nable to endure the thought of eating or more badgering on the subject from her nurse, Leigh hid two pieces of toast and the pear in the drawer of her nightstand; then she lay back, contemplating what the detectives had said and done. After a few minutes, she made a decision and phoned her secretary.

Brenna answered the telephone in Leigh's Fifth Avenue apartment on the first ring. "Is there any news about Mr. Manning?" Brenna asked as soon as Leigh finished reassuring her about her own condition.

"No, not yet," Leigh said, trying not to sound as despondent as she felt. "I need some phone numbers. They won't be in the computer. They'll be in a small address book in the right-hand drawer of my writing desk in the bedroom."

"Okay, which numbers?" Brenna said, and Leigh could picture the efficient little blonde snatching up a pen, poised as always to respond to any request.

"I need Mayor Edelman's direct line at his office and his private number at home. I also need William Trumanti's number at his office and his home. He'll be listed either under his name or under 'police commissioner.' I'll hold on while you get them."

Brenna was back on the phone so quickly that Leigh knew she must have sprinted to and from Leigh's bedroom. "Is there anything else I can do?" Brenna asked.

"Not right now."

"Courtney Maitland has been here several times," Brenna said. "She's absolutely convinced you're dead and that the authorities are covering it up."

Under normal circumstances, the mere mention of the outspoken teenager who lived in Leigh's building would have made her smile, but not then. "Tell Courtney that the last thing she and I talked about was how she feels about her father's new wife. That should convince her I'm alive and talking."

"I'll call her right away," Brenna said. "I arranged for a private duty nurse for you as soon as I heard about your accident. Has she been there?"

"Yes, thanks. I let her go this morning, but I should have kept her an extra day."

"Because you aren't feeling well enough yet?"

"What?" Leigh's mind was already on the phone calls she wanted to make. "No, because she was easier to intimidate than the staff nurse."

MAYOR Edelman was leaving for a meeting when Leigh called, but his secretary told him Leigh was on the phone, and he took her call immediately. "Leigh, I'm so sorry about what's happened. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Mayor," Leigh replied, fighting to keep her voice steady. "But there hasn't been any word about Logan yet."

"I know. We've asked the state police to help out, and they're doing their best, but they have their hands full up there." He paused and said very kindly, "Is there anything else I can do to help?"

"I realize this is an imposition—that it isn't even the responsibility of the New York City Police Department—but there are only two detectives up here looking for Logan, and time is slipping away. Is it possible to get more people up here to help with the search? I'll be glad to reimburse the city for the extra manpower, or any expenses involved—cost is of no importance."

"It's not entirely a matter of cost. There are some jurisdictional issues involved from the NYPD's standpoint. Commissioner Trumanti can't send an 'invasion party' into the Catskills without being asked to participate in the search by the local municipalities who have jurisdiction up there."

To Leigh, that sounded like pure trivia—the etiquette of law enforcement—and she had no time for it. "It's eighteen degrees outside, Mayor, and my husband is somewhere out there, missing. The FBI has jurisdiction everywhere. I'm thinking about calling them."

"You can certainly try," he said, but Leigh knew from his tone that he didn't think she had any hope of getting the FBI to involve themselves in the search. "It's my understanding there are many people still missing in that blizzard, Leigh, but they're believed to be safe and simply unable to dig their way to a main road or use a telephone. Why don't you call Bill Trumanti, and let him update you?"

"I was going to do that next. Thank you, Mayor," Leigh said, but she didn't feel particularly grateful to him. She was frantic, and she wanted more than sympathy and excuses. She wanted help, or at least suggestions for how she could get help.

Commissioner Trumanti wasn't available when she tried to reach him, but he returned her call a half hour later. To Leigh's enormous surprise and relief, Trumanti offered her a great deal more than mere suggestions; he was preparing to provide the full support and resources of the NYPD to help find Logan. "The jurisdictional issues the mayor mentioned are already being resolved as we speak," he said. He paused for a moment and put his hand over the phone, spoke a few unintelligible words to whoever was there, then returned to his conversation with Leigh. "I've just been advised that Captain Holland's detectives up there have contacted the local municipalities and they've all agreed to let the NYPD join in their search-and-rescue efforts. In fact, their attitude is 'the more help, the better.' As you know, Leigh, that was one hell of a blizzard, and the local agencies and authorities have been working around the clock, trying to assist their residents."

Leigh was so relieved she felt like weeping.

"According to the weather forecast," he continued, "we should be getting a break very soon. I've just approved the use of NYPD helicopters to begin searching for the cabin as soon as the ceiling lifts and visibility improves to a safe level. There's a lot of area to cover, so don't get your hopes up too quickly. In the meantime, you have two of Captain Holland's excellent detectives up there right now, and they'll follow up on any leads that come along."

"I can't thank you enough," Leigh said feelingly. She and Logan knew Commissioner Trumanti and his wife socially, but not nearly as well as they knew the mayor, and the mayor hadn't offered her much help at all. In view of that, she'd expected less, not more, help from Commissioner Trumanti, yet he was turning out to be a truly forceful, determined ally—a genuine godsend. Leigh decided to ask if he thought she should also contact the FBI. "I told Mayor Edelman I was thinking of asking the FBI for help—" she began.

Trumanti's reaction was so negative that Leigh wondered if he'd taken it as an insult to the NYPD and to him personally. "You'd be wasting your time, Mrs. Manning," he interrupted, turning formal and chilly with her. "Unless there's something you haven't told our detectives, there's not one shred of evidence, not one tiny detail, that would point to a crime of any kind in connection with your husband's disappearance, let alone a federalcrime that would warrant calling in the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"I've had a stalker—" Leigh began.

"Who I understand has confined his activities—his very minimal activities—to a geographic area that is entirely within the NYPD's jurisdiction. No federal law has been violated. In fact, I'm not sure the NYPD would be able to charge him with anything other than making a nuisance of himself at this point."

Every time he emphasized the word "federal," Leigh felt somehow that she was being severely reprimanded, and by the person whose help and allegiance she needed most. "I see. I was only trying to think of ways to be helpful," she said with deliberate humility. She would have crawled to Trumanti on her knees if that's what it took to secure his help for Logan. "Is there anything else you could suggest that I ought to do?"

His tone underwent a definite change for the nicer. "Yes," he said. "I want you to rest as much as you can, and take good care of yourself, so that when we find Logan, he doesn't blame us for worrying you."

"I'll try to do that," Leigh promised. "I may be going home tomorrow."

"Are you well enough to leave the hospital?" he said, sounding shocked.

Leigh evaded that question but told him another truth: "Hospitals make me feel helpless and depressed."

He laughed. "Me, too. I hate the damned places. I don't start feeling good until I get to go home."

At that last, belated moment, Leigh finally remembered Trumanti had been waging a long fight with prostate cancer, a fight he was rumored to be losing. She tried to think of something adequate to say and had to settle for saying, "Thank you for everything. You're being incredibly kind."