Tara breathed and hung her head. A minute later she looked up again.

"Why? She's almost twice your age. What would you want with her?"

"She's cute. She's rich. Not hard to tell where a woman fits in this life."

"But you haven't taken anything from her. No clothes, no money, no cars. I know that."

"Those things aren't nothin' compared to what I got from her." His smile looked almost boyish.

"I got me a slave. I got me a woman who'll stick by me no matter what, and that's worth its weight in gold. She doesn't want to know about the past, and she wouldn't believe you if you told her. She doesn't want to think about the future *cause she might be there alone." He chuckled and ran a ringer in circles on the table.

"Naw, between the two of you I feel pretty safe. I think you'll get me where I want to go. Sure as the day is long, you'll get me there." He sighed and clasped his hands.

"If you don't, I'll just stay out in Donna's great big of' house and keep her happy."

"So it's all a game. All planned out with a winner and a loser," Tara said.

He put his hand down flat, then lifted it and put it through his hair.

"You can be d.a.m.n wearisome, Tara. I get tired of your questions about why this and why that. I don't know what it is or why it is. Kinin' that woman was just something' that happened. Findin' out about you was something' that happened. I'm on this road and I just gotta walk it. You're walking the same way. Too late to turn back now."

"I don't think so. Bill. I could walk right out of here and file a complaint about what went on at my house today. You'd be fingerprinted, Woodrow would know enough to cross-check them against that mop. You'd be booked for the Circle K killing so fast it would make your head spin."

"You won't," he said, chuckling softly.

"You won't. I've never seen a human being pushed the way I've pushed you and still keep comin' back for more. You'll get me what I need. You can't say a word against me. I'm safe with you, Tara."

Tara considered how much the wall needed washing. Woodrow was waiting.

She had a decision to make. Her head swung back to Bill Hamilton.

He sdll lounged in his chair, content and as unconcerned as he could be.

"Safe? That's how I've made you feel?"

"d.a.m.n straight, sweetheart. Safe as a baby in its cradle."

"Don't bet on it. Bill."

She stood up, towering over him.

"Don't bet on it."

Woodrow didn't approach her when she stepped into the hall. Tara thought that was fair. She had a lot to think about during her short walk, and Woodrow needed to stand his ground. Ben was working on a report without doc.u.mentation based on real time with Bill Hamilton. Tara had a practice and a friend to protect. Bill was wondering about her now, not quite as sure of her as he had been. He could bolt as easily as he could stay once he was released, which would be inevitable if Woodrow rebuffed Ben's report. A step away now, it was time to make some choices. Her last-ditch efforts may be nothing but smoke, but Tara would give it her best shot.

"Woodrow." She planted herself in front of him, her hands in her pockets, her head c.o.c.ked just enough so she didn't look confrontational.

"Let's compromise. Guarantee me he'll receive an immediate psychological evaluation. Guarantee me that Ben sits in and allow his evaluation to be taken into consideration. Find some reason to hold Bill without booking him. I'll get Ben here as soon as you can get your shrink in line. If your independent psychiatrist or psychologist or witch doctor or whatever comes back and corroborates Hamilton's precarious state of mind, you pet.i.tion for hospitalization and out he goes. If there's a question in your expert's mind that Ben agrees with, I back off. You conduct your investigation and see where it gets you. No reporters. No political issues. Just do this as fast as you can and we're headed to some sort of conclusion."

"I'll see what I can do, Tara," he said without the flicker of a lash.

Tara grinned. She couldn't believe it. Woodrow cooperating.

"It will solve a lot of problems," she said quietly and put out her hand. He shook it and smiled.

"I'm sorry for all this, Woodrow." They said a few more words neither of them paid attention to.

George Amos materialized at Woodrow's elbow as soon as Tara was gone.

"What's the deal?" he asked.

"She'll settle for a fast psych workup with her guy in on it. Don't book Hamilton, just detain him and wait for Ben Crawford. Soon as she gets a prelim on the examination from our man and Ben, she'll either step away, or I'll have to pet.i.tion."

"Who you going to call this time of night?"

George asked.

"n.o.body. She's this close to surrender; we'll just help her along a little. Tara's left me twisting in the wind on this for weeks. Let's see how she likes it. Anyway, the guy's as sane as you and me. I want a shot at him. I want him to make a mistake."

Woodrow turned to George and put his hand on the other man's shoulder.

"Cut that guy loose.

He's a citizen. We have no reason to hold him.

Apologize to him for me."

George laughed. He chuckled. When the district attorney got with the program, he went all the way.

Tara b.u.t.toned her coat, anxious to tell Ben what had been decided. She wondered if she should call him or just wait until she got home to tell him.

She wondered about Woodrow and how he was going to keep Bill Hamilton where he was. She wondered about Donna, and if she was all right. Tara stepped off the curb, her sights on the Jeep. She wondered if she was going to sleep that night. She wondered why she'd made such an empty threat to Bill Hamilton. Then Tara Limey wondered what in the heck that little white Good & Plenty car was doing parked on a street in the middle of the night, next to the police station where Tara had just been and Bill Hamilton still was.

Slowing her step, Tara finally stopped dead in her tracks. d.a.m.n. Woodrow, double d.a.m.n. He had called Martinez. Well, there'd be a story for the morning edition all right. Only it wouldn't be the one Woodrow would be expecting. She crossed the street and stood by the car.

The windows were fogged and Tara could just make out the shadow of a person in the driver's seat. She headed for the pa.s.senger door, grabbed the handle, and threw it open. Instead of flinging herself inside, Tara saw that two people fogged up those windows with their warm breath and one with a cigarette.

"Charlotte!"

"Tara!" Charlotte's initial surprise pa.s.sed quickly.

She seemed more perturbed at the cold air than Tara's dramatic arrival and pulled her coat closer.

She touched her tarn, the cigarette wedged between two fingers so she wouldn't burn the wool.

"Charlotte, what are you doing in there? With him?" Tara leaned low, trying to see the both of them more clearly.

"I'm talking to a friend, Tara. One who has always been very kind to Woodrow in his professional dealings." She smiled at him.

"But Charlotte, he wrote .. ." The light dawned before she could finish her sentence.

"You're the one who tipped him about the Circle K." Breathless, Tara half laughed.

"Charlotte, do you know what you've done?"

"Yes, of course I do." Charlotte tossed her cigarette past Tara and pulled herself out of the car.

Martinez settled in, happy to wait until the ladies were done, straining to hear whatever he could.

"I don't believe you do." Angered at such stupidity, Tara stuffed her hands in her pockets to keep from flailing her fists.

"You've compromised my position as an attorney. You've angered my client, who isn't someone you want angry. But most importantly, you put Woodrow on the hot seat, Charlotte."

"I know," she said, her voice clipped and tight.

"I was stupid. I gave Martin too much leeway and not enough information. That's changed tonight.

The next article will answer all those questions Woodrow couldn't until now. I believe he has a name and a face to go along with the rest of it."

"Oh Charlotte," Tara moaned.

"Charlotte." Tara looked heavenward. Nothing up there but stars.

"Tara, please," Charlotte said quietly.

"You have to be practical. Woodrow doesn't know anything about this. Now that you know what I'm willing to do, it will be so much easier to resolve all this."

"You're going to have to talk faster than that to convince me Woodrow didn't put you up to this," Tara hissed.

"Tara, you have never given me or Woodrow enough credit. He's more moral than you will ever know, and I am more pragmatic than you can ever imagine." Charlotte stepped into Tara's line of sight, a formidable obstacle to what Tara wanted.

"So put the credit where it's due. This is my game.

Woodrow has enough to worry about."

"But why? After all these years that we've been friends, why would you do this to me?"

Charlotte laughed, obviously amused. She raised her face to the night and was rejuvenated by the cool air.

"Don't be ridiculous, Tara. There are degrees of loyalty and love same as there are degrees of hatred.

My allegiance would always be to you if you were at odds with someone else. But when it came to you and Woodrow?" She shrugged.

"There can't be any choice. My loyalty will always be to my husband. I was home when George called to say your man had been picked up, I called Martin, and it's as simple as that. I'm Woodrow's wife. My job is to support him and help him in every way I can. I don't really expect you to see that as clearly as I do, but that's the way it is."

Aghast, Tara stared at Charlotte Weber, a woman she didn't know anymore. Charlotte took a pack of cigarettes out of her coat pocket. Dipping her head toward the match, she was illuminated for an instant. She looked beautiful in the light, soft and pink-tinged by makeup. But her eyes were hard on Tara when she looked up.

"I admire you to no end, Tara. You've never needed anyone to help you and you've gotten along so beautifully. But now you do need help and there's no one. That's why Woodrow will win. Because he has me and George Amos and a whole lot of others rooting for him."

Tara shook her head, but it wouldn't clear. The world was upside down.

"I have Ben," Tara whispered. Charlotte eyed her.

"I hope so, for your sake, Tara." Charlotte dropped the cigarette, wasting half of it. She moved back to the car and was half in when she said, "I really do hope you have Ben, Tara. It's awful to be alone."

The door closed. Charlotte was seated in the Good & Plenty car with Martin Martinez and Tara was left to wonder if Ben was still with her. She had left him to do her dirty work, and clung to a killer as if he were the most important person in the world. She'd thrown away her best friend for the sake of an oath. She'd allowed her home to be dishonored. It was a circle of misery that she hoped would be broken tonight. She was halfway to the Jeep when she heard: "Ms. Limey, could you tell me why you were in the Albuquerque police station at midnight?"

Tara kept going, ignoring Martin Martinez. Even when Charlotte called after her, trying to coax her back, reminding Tara that the public wouldn't quite see things her way, she didn't turn around.

She got into the Jeep and dialed Ben from the car phone.

"Woodrow is going to arrange for a psych evaluation.

I told him you'd be there. Tonight. Do you mind?" Tara listened, knowing exactly what he'd say before he said it. He was thrilled. He'd run home and get his notes and the records Vera had given them. The end was near. She'd tell him about Charlotte later. Before he hung up she told him she loved him, but the phone was already dead.

Exhausted, hoping Ben would be there when she drove in, but knowing he wouldn't be, Tara headed home.

She walked to the window and looked out. Still dark. Two A.M. This was the sixth*no, seventh-time she'd gotten up from her bed on the couch to look for Ben. She'd called him once. He was still working, pulling together more information.

He threw her a kiss over the wires. It was as distracted a gesture as the conversation had been.

Tara could do nothing but wait. Now Ben was Bill Hamilton's hostage.

At least for another few hours.

She sat down on the couch, started to put her feet up under the blanket, and changed her mind. She wasn't really hungry, but she would eat to pa.s.s the time.

Tara heaved herself off the sofa, trying not to even think the name Charlotte, or let herself wonder what Donna was doing. She schlepped to the kitchen, stopping to run her hand along the dining room table. Spotless. Life had gone along without her. The cleaning lady still came and did her job. Joseph managed his ch.o.r.es and was gone before she got home most days. Carlos had left a message saying he was handling his family problems and would be back soon. Everyone was coping.

With a sigh, Tara rubbed her hands together, snuggled in the old sweater she was wearing, and pushed her hair back. She couldn't wait for a good night's sleep. She needed a vacation. Her stomach grumbled. She needed food, too, and hadn't known it.

Tara opened the refrigerator door. The little light was welcoming. She bent from the waist, pushed aside the mayonnaise, a plate of cold chicken, two cans of soda. Pickles. She opened the vegetable drawer. The lettuce was almost dead, its heart salvageable. She needed some bread. Ten minutes to make a sandwich, another ten to eat it. Cleanup would take at least five. She was almost laughing, wishing away her life in minutes spent doing mundane tasks. In the split second between standing and reaching for the chicken, Tara realized she wasn't alone.

Bill Hamilton was planted in her kitchen, the light from the refrigerator not enough to illuminate him, only give him an otherworldly glow. His hands were by his side, his shoulders squared. He was smiling. Tara's body convulsed with shock and fear, the refrigerator door between them a pitiful shield. The cold wrapped around Tara's ankles and worked its way up her legs. A great paralysis gripped her. Every joint in her body shook, arteries pumped the blood so fast through her body she could hear the rush of it. Her vocal cords constricted and Tara could do nothing but feel the terror. Bill Hamilton reached out and touched her cheek, drawing one warm finger from cheekbone to jaw, lifting up her chin when he came to it.

"Don't bet on it, Tara," he whispered, then whispered again, "Don't bet on it."

Raising his other hand, he grinned wider, and rested his arm atop the refrigerator door to show her what he had. A gun. He pointed it at her chest.

Self-preservation became the order of the moment.

Weak legs became strong, instinct triumphed over reason. Tara slammed the door shut. There was a sucking noise as the seal caught. The clatter of the gun falling to the ground and Bill Hamilton's laugh following her as she sprinted out of the kitchen. In the split second it took for him to take chase, Bill seemed to be truly enjoying himself.

"Come on, Tara. Talk to me. Woodrow told me you wanted him to hold me without chargin' me.

Not nice, Tara." He was coming, so close on her heels that Tara did the only thing she could. She ducked into her office and lay against the wall trying not to breathe hard. She closed her eyes, listened, and was grateful that he still loved the sound of his own voice.