ack drove back to Hillsboro, returned the truck to his officer, checked that Daisy was safe at the library, and filled the rest of the day handling the myriad details that cropped up every day in a police department, even a small one. He left the office at the usual time, drove home, cut his grass to kill some time, went in and showered, then called his office phone to make certain Eva Fay had gone home. Sometimes he thought she spent the night there, because she was always there when he arrived and no matter how late he stayed, she stayed later. As a secretary, she was damned intimidating. She was also so good at her job he'd have loved to see her transplanted to New York, to see what kind of miracle she could work on some of the precincts.

There was no answer at his office, so it was safe to go back. His car was in the driveway, plainly visible to anyone who looked. He left a bar light on in the kitchen, a lamp on in his bedroom upstairs, and one on in the living room. The television provided background noise, in case anyone listened. There was no reason for anyone to be watching his house, at least so long as whoever was after Daisy didn't find out about his involvement with her, but he wasn't taking chances.

At twilight, he got a few items he thought he might need and slipped them into his pockets. Wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and another cap—this one plain black—he slipped out his back door and walked back to the police department. At this time of day almost everyone was inside for the night, having finished the chores around the house, eaten supper, and settled down in front of the tube. He could hear the high-pitched laughter of some youngsters chasing lightning bugs, but that was one street over. Maybe there were some folks sitting on their front porches, enjoying the fresh air now that it wasn't as hot, but Jack knew he was virtually unrecognizable in the deepening twilight.

His second-shift desk sergeant, Scott Wylie, looked up in surprise when Jack entered by the back door, which was the way all the officers came in. It was a quiet night, no one else around, so Wylie didn't even try to hide the fishing magazine he was reading. Jack had come up through the ranks, so he knew what it was like to work long, boring shifts, and he never gave his men grief about their reading material. "Chief! Is something wrong?"

Jack grinned. "I thought I'd spend the night here, so I can find out what time Eva Fay comes to work."

The sergeant laughed. "Good luck. She has a sixth sense about things like that; she'll probably call in sick."

"I'll be in my office for a while, clearing up some paperwork. I was going to do it tomorrow, but something else came up."

"Sure thing." Wylie went back to his magazine, and Jack went through the glass doors into the office part of the building. The police department was two-storied, built in a back-facing L, with

the offices in the short leg facing the street, while the officers' lockers and showers and the evidence, booking, and interrogation rooms were on the first floor of the long section, with the cells on the top floor.

Jack's office was on the second floor, facing the street. He went in and turned on the lamp on his desk, scattered some papers around the desk so it would look as if he'd been working— just in case someone came up, which he doubted would happen— then he got a key from his desk and silently went down to the basement, where a short tunnel connected the P.D. to city hall. The tunnel was used to transport prisoners from the jail to court for their trials and was securely locked at both ends. Jack had a key, the desk sergeant had a key, and the city manager had once had a key, but it was taken from him when it was discovered he was giving his girlfriends tours of the place.

He unlocked the door on the P.D. side, then relocked it when he was in the tunnel—again, just in case. The place was dark as a tomb, but Jack had a pencil flashlight with a narrow, powerful beam. He unlocked the door on the other end, and left this one unlocked, because there wasn't supposed to be anyone in city hall after five P.M. The basement was silent and dark, just the way it should be.

He soundlessly climbed the stairs; the door at the top had no lock. He eased it open, listened, then put his eye to the crack and looked for light where there shouldn't be any. Nothing. The place was empty.

More relaxed now, he opened the flimsy lock on the water department door—the city really needed to replace its locks, it only took him a few seconds to get in—and booted up the computer. The system wasn't password protected, because it wasn't on-line. He clicked on Programs, found Billing, and opened the file. Bless their tidy little hearts, everything was cross-referenced between

account numbers and names. He simply found Daisy's name, clicked on it, changed her address to his, saved the change, and closed the file. Bingo.

That taken care of, he backed out of the operating system and turned off the computer, relocked the door behind him, then made his way upstairs to the mayor's office. He had no idea what he was looking for, but he sure wanted to look around.

Like his own office, there were two entrances to the mayor's: one through Nadine's outer sanctum, and a private, unmarked door a little farther down the hallway. The locks here were much better than the locks on the door at the water department.

Jack decided to use Nadine's door, on the theory that she might think she'd accidentally left it unlocked. Repeating the process he'd used at the water department, he took a small set of probes and picks from his pocket, then put the penlight in his mouth, crouched down, and went to work. He was good at picking locks, though until tonight he hadn't been called upon to do so since moving to Hillsboro. When people asked him about his SWAT training or any of the action he'd seen, they never asked about any specialty training he might have had on the side. He always downplayed the action part—hell, he wasn't a Rambo, none of them were, though there were always a few who let their heads get too far into the mystique—and kept quiet about some of the training, because it seemed smart to keep something in reserve.

The lock yielded in about thirty seconds. Normal citizens would be alarmed at how easy it was to open locked doors; they thought all they had to do was turn the key and they were safe. Unfortunately, the only people they were safe from were the people who obeyed laws and respected locked doors. A lowlife would break a window, kick in a door; Jack had even known them to crawl under houses and saw holes in the floor. Alarm systems and burglar bars were good, but if someone was determined to get inside, he'd find a way.

Witness himself, breaking into the mayor's office. Jack grinned as he slipped through Nadine's office, holding the penlight down so the beam wouldn't flash across the windows, and tried the door into the mayor's office. It was unlocked; that meant one of three things: Either Temple had nothing to hide, he was so careless he didn't deserve to live, or he made certain there was nothing suspicious here to see. Jack hoped it was the first but figured it was the third.

Working fast but systematically, he went through the trash and found a wadded piece of paper with Daisy's tag number scribbled on it, but nothing else interesting. He smoothed out the paper; it was a sheet from the memo pad printed with Temple Nolan at the top, the same memo pad that now rested on top of Temple's desk. It followed, then, that the mayor had been here in his office when someone called asking him to run that tag number.

A quick search of the mayor's desk turned up nothing. Jack surveyed the office, but there were no file cabinets, just furniture. All the files were in Nadine's office. There were, however, two phones on Temple's desk. One was the office phone, with a list of extension numbers beside it. The other had to be a private line, so Temple could make and receive calls without Nadine knowing.

It was a long shot, but Jack took a tiny recorder out of his pocket, hit redial on the private phone, then held the recorder to the earpiece, recorded the tones, and quickly hung up. He had a pal who could listen to the tones and tell him what number had been dialed. Next he hit *69, and scribbled down the number the computer provided. It wasn't a local exchange, so the last call Temple had received had not been from his wife asking when he'd be home for supper. Jack tore off a few extra pages of the memo pad to make certain no impression was left behind, wadded up the extras, and dropped them into the wastebasket. The trash

would be emptied before Nolan came to work, not that he was likely to go through his own trash, considering there was nothing interesting in there except Daisy's tag number, which Jack also dropped back in the trash.

That was all he could do tonight. Taking out a handkerchief, he carefully wiped all the surfaces he had touched; then let himself out through Nadine's office. He went back through the basement tunnel, up to his office, where he restacked all the papers he'd scattered on his desk so Eva Fay wouldn't realize he'd been here when she wasn't, turned out the light, and locked up. Everything was just the way he'd found it.

He went out through the back; things were a little busier now than they had been before; an officer had brought in a drunk driver, a big guy who stood about six-six and weighed at least three-fifty. When Jack came through the doors, both Sergeant Wylie and the officer glanced at him, their attention momentarily distracted, and the drunk saw his chance for an escape, ramming his shoulder into the officer and sending him flying, then lowering his head and charging straight into Wylie's stomach.

It had been a while since Jack had seen any action. With a whoop of sheer joy, he joined the melee.

It took all three of them to subdue the big guy, and they had to resort to some rough stuff before they got him down. It was a good thing the guy had been cuffed, or someone would have been really hurt. As it was, once they had him down and hog-tied, Sergeant Wylie felt his ribs and winced.

"Anything broken?" Jack asked, wiping blood from his nose.

"I don't think so. Just bruised." But he winced again when he touched them.

"Go get them checked out. I'll handle things here."

The officer, Enoch Stanfield, had a fat lip and a rapidly swelling eye. He was trembling slightly from adrenaline overload

as he soaked his handkerchief at the watercooler and held the cold cloth to his eye. "God, I love this job," he said in an exhausted voice. "Nowhere else would I have the opportunity to get the shit kicked out of me every day." He eyed Jack. "You sounded like you were having fun, Chief."

Jack looked down at the big drunk, who had gone to sleep almost as soon as they got him hog-tied. Gargantuan snores issued from his open mouth. "I live for days like this." Jack was abruptly exhausted, too, though he wasn't shaking like Stanfield.

He had to call in another officer to help them drag the drunk into the tank to sleep it off. He also called in one of the medics to check him and make sure he was okay, that the big guy wasn't in insulin shock, or something like that, even though the Breathalyzer indicated that he was simply piss-assed drunk, a diagnosis with which the medic concurred. A cold pack was put on Stan-field's eye, a stitch in his lip, and another cold pack on Jack's left hand, which was beginning to swell. He had no idea what exactly had happened to hurt his hand, but that's the way it was with fights: you just threw yourself in and took stock afterward. By the time he had everything organized, including a replacement for Wylie for the rest of the shift, it was almost ten-thirty; the third-shift officers were there to take over, the second-shift officers were all there except for Wylie, and a couple of the first-shift guys had heard the excitement on their scanners and had come over to take a look. After all, it wasn't every day the chief got involved in taking down a D and D, drunk and disorderly.

"There's no way Eva Fay won't hear about this," he said glumly, causing general laughter.

"She'll raise hell, you being here without her on duty," Officer Markham, a twenty-year veteran with the force, said tongue-in-cheek.

The men, Jack realized, were thoroughly enjoying the situa-

tion. It wasn't often the rank and file got to see their chief get down and dirty. There had always been a hint of reserve in them that wasn't due just to difference in rank; the biggest part had been that he was an outsider. His wrestling with a big drunk had made them feel he was one of them, a regular cop despite his rank.

To top it all off, he had to walk back home. He could have had one of the guys drive him home, but then he'd have had to come up with a reasonable explanation for why he'd walked over in the first place, and he didn't want to deal with it.

The house was just as he'd left it. Nothing seemed disturbed or out of place. He went straight to the phone and called information, to see if he could get the number of the mayor's private line in city hall. There was no such listing, which didn't surprise him. Next he called Todd Lawrence, who answered on the third ring with a sleepy "Hello."

"I got the address changed," he said. "And I used call return on the mayor's private line to get the number of the last call to him, and redial to record the tones of the last call he made."

"You've been a busy little boy." Todd sounded more alert.

"This gives us two numbers to check out. Think you can find out what the mayor's private number is and get those records, too?"

"Too? You want me to get telephone records on three numbers." It was stated as fact.

"What else are federal friends for?"

"You're going to get your federal friend's ass fired."

"I figure my federal friend owes it to Daisy."

Todd sighed. "You're right. Okay. I'll see what I can do, maybe call in some favors. This is completely off-record, though."

Next Jack called Daisy, though a quick look at his watch told him it was just after eleven. She'd probably gone to bed at ten on the dot, but after all his efforts on her behalf that day, he thought he deserved at least a brief chat.

"Hello." She didn't sound sleepy; she sounded tired, but not sleepy.

“Are you already in bed?"

"Not yet. It's been an... eventful night."

"Why? What's happened?" He was instantly on alert.

"I can't turn my back on him for a second, or he's tearing something up."

" 'Him?' "

"The dog."

The dog. Jack heaved a sigh of relief. "He doesn't sound very well trained."

"He isn't trained at all. Killer, no! Put that down! I have to go," she said hurriedly.

"I'll be right over," he said, just before she hung up, and didn't know if she heard him or not. He didn't care. He grabbed his keys, turned off the lights, and went out the door.

Daisy was exhausted. Her mother had called her at three P.M. and said tiredly "Jo and I are taking the puppy over to your house. At least the yard is fenced in and he can run there. We'll stay there with him until you get home."

"Oh, dear." That didn't bode well. "What has he done?" "What hasn't the little devil done? We're run ragged just trying to keep up with him. Anyway, we'll see you in a couple of hours."

When she got home at ten after five, both her mother and Aunt Jo were dozing in the living room, while the puppy slept between her mother's feet. He looked so adorable, lying on his belly with his back legs stretched out behind him, like a little bearskin rug, that her heart melted.

"Hello, sweetheart," she crooned. One heavy eyelid lifted, his little tail wagged; then he went back to sleep.

Aunt Jo roused. "Thank God you're home. Good luck; you'll need it with this little devil. Come on, Evelyn, let's git while the gitting's good."

Evelyn sat up and looked ruefully at the puppy between her feet. "We called Miley Park to see if maybe there was something wrong. She just laughed and said he might be a little excited at being in a new place, but that golden retriever puppies are nonstop mischief until they're about four months old. Well, he does stop when he's sleepy."

"He has two speeds," said Aunt Jo. "He's either at a dead run, or he's asleep. That's it. Have fun. Come on, Evelyn."

"I think we'll go by Wal-Mart and buy some baby gates so we can at least hem him up in one room. Do you want us to pick up some for you, too?"

"We'll buy what they have in stock," said Aunt Jo. "Come on, Evelyn."

"Oh, dear, is he that bad?" Daisy asked, dismayed. He looked like such a little angel, lying there asleep.

"He seems to be mostly house-trained," said her mother. "But he needs to go outside every two hours, as regular as clockwork. He did piddle on the puppy pads—"

"When he wasn't tearing them to shreds," interrupted Aunt Jo. "Evelyn, come on."

"He likes his stuffed toys—"

"He likes everything, including his water dish. Evelyn, if you don't come on, I'll leave without you. He might wake up any minute."

The puppy lifted his head and yawned, his little pink tongue stretching out. Within ten seconds, her mother and aunt had their purses and were out the door. Daisy put her hands on her

hips and looked at the little fluff ball. "Okay, mister, just what have you done?"

He rolled over on his back, stretching. She was unable to resist rubbing the warm little tummy, which he took as an invitation to begin licking her everywhere that pink, eager tongue could reach. She picked him up and cuddled him, loving the warmth and smallness of him under all that fuzz. His big, soft feet batted at her, and he wiggled, signaling that he wanted down. She set him down, then broke into a sprint when he darted for the kitchen.

All he wanted was some water. He lapped eagerly, then all of a sudden pounced into the bowl with both front feet, sending water flying.

She got the kitchen floor mopped up—which he thought was a great game, because he kept pouncing on the mop—fed him, and took him outside to do his business. He squatted as soon as his feet touched the grass; then he attacked a bush. Worried that the leaves might be poisonous to him, or at least upset his little tummy, she got him away from the bush and used the hose pipe to run water in the kids' wading pool she'd bought for him.

He was too little to climb over the rim of the pool, so she helped him in and watched him run and slide in the two inches of water until he was drenched, she was drenched, and her sides ached from laughing so much. Lifting him out of the pool, she wrapped him in a towel and carried him inside, hoping he'd take another nap so she could eat.

He pounced into his water bowl again. While she was mopping, he chased the mop. Then he grabbed the kitchen towel and made a run for it. She caught him as he dove under the bed, and hauled him out. Her efforts to take the towel away from him evidently convinced him she wanted to play tug-of-war and he pulled on the towel for all he was worth, emitting baby growls while his whole body quivered with effort.

She distracted him with a little stuffed duck. He threw the duck over his head, pounced on it, and managed to stuff it under the couch where he couldn't reach it. Then he stood there and yapped until she got down on her hands and knees and retrieved the duck. He immediately stuffed it under the couch again.

Next she tried a rubber chew toy as a distraction, and it worked for about ten minutes. He lay on his belly and held the chew toy between his front paws, gnawing with fierce concentration. Daisy took the opportunity to get out of her work clothes and begin making herself a sandwich. She heard a crash from the living room and ran in barefoot to find he'd somehow dislodged the television remote control from the lamp table and was busy trying to kill it. She took the remote away and put it in a safe place.

He loved her red toenails. He pounced on her bare feet. He kept jumping at her, trying to catch her fingers in his mouth; startled, she would jerk her hand back, and his sharp little baby teeth hurt. Finally, she just held her hand down and he mouthed her fingers as if tasting her, then, satisfied, released her.

At last, he got sleepy. He stopped practically in mid-run and collapsed on his belly, heaving a huge sigh as his eyes closed.

"I guess it was a big day for you, little guy," she murmured. "Do you miss your mama, and your brothers and sisters? You've always had someone to play with, haven't you? And now you're all by yourself."

It was after seven o'clock by then, and she was starving. She finished making her sandwich and ate it standing where she could keep an eye on him. He looked so sweet and tiny while he was asleep, but as soon as his eyes opened, he would be full speed again.

He slept on, with the absolute obliviousness of a baby. She decided to take a quick shower and left the bathroom door open so he could come in if he woke up. She undressed, dropping her clothes on the floor, and stepped into the tub. She had just gotten

soaped when she heard something and parted the curtain to see a pale fuzz ball darting into the hall with her panties in his mouth.

Daisy leaped out of the tub and ran in naked, sliding pursuit. He somehow squeezed behind the couch with his captured treasure. She pulled the couch away from the wall and retrieved her panties. There was, of course, a hole in them. He wagged his tail.

"You little demon," she said, picking him up and carrying him into the bathroom with her. She closed the door so he couldn't get out, put her clothes on the back of the toilet where he couldn't reach them, and got back into the shower. He spent the whole time yapping and standing on his back legs, trying to crawl over into the tub with her.

She had learned from the mop episode; instead of stepping out onto the bath mat to towel off, she stood in the tub. He eyed the towel with longing, sitting on his haunches and looking angelic.

His little face was so happy, she thought, his mouth open in a perpetual smile. His dark eyes, the rims dark, as if someone had lined his eyes with kohl, were very exotic with his pale fur and long blond lashes. He was so curious and enthused about everything that his tail wagged nonstop, like a souped-up metronome.

"So what if you're a little devil," she said. "You're my little devil, and I fell in love with you when you climbed in my lap." His tail wagged even faster as he listened to her voice and the crooning note in it.

"I have to come up with a good name for you, something that sounds big and tough. You're supposed to protect me, you know. I don't think it would scare many burglars if I yelled, 'Sic 'im, Fluffy! do you? How about Brutus?"

He yawned.

"You're right; you aren't a Brutus. You're too pretty. How about Devil?" After a moment, watching him, she vetoed that

choice herself. "No, I don't like that, because I just know you're going to be a sweetheart when you grow up."

She tried out names on him for the rest of the evening: Conan, Duke, King, Rambo, Rocky, Samson, Thor, Wolf. None of them were right. She just couldn't look at that smiling little face and make a macho name fit.

She learned not to leave water in his water bowl, or it ended up on the kitchen floor. When he went to his bowl, she poured a little water in, and after he'd lapped that up, she poured some more, until he quit lapping. Unfortunately, there was usually some water left in the bowl when he finished, and he pounced into it. Daisy mopped up water seven times that night, with him in fierce pursuit of the mop head.

He was so intelligent she was amazed; in just that afternoon and night he had learned to go to the back door when he needed to go outside. Finally he seemed to be winding down, so Daisy introduced him to his dog bed, which she had placed in her bedroom so he wouldn't be lonely and cry at night. She closed the bedroom door to keep him corralled for the night, placed the stuffed duck in the bed with him, and wearily crawled into bed. She turned out the lamp, and exactly two seconds later he started whimpering.

Fifteen minutes later she gave up and lifted him into the bed with her. He was almost hysterical with joy, jumping and tugging at the covers and licking her in the face. She had just gotten him settled down when the phone rang. It was Jack. While he was talking, the puppy found her robe, which she'd tossed across the foot of the bed, and began tugging at the sleeve. She said, "Killer, no! Put that down! I have to go," and hung up to lunge across the bed and grab him just before he tumbled backward to the floor.

Not five minutes later, the doorbell rang. Sighing in fatigue,

she got out of bed, picked up the puppy, and carried him with her to the door. That seemed the safest thing to do. A quick peek revealed Jack standing impatiently on the porch. She turned on the light and with one hand unlocked the dead bolt and let him in.

He stepped inside and froze, staring at the puppy "That's a puppy," he said in almost stunned astonishment, which was really observant of him considering she'd already told him she had a dog.

"No!" she said, pretending shock. "That lady lied to me."

"That's a golden retriever puppy."

She cuddled the baby to her. "So?"

With measured movements, Jack closed the door, locked it, then rhythmically beat his head against the frame.

"What's wrong with my puppy?" Daisy demanded.

In a strained voice he said, "The whole idea was to get a dog for protection."

"He'll grow," she said. "Look at the size of his feet. He's going to be huge."

"He'll still be a golden retriever."

"What's wrong with that? I think he's beautiful."

"He is. He's gorgeous. But goldens are so friendly they're no protection at all. They think everyone is their friend, placed on earth just to pet them. He might bark to let you know when someone comes up, but that's about it."

"That's okay. He's perfect for me." She kissed the top of the puppy's head. He was squirming, trying to get down so he could investigate this new human.

Sighing, Jack reached out and took the little guy in his big hands. The puppy began licking madly at every inch of skin he could reach. "So his name's Killer?"

"No, I've just been trying out names. Nothing seems to fit."

"Not if they're like Killer, they won't. You name goldens something like Lucky, or Fuzzbutt." He lifted the puppy until they were nose to nose, "How about Midas? Or Riley? Or—"

"Midas!" Daisy said, her eyes lighting as she stared from him to the puppy. "That's perfect!" She threw her arms around him, stretching up on tiptoe in an effort to kiss him, but the newly named Midas got there first and licked her on the mouth. She sputtered and wiped her mouth. "Thanks, sweetie, but you aren't half the kisser the guy is."

"Thanks," Jack said, holding Midas at a safe distance as he leaned down and their lips met. And clung. The kiss deepened. The melting started again.

"Do you mind if I spend the night?" he murmured, trailing his kisses down her throat.

"I'd love it," she said, and was overtaken by a huge, jaw-breaking yawn.

Jack gave a crack of laughter. "Liar. You're dead on your feet."

Daisy blushed. "I had a very active day yesterday. And last night." She glanced at Midas. "And tonight. I can't turn my back on him for a minute."

"How about if I stay and we do nothing but sleep?"

Blinking in astonishment, she said, "Why would you want to do that?"

"Just to make sure you're all right."

"I think you're going overboard with this protection business."

"Maybe, maybe not. Today the mayor got me to run a tag number; he said he'd seen the car parked in the fire lane at Dr. Bennett's office. Guess whose tag it was?"

"Whose?"

"Yours."

"Mine!" she said indignantly. "I've never parked in a fire lane in my life!"

He hid a grin as he set Midas down. "I didn't think so. Do you have any idea why the mayor would want me to run your tag number?"

Slowly she shook her head.

"If he had seen your car, he'd have known it was you, so obviously someone else got him to do it. That has me a little worried. The good thing is, you've moved, so your address isn't the same as what's on your registration."

She gasped. "My goodness, I totally forgot about that! I'll go to the courthouse and change—"

"No, you will not," he said sternly. "Not until I find out what's going on."

"Why don't you just ask Temple?"

"Because I feel uneasy about the whole thing. Until I'm satisfied nothing suspicious is going on, I don't want you to give out your new address to anyone. Tell your family to keep it quiet, too."

"But if anyone wants to know where I live, all he has to do is follow me home from work—"

“After today, I'll handle that. I'll drive you home, and I guarantee no one will be able to tail us."

She stared up at him, at the hard cast of his expression, and realized he was deadly serious. For the first time, a frisson of alarm skittered up her spine. Jack was worried, and that worried her.

Midas scampered into the kitchen, and she heard the splat as he landed in his water bowl. "Get the puppy and take him out in the backyard while I mop up the water," she said, sighing. "Then we'll go to bed."

"With him?"

"He's a baby You don't want him to cry all night, do you?"

"Better him than me," Jack muttered, but he obediently took Midas outside and was back in five minutes with a sleepy puppy in his arms.

"I suppose he sleeps in the middle," he said, grumbling. Daisy sighed. "At this point, I'll let him sleep wherever he wants. And we have to take him out every two hours." "Do what?" he said in disbelief. "I told you, he's a baby. Babies can't hold it." "I can tell this is going to be a great night."

If the blonde lived at the address Nolan had given him, Glenn Sykes had yet to see her today. Two older women had come and gone, but not the blonde. In that kind of residential neighborhood, it was difficult to keep watch without being spotted himself, because old folks sat out on their porches and watched everyone who went by.

He got a phone book and looked up Minor. There was only one listing, and that gave the same address the mayor had given him, so the blonde had to live there. Maybe she was off on a business trip or something. He was both worried and relieved: relieved because the woman evidently hadn't been paying much attention to them, and worried because it was on the news that a man's body had been found in the woods by a hunter—it was always those damned hunters—and if the newspaper ran a picture of Mitchell, the lady just might remember that she'd seen him Saturday night.

The mayor seemed unusually shaken by the whole situation, which also worried Sykes. He thought everything could be managed if no one lost his cool, but the mayor's hold seemed to be slipping a little. Because of that, he was reluctant to call Nolan and tell him the Minor woman hadn't shown up. He didn't want to send the mayor off the deep end, but neither did he want to just let the situation languish. He needed to find her and get things taken care of so that that loose end was tied off and the mayor would settle down. They had another shipment of girls coming in, Russians, and Sykes wanted everything handled before they arrived. They stood to make some big money off this batch; one was supposed to be only thirteen, and as pretty as a doll.

He drove by the Minor house several times after dark that night, when he wasn't as likely to be noticed, but the beige Ford still hadn't showed up. Finally it occurred to him to go to the Buffalo Club. Duh! He felt like smacking himself in the head. This Minor babe was into partying, not sitting at home nights with two old women. Feeling certain he'd find her there, Sykes made the drive to Madison County.

But when he scouted out the parking lot, the beige Ford wasn't there. The traffic was lighter on Mondays than it was on the weekend, so he was certain he hadn't missed it. Either she had already hooked up with some guy and gone home with him, or she had gone to some other club.

Okay, it was beginning to look as if the best way to find her was to stake out where she worked. That should be easy to find out, in a small town like Hillsboro. Hell, the mayor might even know her. Come to think of it, he'd sounded unusually subdued when he'd called and given Sykes her name and address; maybe he did know her, and his conscience was acting up.

Sykes couldn't find the woman now, but he was damn sure where she'd be tomorrow: at work. He figured he might as well go

home and get a good night's sleep, then call the mayor in the morning on the chance he knew the woman and knew where she worked—she was such a classy-looking babe, the mayor might even have the hots for her. Sykes hoped not. The mayor had become skittish enough already without Sykes's having to eliminate one of his playmates.

But everything would work out tomorrow. Tuesday looked like a busy day.

Daisy and Jack took turns getting up every two hours and taking Midas out. Like a little trooper, he did exactly what he was supposed to every time. Unfortunately, every time they brought him back in, he thought it was playtime and it took another half hour or so before he cuddled up and went back to sleep.

"This is like having a newborn," Jack said at seven o'clock, sitting at the table and sipping his second cup of coffee. His face was rough with stubble and his eyes had dark circles under them. Daisy lacked the stubble, but her eyes matched his.

She looked down at Midas, who was lying on his back with all four paws in the air, and the stuffed duck in his mouth. "Except you don't have to chase down newborns," she said. "They pretty much stay where you put them."

"I'll get him a ball. Chasing it should wear him out, so he'll nap longer—and more often."

Despite her fatigue, Daisy beamed at him. That was so sweet, buying her puppy a toy. He'd been very good natured about the whole thing last night, but then he had volunteered to stay. She would have loved to have made love with him, but at the same time, sleeping together and not having sex had been... kind of wonderful. They had even managed to cuddle, though Midas had been right there, squeezing his fat little body between them as if that was his natural place.

"Since you got a welcome mat instead of a guard dog," he said, with a pointed look at the puppy, "I want you to be especially careful until I satisfy myself there's nothing to worry about with this tag-number deal. There are a few things I want to check out. Until then, I'll drive you to and from work, and stay here at night."

"Okay," she said, a little astonished. It sounded as if he planned to move in, at least for the short term. What astonished her was how pleased she felt. She should be out trying to find a husband, but she didn't feel as enthusiastic about it as she had just a few days before. Of course, a few days before, she hadn't had a lover, and she hadn't watched him cradle her puppy in his strong arms to carry it out for a nature call in the middle of the night. Just remembering that made her feel squishy as if she had turned to mush inside.

Maybe Jack wasn't her type, but somehow she didn't much care.

"The city council meets tonight," he continued, "so I'll bring you home, then go to my house to shower and change clothes, and come back here when the meeting's over."

"Should I wait with supper?" she asked, just as if they did this all the time.

"No, go ahead and eat. If you have the chance." He gave Midas a wry glance, then began chuckling. The puppy had dozed off, still on his back with his feet in the air.

While she was thinking of it, she called her mother to see if she was still willing to puppy-sit.

"I'll come over there," Evelyn said. “As far as I'm concerned, that fenced back yard is priceless. I'll be over about eight-thirty, so you'll have plenty of time to get to work."

That taken care of, Daisy hung up the phone and immediately began to worry about how she would explain to her mother why Jack was driving her to work. As for explaining his presence—she was, after all, a thirty-four-year-old woman—she didn't owe explanations about her love life to anyone.

"You have to leave," she said. "My mother's coming over."

He seemed to be fighting a grin. "If you feed me breakfast, I'll be out of here by eight o'clock. I'll go home, shave and change clothes, and be back here in plenty of time to get you to the library."

"It's a deal," she said promptly. "It doesn't take long to whip up a bowl of cereal."

"Biscuits," he wheedled.

Exasperated, she turned on the oven.

"And eggs and bacon."

What was a home-cooked meal, compared to the trouble he was going to on her behalf? He was just lucky she had stocked up on all the necessary things out of habit before she realized she wouldn't be doing much cooking for herself. Cereal in the morning and a sandwich at night was much more practical when there was only one sitting down at the table.

She put the bacon in the frying pan, covered it with a screen so the grease wouldn't splatter all over her new stove, then got out the flour, oil, and milk and began mixing up the biscuit dough. Jack watched in amazement. "I thought you would use the canned kind."

"I don't have any"

"You actually know how to make homemade biscuits?"

"Of course I do." She stopped to take out her new biscuit pan and coat it with nonstick cooking spray. She didn't roll out the dough, but did it the way her mother had taught her: she pinched off a certain amount of dough, rolled it into a ball, flattened the ball with a quick pat, and placed it in the pan.

"Aunt Bessie did it that way," he said, fascinated. "She called them choke biscuits, because she choked off the dough instead of using a biscuit cutter."

"Biscuit cutters are for sissies." She had made as many biscuits as she, her mother, and Aunt Jo usually ate, but she figured

Jack would eat as much as two of them put together. The oven was still heating, so she checked on the bacon and turned it.

Jack got up and poured himself another cup of coffee, grabbed the Huntsville morning paper off the counter, and went back to the table. Daisy hadn't had time to even glance at the paper the day before, because of Midas, but she could always read it at the library.

The oven beeped as it reached the pre-set temperature. Daisy put the biscuits in to bake and turned to get the eggs out of the refrigerator. As she did, a picture on the front page caught her eye. The man looked familiar, though she couldn't quite place him.

"Who's that?" she said, frowning a little as she pointed.

Jack read the caption. "His name was Chad Mitchell. A hunter found his body Sunday morning."

"I know him," she said.

He put down the paper, his gray-green eyes suddenly sharp. "How?"

"I don't know. I can't quite remember." She got out the eggs. "How do you want them, scrambled or fried?"

"Scrambled."

She cracked four eggs into a bowl, added a little milk, and beat them with a fork. "Set the table, please."

He got up and began opening cabinet doors and drawers until he found the plates and silverware. Daisy stared absently at the bacon as she turned it one last time.

"Oh, I know!" she said suddenly.

"He was a library patron?"

"No, he was at the Buffalo Club. He tried to dance with me, that first night, and wanted to buy me a Coke, but the fight started before he could get back."

Jack set the plates down and gave her his full attention. "That was the only time you saw him?"

She cocked her head as if studying a scene in her memory. "I don't think so."

"What do you mean? It either was or wasn't."

"I'm not certain," she said slowly, "but I think I saw him in the parking lot of the club on Saturday night, before I went inside. He was with two other men; then a third one got out of a car and joined them. He didn't seem all that drunk when he came out of the club, but then he passed out and they put him in the bed of a pickup."

Jack rubbed the back of his neck in an almost angry gesture. "Jesus," he muttered.

She stared at him, her cheeks a little pale. "Do you think I was the last person to see him alive?"

"I think you saw him get killed,” he said harshly.

"But—but there wasn't a shot or anything...." Her voice trailed off, and she sagged against the cabinet.

Jack looked at the article, checking his facts. "He was stabbed."

She swallowed and turned even whiter. Jack started to reach for her, but she suddenly gathered herself and did what women have done for centuries when they were upset: they busied themselves doing normal stuff. She tore off a paper towel and lined a plate with it, then took up the bacon, placing it on the paper towel to drain.

Moving that frying pan out of the way, she took out a smaller one, sprayed it with cooking spray, then poured the beaten eggs into it and set it on the hot eye. She checked the biscuits, then got the butter and jam out of the refrigerator and set them on the table.

Jack looked around. "I don't want to use the cordless. Do you have a land line?"

"In the bedroom."

He got up and went into the bedroom. Daisy busied herself stirring the eggs and watching the biscuits as they rose and began to brown. After a minute he came back into the kitchen and said,

"I have some people checking into some things, but I'm afraid one of the men in the parking lot saw you, and got your tag number."

She stirred the eggs even harder. "Then call the mayor and ask him who gave him the number."

"There's a slight problem with that."

"What?"

"The mayor lied to me when he asked me to run the number. He may be involved." Jack paused. "He's probably involved."

"What do we do?"

"I've already taken steps to make sure no one can find you. Don't tell anyone you've moved; tell your mother and aunt not to mention it—in fact, call your mother back and tell her to make certain no one follows her when she comes over here."

She gaped at him. "This is my mother, not James Bond!"

"Then tell her to let your aunt drive. I think that woman could outdo Bond."

In the end, he was the one who called her mother, and in a calm tone told her what he wanted her to do. Daisy concentrated on breakfast, which was about all she could handle right then. "Another thing," she heard him say, "do you have Caller ID? Then erase it. I don't want Daisy's number showing up anywhere."

"I need to give a statement," she said when he hung up. "Don't I?"

"As fast as possible." He picked up the phone again and hit re-dial. When her mother answered, he said, "Daisy won't be at work today. Call—"

He glanced at Daisy, who said, "Kendra."

"—Kendra and tell her to handle things. Make something up. Tell her Daisy has a toothache."

When he hung up again, he said, "If this guy is trying to get to you before you can give a statement and description, possibly

even make a positive i.d. from police photos, then the thing to do is give it as fast as possible so he won't have anything to gain."

"Don't I have to be alive to testify?" she asked, and was proud her voice was so steady. She raked the fluffy scrambled eggs into a bowl, took the perfectly browned biscuits out of the oven and dumped them in a bread basket, then set everything on the table.

"You will be," he said. "That's a promise."