Reprisal

TWENTY-ONE

Everett Sanders sat alone in his office and chewed his twentieth white grape. He hadn't been able to find any decent peaches yesterday, so he'd settled for the grapes. He folded the Ziploc bag he'd brought them in and slipped it back into his brown paper lunch bag. He stashed the bag in his briefcase.

There. Lunch was done. Time for cigarette number six. He lit up and reached for his novel of the week: The Scarlatti Inheritance by Robert Ludlum. He was enjoying it immensely; so much so that he had read well past yesterday's quota of pages last night. He pulled the little notebook from his breast pocket. Yes, there it was. Last night's entry. He had actually completed today's quota before he'd finally turned in.

Which left Ev in something of a quandary. Any more reading during his lunch break today would put him further ahead, opening the possibility of having nothing to read on Saturday. Of course he could ahvays start next week's book—usually first opened on Sunday afternoon—on Saturday, but that would move everything out of sequence for the coming week and he might be faced with an even worse problem next weekend.

A domino dilemma. Perhaps a book of short stories might solve the problem… he could sample a few as needed and then—

No. It was novels he liked and novels he would read.

Why not skip reading altogether today? It was Wednesday, after all, and he did have the meeting tonight. If he stayed a little later he could come home and go directly to bed at his usual hour of 11:30, immediately after the late news. All he had to do now was find a way to kill the lunch-hour time and he'd be almost home free.

But he had no backup plan for this lunch hour. That meant free time. Ev didn't like free time. It wasn't good for him. He knew from past experience that if he allowed his thoughts to roam free too long, they would roam the wrong way.

He was tempted to turn on his terminal and work on his paper for Palo Alto, but he had allotted time elsewhere in the day for that. He couldn't do that now.

Ev began to feel the first twinges of anxiety.

He went to the window and looked out to where Lisl used to take her lunch. He hadn't seen her with the groundskeeper lately. Maybe it was too cool these days for lunch al fresco.

As he smoked his cigarette and stared out at the deserted knoll, he began to experience another reason for avoiding unoccupied time: loneliness. A cluttered day left no time to ponder the emptiness of his existence.

And it is empty, isn't it?

He sighed as he exhaled the last of his cigarette. But that was how it had to be, at least for the time being. Perhaps in a few years, if he found the right someone, someone who could understand and accept him, he might be ready to make another commitment. He'd be past forty-five then. Kind of late in life to be thinking of marriage again. But other people did it all the time, so why couldn't he?

Perhaps because his first marriage had been so painful. Poor, long-suffering Diane—what he had put her through. She'd hung on longer than anyone had a right to expect while their marriage had died a lingering death, all because of him. Someday he might have the courage to try again and get it right the second time, but such a thing was impossible now. He still loved Diane.

He lit cigarette number seven and strolled into the hall. He had a sudden craving for human company but did not expect to find it in the department at lunch hour. Most of the faculty retreated to the lounge where they could eat in peace without interruption from students with questions and problems. Still, it was worth a look.

He pulled up short as he passed Lisl's office. The door was open and someone was in there. He backed up a step. Lisl, working away at her terminal. Industry. He liked that, especially in a woman. He hesitated, then knocked on her door frame.

"Working hard?" he said.

Lisl turned with a startled expression, then she smiled. She had a wonderful smile.

"Ev! How are you? What's up?"

"Nothing. Just wandering the halls, looking for someone to talk to. But if I'm disturbing you—"

"Don't be silly. Come in, come in. Let me exit this"—she pressed a couple of keys and her terminal beeped—"and we'll talk."

She rose from her terminal and approached her desk, motioning him to one of the chairs. She'd lost more weight and was very trim now. Absolutely smashing in her snug sweater and knee-length skirt. Not at all what one would expect in a mathematics professor. That gave Ev a twinge of concern. Lisl's level of attractiveness bordered on the unprofessional. A student might find it very difficult to concentrate on her words when she was parading before the class. He wondered if he should mention it to her… purely as a friend. Then again, maybe he should mind his own business.

"So," he said as he sat down, "working on your paper?"

"Yes. It's coming along pretty well. How about yours?"

"Oh, I'm bogged down on some of the calculations, but I think it's all going to work out in the end."

He wondered what her topic was but knew it wouldn't be proper to ask. He was sure she'd have a good paper, but he was also sure his would be better. He was very excited about it.

Silence hung between them.

"So," she said finally, "what have you been up to lately besides your paper? Anything exciting?"

He had to laugh. Exciting? Me? Excitement implied spontaneity, and for Ev spontaneity meant trouble. He had painstakingly arranged his life to eliminate the unexpected, structured his days so that each one followed a predictable pattern, so that every Tuesday was just like every other Tuesday. Excitement? There was no room in his life for excitement. He had carefully seen to that.

"Well, I'm reading a rather exciting novel at the moment—an oldie but'a goodie, you might say. It's—"

"Excuse me," said a voice behind him. "Am I interrupting something?"

Ev turned and saw that Losmara fellow Lisl had been keeping company with. He wondered what she saw in him. He was not at all the sort Ev would have matched with Lisa. Too delicate. Lisa seemed the type who'd be more at home with a beefier male, one with more physical presence. But none of this was any real concern of his. Over the years he'd learned to mind his own business.

"Hi, Rafe," Lisl said. "You remember Dr. Sanders?"

"Of course," Losmara said, stepping forward and extending his hand. "I've been auditing a few of your lectures."

"Have you now?" Ev said, rising and shaking hands. "I don't remember seeing you there."

The young man smiled. "I usually take a seat in a back row. I'm there just to listen, to keep a honed edge on my math. You can't let your math get rusty in my end of psych."

Ev felt his attitude toward Losmara warming. Maybe there was more to him than he'd thought, some real depth behind that dandified, rich-kid appearance.

"I hope they're useful."

"They're telling me what I want to know."

Ev saw a look pass between Lisl and Losmara and realized he was a fifth wheel here.

"Well, I've got some odds and ends to clear up in my office. Nice talking to you, Lisl. And good luck to you, Mr. Losmara."

They shook hands again and Ev left the two lovers alone. He still didn't approve of faculty-student affairs, even when there was no academic relationship, but he had to admit that Rafe Losmara's attitude toward learning indicated that he had the makings of a fine scholar.

"You're auditing Ev's lectures?" Lisl said after she'd closed her office door.

Rafe smiled. "Know thine enemy."

"Ev's not an enemy."

"You wouldn't think someone as prissy and ineffective as he could pose a threat, but don't be surprised when he gets tenure and you're left out in the cold."

"He won't if my paper's as good as I think it is—as you say it is."

"The relative quality of your papers is irrelevant. In the end the only thing that will matter is sex."

"Sex?"

"Yes. He's a male. You're a female. He'll get the post because of his ' Y' chromosome, because of what hangs between his legs."

"Bull, Rafe."

He'd alluded to this before but Lisl refused to buy it. Still wouldn't.

Rafe shrugged. "Suit yourself. Stick your head in the sand and hope for the best. That's the way Primes always get cheated out of what they deserve—they let the leeches snatch it from under their noses."

"Ev's not a leech. He's one of us."

"Ev?" He barked a laugh. "Everett Sanders? A Prime? You've got to be kidding!"

"He's got a brilliant mind, Rafe. One of the cleverest mathematicians I've ever met. He stands alone, he doesn't need the approval of the crowd—an island if there ever was one. All the things you say distinguish a Prime."

"He's a nonentity, a misfit, little more than an actor," Rafe said. His voice dripped with scorn. "He plays at being a whiz but he's nothing more than an accomplished poseur."

When Rafe got like this—sniping at her opinions, goading her—she could almost hate him.

"You're not qualified to judge his work!" Lisl snapped.

The remark had the desired effect. Rafe turned to her with raised eyebrows, a smile playing about his lips.

"But I'm not judging his work, Lisl. I'm judging the man. I say he's one of them, and with a little help from you, I can prove it."

Lisl took a deep breath. She was almost afraid to hear this.

"What sort of help?"

"His keys. Get me his keys for half an hour and I'll have what I need."

"How can I—?"

"Make up a story. You lost your key to the front door of the building or something. Charm him, but get those keys."

"And what are you going to do with them?"

"Never mind." His half smile broadened into a grin. "You'll know soon enough. Do you accept the challenge?"

Without replying, Lisl walked past him, through the door, and down the hall. She knocked on Ev's open door.

"Ev?" she said as he looked up from his desk. "I left my storeroom key home. Can I borrow yours?"

"Of course, Lisl."

He went to his suit coat that was neatly hung on a hanger behind the door, reached into a side pocket, and produced a jangle of keys. He picked out one and held it up for her as he handed her the entire ring.

"This one's for the storeroom," he said.

"I'll get these right back to you," she said.

"No hurry, Lisl," he said with a smile. "I trust you."

Damn, she thought as she thanked him. Why'd you have to say that?

Lisl's pace was slower as she headed back to her office. She had a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, a sudden urge to run back and wrap the key ring in Ev's bony fingers and tell him never, never, never to let her get near them again. But she couldn't give into that sort of groundless feeling. What would Rafe think?

There were times—and this was one of them—when she wondered if she let what Rafe thought matter too much to her. But she couldn't help it. It did matter. Rafe mattered. And she was so afraid he would find her out, afraid she'd do something to give herself away. Because she was convinced she wasn't really a Prime. Sure, Rafe called her one and didn't seem to have any doubts about it, but Lisl was riddled with them. She felt like a fake. She'd read where a lot of accomplished people—neu-rosurgeons, judges, statesmen—felt the same way… felt deep inside that their lives were shams, that their success had been a combination of luck and cleverness and that they were nothing at all like the brilliant individuals people perceived them to be, that they lived in fear of the misstep that would reveal their true nothing selves.

Lisl had experienced vaguely similar feelings all through college and her post-graduate training. The work had been a breeze, her professors had told her time and again what a brilliant mind she had as they'd raved about her papers, yet deep inside she'd never believed them. Rafe, she was sure, would lay the blame for all her insecurities on the way her parents had treated her, but finger pointing wouldn't help Lisl get past the idea that all her academic accomplishments were nothing more than a bubble that one day would burst and allow the world to see the naked, frightened, inadequate little girl inside.

Lisl was sure Brian had peeked inside the bubble. That had to be why he'd left her. She wasn't going to let Rafe find out. She'd go on acting like one of his Primes as long as she could get away with it. It was mostly an attitude, of dividing up the world into people who mattered and people who didn't, the few worth knowing and the great many not worth thinking about. She'd been practicing. It didn't come naturally but she was getting the hang of it. And maybe if she acted like a Prime long enough, she'd actually become one.

So she'd let Rafe have the keys, but she wasn't going to let him pull any of his tricks on Ev. Ev was too nice a man.

She returned to her office and dropped the key ring in his outstretched palm.

"Here they are," she said. "But I hope you're not planning any nastiness."

Rafe shrugged. "Dirty tricks? They're fun, but we've pulled enough of them on Brian during the last month to carry us the rest of the year, don't you think?"

Lisl had to smile. Yes, they had indeed. They'd purchased subscriptions to The Advocate and other homosexual publications for his office waiting room; Rafe had applied for membership in NAMBLA—the North American Man-Boy Love Association—in Brian's name; and on a couple of occasions they'd sat in his waiting room and slipped samples of hardcore gay pornography between the pages of People and Time and Good Housekeeping. Dr. Brian Callahan's sexual orientation was now seriously in question among his peers at the medical center.

The piece de resistance had been the sign they had taped to the passenger side of Brian's black Porsche one night shortly before he'd driven it home from the hospital. In fluorescent orange letters on black paper it had read: BACK OFF! THIS CAR KILLS NIGGERS

WHO TOUCH IT!

It had been dark in the parking lot and Brian had approached on the driver side. He had no inkling of the sign's existence until he pulled to a stop at a light in the downtown black section and a group of infuriated youths attacked the car. Lisl and Rafe had been following a few car lengths behind. They watched the kids pound on his windows, break off his radio and car phone antennae, and kick dents in his doors and fenders. Lisl was shocked when she caught herself avidly hoping they'd get a door open and vent some of their rage on Brian himself. The idea that she could hunger for something like that sickened her. Everyone had a dark side, but hers seemed so close to the surface now. That worried her.

But Brian roared away before they could touch him. Before he got away, the kids tore off the sign and shredded it, so no doubt he still was baffled as to what had precipitated the attack on his car.

But she'd/noticed him taking a longer, more circuitous route home these days.

"They seem kind of childish now," Lisl said, worrying anew about the darkness she had discovered within herself.

"That's because they've served their purpose. They taught you that he does not have all the power, that you actually have power over him. You can make his life miserable when you choose and you can leave him alone when you choose. When you choose—that's the lesson. And now that you've learned it we can move on to other things, leaving Dr. Callahan lying awake at nights wondering who, wondering why, wondering what next?"

"I don't want to leave Ev like that."

"Don't worry. We're just going to do a little snooping on Professor Sanders. That's all. See what makes him tick."

"Nothing more. You promise?"

"I won't need anything more to prove to you that he's a phony."

"You're wrong this time, Rafe. I think Ev is one of those people where what you see is what you get."

"There is no such person," Rafe snapped. "And I'll prove it to you tonight when we search his apartment."

Lisl's stomach lurched. Wasn't that breaking and entering? And wasn't that going just a bit too far? But she couldn't back down. Not now. She couldn't surrender to Rafe's theory about Ev. Because she knew he was wrong.

"We can't do that. Not—not while he's there."

"He won't be," Rafe said. "It's Wednesday night. He goes out every Wednesday night."

"He does?" She had difficulty imagining Ev going out at all. "Where?"

"I don't know. Maybe we'll follow him sometime. But tonight we'll take advantage of his unfailing routine and check out his digs, see what makes him tick."

"Is this fair, Rafe?"

He laughed. "Fair? What's fair got to do with it? This is a leech posing as a Prime! We've got to set things right."

"Why do we have to—"

"In fact," Rafe went on, beginning to move about the office, slashing the air with his hand, "I've got a feeling Dr. Everett Sanders is a fag."

"Knock it off, Rafe."

"No. I'm serious. I mean, consider his name—Ev. What normal man lets himself be called £V? It's effeminate. And he's such a priss, so neat and particular. Like a maiden aunt. And have you ever seen him with a woman?"

"No. But I've never seen him with a man, either. Maybe he's just asexual."

"Maybe. But he's hiding something. You can count on that. Have you seen his CV?"

"No. Why would I—?"

"There's ten years missing. He graduated cum laude from Emory, worked for a few years, then entered the masters pro-gram at Duke, went on for his doctorate, then came here to Darnell."

"What's wrong with that? Lots of people work in the real world before going on for postgraduate degrees."

"Right. But there's a ten-year blank spot in his curriculum vitae."

"Ten years?"

Rafe nodded and placed his hands on her shoulders, his fingers brushing the base of her neck, raising delicious gooseflesh along her arms.

"Like he dropped off the face of the earth. He's not telling anybody what he did with those years, which means he's hiding something. And we're going to find out what it is."

He began to knead the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders, magically relaxing them. She closed her eyes and reveled in the soothing sensations. As always, Rafe's touch caused her doubts to dwindle, her fears to fade. Nothing mattered more than keeping him by her side. As she listened to Rafe's soft voice, she found herself falling in line with his way of thinking. Her interest was piqued now.

What was Ev hiding?

Everett Sanders, Ph. D., where the fuck are you?

Renny sat and smoked a cigarette on the stoop outside the apartment house. Waiting. He'd been waiting here most of the day. This guy Sanders had to show up sooner or later. He hoped for sooner.

He was almost out of names. And just about out of hope. He'd checked out all but two of the people on Lisl Whitman's guest list. If he didn't hit pay dirt with this one or the final one, he'd be forced to write this whole trip off as a complete bust. No way. Too much time and money and goodwill back at Midtown North down the tubes for that. He needed to score here.

More than just a score—he needed to strike it rich. He needed Everett Sanders, Ph.D., aka Father William Ryan, S.J., to walk up the steps-, head bowed, lost in thought. Renny would recognize him in an instant and say, "Hey, Father Bill. How's Danny doing?" Then he'd land a right hook and knock him back to the sidewalk. And extradition be damned, he'd haul him back to Queens for arraignment.

A dream. A pipe dream.

As he was scuffing his latest cigarette butt into oblivion on the stone stoop, a bony guy in a tan raincoat started up the steps. At first glance he looked older, but close up Renny pegged him as somewhere in his mid-forties. This sallow, bifocaled ghost wasn't Ryan, that was for sure. And hopefully he wasn't Sanders, either. Because if he was, that left only one more name to check.

"Excuse me," Renny said, reaching for his badge. He'd been using his NYPD shield but not giving anyone a good enough look at it to realize that it had been issued a long way from North Carolina.

The man stopped abruptly and stared at him.

"Yes?" His voice was cool, dry—like the desert at night.

"Would you be Professor Sanders?" Please say no.

"Why, yes. Who are you?"

Damn! "I'm Detective Sergeant Augustino with the State Police"—a quick flash of his medal in midsentence—"and I'm investigating an incident at Dr. Lisl Whitman's party last month."

"Party? Incident?" The man's expression was genuinely confused for a moment, then it cleared. "Oh, you mean the Christmas party. Why would you be investigating her party?"

"There was a sort of obscene phone call and—"

"Oh, yes. I remember her mentioning that. It seemed to have upset her terribly. But I'm sorry—I can't help you."

Renny put on a smile. "You may be able to help more than you know. You see, lots of times—"

"I wasn't there, Sergeant."

Automatically, Renny looked down at the slip of paper in his hand.

"But your name's on the list."

"I was invited but I didn't go. I don't go to parties."

Renny gave Dr. Sanders's prim, fastidious exterior another quick up-and-down.

No, I guess you don't.

"Well then, maybe you can help this way." He pulled the Father Ryan photo from his inner pocket and held it out to Sanders. "Ever seen this guy before? Anywhere?"

Sanders started to shake his head, then stopped. He took the picture from Renny and stared at it, cocking his head this way and that.

"Strange…"

Renny felt his heart pick up its tempo.

"Strange? What's strange? You've seen him?"

"I'm not sure. He looks vaguely familiar but I can't quite place him."

"Try."

He glanced at Renny through the upper half of his glasses.

"I'm doing just that, I assure you."

"Sorry." Twit.

Finally Sanders shook his head and handed the picture back.

"No. It won't come. I'm quite sure I've seen him somewhere but just when and just where I can't say."

Renny bit down on his impatience and pushed the picture back at him.

"Take your time. Take another look."

"I've looked quite enough, thank you. Never fear. I never forget a face. It will come to me. Give me your number and I'll call you when it does."

Out of habit, Renny reached for his wallet where he kept a supply of cards—New York City cards. He diverted his hand to his breast pocket for his pen and notebook.

"I'm right here in town for the moment." He wrote down the number of the motel where he was staying. "If I'm not in, leave your number and I'll get back to you."

"Very well." He took the slip of notepaper and started up the steps toward the front door.

"Sure you don't want to take another look?"

"I've committed it to memory. I'll be in touch. Good day, Sergeant."

"Good day, Professor Sanders."

What a tight-ass.

But Renny didn't care if Sanders farted in C above high C, as long as he remembered the guy who reminded him of Father Ryan.

There was a new lightness to his step as he hopped down to the sidewalk and headed for the last name on his list—Professor Calvin Rogers. Too old, apparently, to be Ryan. A wasted trip, probably, but Renny wasn't leaving anything to chance. After all, look what a five-minute conversation with this Professor Sanders had turned up.

Yeah. Renny had a gut feeling Sanders was going to turn this trip around..«

"I don't believe we're doing this," Lisl said in a low voice as she followed Rafe into the vestibule of Ev's apartment building.

"Nothing to it," he said, and handed her a shiny new key, fresh cut from Ev's own this afternoon.

Reluctantly she took it. She had the jitters.

"I don't like this, Rafe."

"It's not as if we're going to steal anything. We're just going to look around. So let's get going. The sooner we get in there, the sooner we'll be out."

Unable to argue with the logic of that, and wanting very much to have this over and done with, Lisl unlocked the vestibule door. With Rafe in the lead, half dragging her up the narrow stairs, they climbed to the third floor. Outside apartment 3B, Rafe handed her another key. Her fingers were slippery with perspiration now.

"What if he's in there?"

"Put your ear to the door," Rafe said.

Lisl did. "The phone's ringing."

Rafe nodded, smiling. "Remember that call I made before we left?"

"When you left the phone off the hook?"

"Right. This is the number I called. There was no answer then, and if it's still ringing, it means he hasn't come back while we were in transit."

Wondering at the deviousness of Rafe's mind, Lisl checked the hall to make sure no one was watching, then unlocked Ev's apartment door and hurried inside. When the door was closed behind them, she allowed herself to relax—just a little.

Rafe found the light switch, then the phone; he lifted the receiver long enough to stop the ring, then replaced it.

Silence.

"Now," he said. "Where do we begin?"

Lisl looked around. Her immediate impression was that nobody lived here. The only personal item was the computer terminal, a duplicate of hers, with a dedicated line to Darnell's Cray II. Remove that and the apartment was like a hotel room after the cleaning crew had passed through—freshly spruced up and waiting for someone to rent it. It wasn't decorated like a hotel room, not with this motley collection of furniture, but it had that just-cleaned, everything-in-its-place look and feel. She wondered idly if there was a paper ribbon across the toilet seat.

"Let's get out of here," she said.

"We just got here." He strolled from the front living room to the study at the rear, into the bedroom, and back again. "The man lives like a monk—a neatnik monk with vows of cleanliness and orderliness."

"Nothing un-Prime about that," Lisl said.

"Yes, there is. It shows an obsessive-compulsive personality. A Prime would be able to overcome it."

"Maybe he's a damaged Prime, like me."

Rafe gave her a long look. "Maybe. But I'll reserve judgment until after we've made our search."

"All right, but let's hurry. I don't want him coming back and finding us here."

"He won't. But be careful to put everything back just the way you found it. And let me know when you come across anything that looks like a bank book. We both have a pretty good idea what Darnell is paying him and we know he can live better than this. Where's his money going?" His grin became wolfish. "Maybe somebody's blackmailing him."

Lisl opened the refrigerator. It was pitiful inside. Nonfat yogurt, orange juice, fruit, corn oil margarine, some lettuce, a red pepper, and some low-fat Swiss cheese.

Rafe glanced in over her shoulder.

"He eats like you do."

"Maybe he's a health nut—or he's got a cholesterol problem."

But Rafe had already wandered over to Ev's computer terminal.

"My, my," he said, flipping through a notebook on the desk. "Here are all his access codes for his files in memory. Dear Ev believes in security."

They began going through the drawers. There weren't many in the apartment, so it wasn't long before Rafe came across Ev's financial records. He shook his head and whistled as he paged through them.

"Rent, utilities, and food… rent, utilities, and food… that's all he uses his money for. The rest is all in CDs and zero-coupon bonds in IRAs and Keoghs. He's loaded."

Lisl couldn't repress a smile of satisfaction.

"There. I told you. He's a Prime. He'll be able to retire in another ten years."

"We're missing something," Rafe said.

"Like what?" She was getting annoyed now. "What could we be missing? There are no drugs or alcohol here, not so much as a bottle of sherry, no gay magazines, no child porn, no notes from a blackmailer. Give it up, Rafe. The man's clean. And he's a Prime."

"We still don't know where he is tonight, or every other Wednesday night for that matter. Once we know that, I'll rest my case… or bow to yours."

"How are we supposed to find that out?"

"Simple. Next Wednesday night we'll follow him."

Games… Rafe loved games. But at least following Ev wasn't illegal—not like snooping through his apartment.

"All right. We'll do that. But let's get out of here. Back to my place." A fiery desire was growing within her. "I know something we can do that's a lot more fun. And legal too."

They made sure everything was just as they had found it, then they hurried back to Rafe's car. Lisl took the lead on the way out.

Bill edged his old Impala out of the parking lot and into the flow along Conway Street. Traffic was light and he was in no hurry. He'd just seen Who Framed Roger Rabbit? for the third time and he was in a great mood. Each time he found something new to marvel at. He'd tried watching it at home once on a rented cassette but it wasn't the same. When he'd read that The Strand was running a big-screen revival, he'd jumped at the chance for another look.

As he pulled to a stop at a light, he noticed a familiar-looking sports car to his right on the side street, waiting to make a left turn. A Maserati. In the bright, diffused peach glow of the mercury vapor lamps that lined Conway, Bill recognized Rafe Losmara at the wheel, speaking animatedly to someone next to him. Once again Bill was struck by the feeling that they'd met before. Something tantalizingly familiar about his face.

He wondered who Rafe was with. He almost hoped it wasn't Lisl. He didn't want to see her hurt but he was convinced that Rafe was no good for her, that his twisted values were behind the appalling deterioration in Lisl's character.

Maybe Rafe was out with somebody else tonight. If so, perhaps Bill could find a way to use that as a wedge between Lisl and him. All the standard objections rolled through his mind—It's none of your business, she's a big girl, a grown woman, you're not her father, not even her uncle, and even if you were, she has a right to choose her lovers and her values—and he let them roll right out again. All valid, but his feelings for Lisl overruled them. Lisl was heading for a fall—Bill knew it as sure as he knew his real name—and he wanted to catch her before she did. Because she might not come back from this crash. And if Bill couldn't save the one friend he had left in the world, he might not come back, either.

As the Maserati made the turn and swung around the front of Bill's car, he recognized Lisl in the passenger seat. He cursed in disappointment and shot one last glance at Rafe.

A wordless cry escaped Bill as the street seemed to tilt under his car. Close up, in the strange mercury glow that gelled the air, Rafe's mustache seemed to fade away, and his face… it looked… just like…

Sara!

And then he was past, gone, out of sight, his car a receding blob of red. But the vision remained, floating before Bill's eyes.

Sara!

Why hadn't he seen it before? The resemblance was unmistakable. He could be her brother!

What if he was her brother?

But how could that be? And why would he be here? What possible purpose—?

Lisl! Was he going to hurt Lisl like his sister had hurt Danny?

The blare of a horn from behind startled Bill and he looked up. The light was green. His slick palms slipped on the wheel as he pulled over to the curb and shut off the engine.

He sat behind the wheel, trembling, sweating, trying to get a grip as the wild thoughts raced through his head.

Wait. Stop. This was crazy.

Rafe had looked like Sara for an instant. So what? That was scary, but he wasn't Sara, and the odds of someone related to Sara showing up as a graduate student at the same university where Bill was working under an assumed identity were astronomical.

And yet…

Bill couldn't shake the feeling that a veil had parted for an instant and allowed him a peek at a deadly secret. He couldn't ignore it. He had to follow it up. Now. But he couldn't do it himself. He couldn't raise his profile. He needed help. But who? How? He searched for a way, a name. And he knew: Nick.

He scooped the pile of change out of his ashtray and started the car. He drove until he saw a phone booth, stopped, jumped out, and lifted the receiver.

The sweat was pouring out of him now.

Just once… just this once, let me get a dial tone.

There was dead air, then a click. The operator? His heart was pounding. A minute… that was all he needed. Just a minute of conversation, even if it was with Nick's answering machine.

"Hello? Hello?"

And then came the voice, the awful, too-familiar child's voice.

"Father, please come and get me! Pleee—!"

With a groan, Bill slammed the receiver down and ran for his car. Behind him the pay phone began to ring… continuously. He could still hear it echoing in his mind over the sound of his roaring engine as he gunned out of earshot.

He headed for home and along the way he searched his memory for everything Lisl had ever told him about Rafe Losmara. He had it all arranged in his mind by the time he reached his computer. He accessed the DataNet network and found the bulletin board. He typed out a message to Nick.

TO EL COMEDO

NEED BACKGROUND CHECK ON ONE RAFE LOSMARA…

He gave as much background as he could, Rafe's undergraduate school, year of graduation, anything he could remember from Lisl's glowing rambles about him, but he scrupulously avoided any mention of Rafe's present circumstances or whereabouts. He had to be careful here. Too much current data in the message would allow some nosy busybody in the network to contact Rafe and let him know that he was being investigated.

Bill closed with a circumspect note that he hoped would spur Nick to dig as deeply and quickly as he could:

… CHECK FOR POSSIBLE RELATION TO THE MISSING MYSTERY WOMAN WE WERE LOOKING FOR LAST TIME WE WERE TOGETHER. CHECK WITH OUR POLICE FRIEND. MAYBE HE CAN HELP OUT. PLEASE HURRY. URGENT, URGENT, URGENT!

IGNATIUS

Bill signed off and leaned back in his chair. He didn't have to leave it all to Nick. At lunch break tomorrow he could hit the university library and see if there was some way he could get hold of a copy of the Arizona State yearbook from last year.

Probably all a wild goose chase. No way Rafe and Sara could be related. Just a freak combination of light and shadow, nothing more.

Bill couldn't repress a shudder at the memory of how much Rafe had looked like Sara in that instant.

He picked up his Breviary and tried to concentrate oil his daily office.

This isn't working.

In the dark of her bedroom, Lisl coiled her arms around Rafe's neck and thrust her pelvis down against his. She'd wanted tonight to be different. Insisted, in fact. No belt, no symbolic beating, no taunts, no shouting, no catharsis—just lovemaking, pure and simple. So that was what they had done: strip, turn the lights off, and meet under the sheets.

But it wasn't working. Rafe had only half his usual tumescence, had even had difficulty penetrating her. Even now, sliding within her, she sensed his softness, his listlessness.

Suddenly she was angry. He wasn't going to cooperate. Was this how it was? If they didn't approach sex his way, he'd participate, but just barely? In a sudden burst of fury, she bit him on the shoulder.

Rafe started and groaned in her ear; she felt him harden within her as he began moving more ardently against her. She bit him again, deeper, tasting blood this time. Lisl couldn't help laughing as she felt him harden further, becoming stiff and straight as a broom handle. And like a witch, she rode him into the night.