Peter Winters led them forward and introduced them to the rest of the group seated in the living room. Carrie Newcomb, an attractive young woman in her late twenties, was a hairdresser who had moved to L.A. from Phoenix. Leslie Williams was African-American, tall and willowy with intelligent dark eyes and a warm, broad-lipped smile. She worked for Xerox in the sales and marketing division, driving up for the meetings each week from San Diego. Matthew Goldman, a thin, nervous man with a tic, was unemployed; and fiftyish Willis Small was the successful author of a dozen books on gardening.

An interesting mix, Julie thought, people without any apparent connection. The only one there with an obvious disorder was Goldman, the man with the tic, who in less than fifteen minutes proved to be either a fake or a schizophrenic. Julie wasn't sure which, but she was betting on the latter.

"Since the group is open to anyone who wants to come," the doctor said, taking a chair at the head of the circle, "I'd like to open the discussion by turning the meeting over to whomever might have something they wish to say. How about you, Leslie?"

The cocoa-skinned woman smiled. "I'm happy to say it's been a good week for me, since I slept better than I usually do. I'm feeling stronger, less frightened since I've been coming here. I want you all to know how much I appreciate being a part of this group."

Dr. Winters smiled. "Thank you, Leslie. We're glad to have you with us. Anyone else?" He turned to Robert Stringer. "Since we have a newcomer with us tonight, perhaps you wouldn't mind, Robert, repeating for us the story of your abduction."

Julie didn't know why Robert Stringer had been singled out until she saw the way his story began to affect the others. Where all but Goldman had appeared calm before, now they had all begun to fidget in their seats. Perhaps for most of them, repeating the tale was like reliving it. The occurrence was just too traumatic.

"As most of you know, I was working in Denver at the time it happened...my first encounter with the Visitors. My oldest son, Tommy, loved to fish, so for the weekend, the two of us had traveled up to a small mountain lake near Crested b.u.t.te. It was such a pleasant summer day we had taken the top off the Jeep. It was nearly dusk when it happened. We had already caught our limit and were heading back to camp when we heard an odd sort of buzzing. It wasn't like anything either of us had ever heard before. It was rather unsettling, irritating you might say. It was sort of thick and heavy, and at first we couldn't decide where it was coming from."

An p.r.i.c.kle of uneasiness ran along Julie's nerves. She had heard a sound like that the day they were at the beach.

Robert Stringer shifted a little in his chair. "I pulled off the road when we realized it was coming from directly above us. The object we saw was disk-shaped, made of highly polished silver. It looked ma.s.sive, hovering right over our heads. Both of us just sat there, staring at the object in awe. I remember little Tommy reaching out to grasp my hand."

Leslie Williams started crying.

A chill raced down Julie's spine.

"What happened then, Robert?" Dr. Winters gently prodded.

"That's the last I recall until I woke up on the ship."

"And once you were there?"

"They stripped off my clothes. I remember trying to fight them, but I couldn't move. I remember looking frantically for my son. I never saw him, but somehow I knew he was there." Robert Stringer's throat moved up and down, but no sound came out. With obvious effort, he dragged himself under control "Can you go on, Robert?"

He nodded, rubbed his palms on the sides of his pants. "They placed me on a cold metal table and bathed me in something...it was slimy and I remember it smelled a little like cheddar cheese. It was wet and colorless and it made me start to shiver. I was lying flat on my back. They lowered some sort of machine over my head and attached it to my forehead with what looked like some type of electrodes. It was reading something, my thoughts I think. It was learning everything about me. When they were finished, they inserted a metal probe down my throat and another into my r.e.c.t.u.m. They forced me to climax then took a s.e.m.e.n sample. I remember I cried. I couldn't stand having them touch me."

Julie swallowed against the dryness in her throat. Her hands were shaking. She glanced worriedly over at Laura, saw tears spilling onto her sister's cheeks. She wanted to go to her, comfort her, but she had to see this through. Julie bit down on her lip and forced herself not to move.

"What did they look like?" the doctor asked softly.

"There were several different types. Most of them were little, less than four feet tall. They had big heads and large dark eyes, and they were dressed exactly alike. At the time I remember thinking they were soldiers." He moved restlessly now, crossing his legs, then straightening them out in front of him. "There were others there, too. Taller, thinner. They were the ones giving the orders, though I wasn't able to hear them."

"I could," one of the others said softly, her voice scratchy and low. Julie turned to see Carrie Newcomb leaning forward in her chair. "Their mouths didn't move, but I could hear them speaking, telling me not to be afraid."

"They were devils," Goldman snorted, "with pointed ears and long spiked tails. They've consigned us to h.e.l.l and they're going to make sure we get there."

"We all know your opinion, Matt," the doctor said firmly. "Why don't we let Robert finish?"

Goldman sat back in his chair. It was obvious the others wished he wasn't there.

"I don't remember much more about that particular time," Robert continued. "When I woke up I was back in my car and it was almost morning. My son was asleep in the pa.s.senger seat. He doesn't remember anything that happened to us, and I hope he never does."

"How...how can you be certain he was taken?" Julie asked.

Robert Stringer leaned forward. He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. "Do you see this?"

"Yes. It looks like a tiny isosceles triangle."

"When I awakened that morning, this mark was on my forearm. My son has one just like it on his."

Laura made a strangled sound in her throat. Julie turned in her direction in time to see her unb.u.t.toning the cuff on her blouse. When she turned it back, Julie saw the small triangle. Oh, dear G.o.d. A knot clenched in Julie's stomach. Laura's face was as pale as Dr. Winters's white shirt.

"Laura?" Julie stood up, her mouth dry, her chest so tight she could barely speak. She started in her sister's direction, but before she could reach her, Laura's eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped sideways on the sofa.

"d.a.m.n it!" The oath roared out from the end of the room. The sliding door slammed open and Brian Heraldson strode in, his face as dark as thunder. Obviously he had been listening. "I was afraid something like this would happen."

Peter Winters gripped his arm, stopping him before he reached the couch. "Were you also afraid your patient's fears might actually be real?" He pointed to the tiny mark on Laura's arm, holding Brian's gaze for long disturbing moments, until Laura's soft moan broke the silence.

Brian tore himself away. "Laura?" He sat down beside her on the sofa. "Just take it easy. It's Dr. Heraldson." The bearded doctor rested a hand on her forehead and Laura's eyes fluttered open.

"Brian?" She sat up on the sofa a little too fast and swayed against him. "Oh, Brian, I'm so glad you're here."

He cleared his throat, looking a little uncomfortable at her familiarity. "Yes, well, after I arranged for you to come, I decided that maybe I should be here. I spoke to Dr. Winters about it. I never meant to actually come in, but..."

"I'm glad you did."

Julie watched her sister with a mixture of pity and concern, her insides leaden. Had Laura really experienced the terror of being abducted, the awful invasions of the mind and body Robert Stringer had described? Though her sister had never met the man before, their accounts were amazingly similar. Still, if Laura was a victim of abduction, where had Julie been during the time her sister was taken?

She glanced down at her forearm. No triangular shape marked her skin. Surely if she had been there on the beach or in the house when the abduction occurred, as Laura's memory suggested, surely they would share some common recollections of the incident. But Julie remembered nothing.

"If you were listening," Julie said to Dr. Heraldson, "then I presume you heard Mr. Stringer describe his abduction experience. Obviously it's very similar to what Laura has told us."

The doctor nodded grimly. "Having read other such accounts, I thought perhaps it would be. On the surface the evidence for abduction looks convincing, but you have to understand there are other possible explanations."

"Such as?" Julie asked.

"Shared hallucination, for one. All of the supposed victims might be sharing an imagined event-rather like two people having the same dream. In centuries past, people hallucinated fairies and malevolent angels who took these same sorts of liberties with their bodies. Today we see movies about aliens and UFOs and hallucinate s.p.a.cemen. Or it might be caused by a medical problem."

"A medical problem? What sort of medical problem?"

"It's called temporal lobe disorder."

"What's that?" Laura asked.

Dr. Winters answered. "There are a number of diseases of the mind that can lead to hallucination. Temporal lobe epilepsy, as it is also called, is only one of them. It is often blamed for psychic and religious experiences, feelings of deja vu, anxiety and panic attacks. Visions that occur because of this disorder can be extremely vivid, containing even sounds and smells."

He turned a hard smile on Brian Heraldson. "Of our group, only Willis Small has been tested for this disorder. He does not have it. What Dr. Heraldson might not be aware of is that most of the people who have reported the abduction experience and been tested for temporal lobe disorder have also been found to be free of the disease."

Brian eyed him coldly. "Schizophrenia as well as paranoia are also a.s.sociated with hallucinations," he said defensively.

"True. And no doubt there are those to which that diagnosis would apply." The smaller man's glance strayed to Matthew Goldman, the nervous man with the tic. "But the majority do not."

Julie shifted her attention to Dr. Heraldson. "What about the triangle on Robert Stringer's arm?"

"As I told you, the mind and body often act as one. The former influencing the latter to a degree that is often difficult to believe."

"You're saying her mind made the mark appear."

He simply nodded.

"Or it's possible these people are telling the truth," Peter Winters said.

Heraldson didn't answer. He glanced from Julie to Laura, who still leaned against him. "Whatever the case, I think Laura's had enough for the moment. Perhaps it's time she went home." There was tenderness and concern in his expression, and perhaps something more. Dr. Heraldson was Laura's psychiatrist. Julie frowned at the implications.

He helped Laura up from the sofa, then returned his attention to Julie. "I know what you're thinking. I want you to know I've disqualified myself as Laura's therapist from here on out. I don't believe I can remain as objective as I should be."

Julie relaxed a little at that, grateful for the doctor's professionalism. Heraldson helped Laura to her feet, then together with Julie they walked toward the door.

Carrie Newcomb stopped them in the entry. "It's always worse in the beginning," she said to Laura, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "The fear never really goes away, but after a while you begin to accept it. Things get better after that. And Dr. Winters is terrific. He's always there to help when you need him."

"That's right, Laura," Winters said, coming up to join them. "Talking about it can be very therapeutic. I hope we'll see you here next week."

"We'll have to see about that," Brian said coolly, and Laura's head came up.

She focused on Peter Winters. "I'll be here, Dr. Winters-you can count on it."

"Laura-" Brian started, but the smile she flashed in his direction seemed to cut off his next words. "We can talk about it later," he said gruffly. "In the meantime, I'll drive you home...that is, if it's all right with you."

Laura looked at Julie, then back to the tall bearded man. "I'd like that, Dr. Heraldson."

"Brian," he corrected. "I'm not your doctor anymore. From now on we're just friends."

Laura smiled softly. Her cheeks still held a trace of her earlier tears, but some of the color had returned to her face.

Julie squeezed her sister's hand. "Call me if you need anything." She watched the two of them walk away, worried about Laura yet grateful her sister had a friend like Brian Heraldson to lean on.

Then another man's image came to mind, taller, darker, more sensually handsome. She wondered what Patrick Donovan would have thought about the events of the evening. His opinion might have mattered if things had worked out differently between them.

After his icy rejection, she told herself she didn't really care.

Walking over to the built-in bar in Patrick's office, Val reached for a crystal decanter of scotch. "Still a Chivas drinker?" he asked the tall, statuesque woman in black who had just walked into the room. Onyx hair framed a beautiful oval face, a cloud of black that set off her pale, nearly flawless complexion.

Felicia Salazar smiled, lifting a small heart-shaped round mole near the corner of her mouth. "You always did have a good memory...at least for the important things in life."

He felt a trace of amus.e.m.e.nt, appreciating another of Patrick's many talents. "On occasion it's a handy thing to have."

She walked up behind him, rested a long-fingered hand on his shoulder. "What else do you remember, Patrick?" She brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his navy blue sport coat. "The night we made love on the terrace of our room in Puerta Vallarta? We drank champagne that night, do you recall? You poured it onto my b.r.e.a.s.t.s then licked it off while we sat on the edge of the pool. G.o.d, you were so romantic."

She bent forward till her breath feathered over his ear. "Or perhaps you remember something a little more erotic...like that time in Century City when you pushed the elevator stop b.u.t.ton between the eight and ninth floors of Daddy's new office building. The walls of the elevator were mirrored, do you remember? We could watch each other while we did it. I remember how hard you were, how you forced me into the corner and shoved up my skirt. You buried yourself so deep I came almost instantly. You do recall that...don't you, Patrick?"

He swallowed, his hands a little unsteady. He remembered, all right. The erotic images had him hard again, just thinking about what they had done.

Her smile turned more exotic, her thick-lashed eyes going dark. She reached down and cupped his groin. "Yes...I can see you do." She bent forward and kissed him, stuck her tongue inside his mouth.

Val kissed her back, enjoying the hot sensations washing through him, opening himself up to them. Felicia Salazar had just returned to the States from Brazil, where she had been living with her third husband. They were separated, she said. She was lonely. She was looking to Patrick for company.

He deepened the kiss, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her against his groin. He cupped her b.u.t.tocks, ma.s.saged the firm globes through her short black skirt. It occurred to him that although his body was aroused, he was far more in control than he had been with Julie.

Felicia slowly ended the kiss. "I'm sure your couch would suffice, darling, but I've an appointment at one, and I'm too greedy to settle for just a few minutes. My limo will pick you up at eight. We'll go somewhere special for dinner then go back to my suite at the Penn. We can f.u.c.k like rabbits all night, then have breakfast together in the morning." She kissed him again. "No strings. No expectations. It'll be just like old times."

Val's dark eyebrows drew together. It was Julie he wanted, not Felicia. He was even more determined to have her, but if they did make love, he couldn't afford to make another mistake. Even though he could relive Patrick's experiences through his memory any time he wanted, it wasn't the same as having actually done it. He wanted desperately to do things right this time and there was only one way to insure that.

He smiled. "All right. Sounds like the perfect evening."

Felicia ran a long red nail down his cheek. "It will be, darling, I promise."

She left him then and watching her walk away, he pondered his decision. He felt uneasy about it. Something didn't feel right. Still, it seemed the sensible thing to do, the most logical way to achieve his final objective.

He had a couple of phone calls to make. When he was finished, he left his office and headed toward the receptionist's desk up at the front.

"What time did Julie say she'd be in?" he asked Shirl Bingham.

"Actually, she didn't say. She said she had appointments all day. She called in a couple of times for her messages, but I didn't get the impression she was going to actually come in." Behind him the front door swung open, ringing the bell on the top. "Babs just walked in. You might try asking her."

He turned in her direction. She was dressed impeccably in wide-legged lemon-yellow pants and a black-and-yellow top.

"Hi, stranger," he said. "How was Mexico?" She'd gone to Acapulco for three days with her latest flame, a polo player named Renaldo de la Garza.

"Hot." She rolled her pale blue eyes. "I must have been out of my mind to go down there this time of year. All we did was drink Margaritas and vegetate in the pool."

"Sounds like real tough duty."

She grinned. "Yeah, well, somebody's got to do it."

Val smiled. "You wouldn't happen to know where I might find Julie?"

"Not right now, I'm afraid. I talked to her though. She said she'd be working late. Maybe you can catch her tonight at home."

Not tonight, he thought, he planned to get laid-to coin a phrase from Patrick's vernacular. Then again, perhaps it was better this way, to wait to straighten things out between them when his night with Felicia was over. "If you happen to see her, tell her I need to talk to her, will you? Tell her I'll be in my office all day tomorrow."

"Will do." One of Bab's sleek dark eyebrows arched up. "By the way, I saw your ex-girlfriend out in the parking lot. She says she's back on the loose."

"So I gather," Val said.

"I guess we both know what that means."

"Do we?"

"Sure. It means wild nights and partying. It means the old Patrick is on his way back in."

"I told you, I'm through with alcohol and drugs."

She fixed him with a cold-eyed stare. "Try to remember that, will you, Patrick? You've really been a nice guy lately. Even Fred's starting to like you. Don't screw things up."