping to find another victim.

"Bill Hamilton," he said heartily.

"Ben Crawford." Ben put out his hand.

"Dr.

Crawford. We had an appointment a week ago.

Nice to meet you."

Bill's knees cracked as he hunkered down, ignoring Ben's hand in order to put his arms on those of the wheelchair. Ben was imprisoned. Bill looked him up and down, his eyes lingering on Ben's useless legs. Bill's expression was concerned.

He shook back his long hair and finally made eye contact again. His face was hard, his expression cruel, but he smiled still.

"Can't say I recall, Doc, and I am truly sorry.

I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on, but usually I'm pretty good at details. Don't you think, Tara? It's the big picture I have trouble with."

His eyes never left Ben's; Tara never looked down at him.

"Yes, you're excellent with details."

Tara stood statue-like, afraid to move, wanting only to push him aside, away from Ben. She wanted to do something heroic, something that would put Bill Hamilton in his place. But Ben seemed to need no defense.