"Oasis is the home town of Samuel Hoffman. Also, Hoffman's mother was one of the murder victims."

"You think Hoffman may have been the perpetrator?"

"My reporter, Miss Allen, claims that her attacker was invisible."

"Sounds like our man," Farris said, sounding pleased. "Any knowledge of his present whereabouts?"

"Miss Allen wounded him this morning-about four hours ago-at her home here in town. The police couldn't find any trace of him, but I imagine he isn't far from here."

"Excellent."

"I may be wrong about this, sir, but I think he's still after the Allen woman. While she was his prisoner, he threatened to hunt her down if she ever escaped."

"I see. Where is Allen now?"

"She's on her way to Tucson. She took his threat seriously, and plans to hide out there for a while."

"Her exact location?"

"I don't know. She's promised to give me a call, though, once she's found a room. I suspect she'll check into a hotel."

"Very good. I'll alert our Tucson personnel. Now. This Allen woman, does she trust you?"

"Yes."

"As soon as she gives you her location, I want you to do two things. First, inform me immediately. Second, drive to Tucson and meet her. Stay with her, and keep us informed of her movements. If Hoffman goes for her, we want to be there."

"What if...suppose he attacks while I'm there?"

"Any sacrifice you make on our behalf will be rewarded."

"I mean, do you want me to kill him?" "Laveda would prefer him alive. It's a moot point, however; you probably couldn't kill him if you tried."

CHAPTER TEN.

A quiet, rumbling sound entered Dukane's mind. He realized, vaguely, that the sliding gla.s.s door to his balcony was being opened. Suddenly alarmed, he tensed and opened his eyes.

It was morning. He stared at the nightstand, thought about jerking open the drawer and grabbing his automatic. Then he remembered bringing a woman home last night from the bar at La Dome. Rolling over, he saw that the other side of the king-size bed was empty.

"Cindy?" he asked.

"Out here."

He crawled across the bed, climbed off, and saw her standing naked on the sunlit balcony. Her back was toward him, her hands on the railing. He stepped out. The sun felt warm on his bare skin. She looked around and smiled. Kissing her cheek, Dukane pressed himself lightly against her back. He slipped his hands up the smoothness of her sides, and held her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"It's a lovely day for a swim," she said.

"If you're planning a dive from here, don't. I tried it once. Broke my ankle."

"Yuck. I guess I won't."

"It's farther than it looks, and the concrete is very hard."

"Were you drunk?"

"When I jumped? Cold sober."

She sighed as he fingered her rigid nipples. She squirmed, her b.u.t.tocks rubbing him. Then she turned around. She leaned back against the railings. "Right here," she said.

"A bit awkward."

"Consider it a challenge."

"I'm always up for a challenge."

She gripped the railing with both hands and spread her legs. Dukane clutched her hips. Crouching slightly, he found her wet slit. He thrust upward into her. Her head went back and she moaned.

When they were done, they left the balcony. Cindy disappeared into the bathroom. Dukane put on his robe, and went downstairs. He started to prepare coffee. As its thin stream trickled into the pot, Cindy entered the kitchen. She was wearing one of his shortsleeved plaid shirts, and nothing else.

"Okay if I borrow this?" she asked, raising her arms and turning around.

"Wish it looked that good on me." As he spoke, he remembered Alice wearing one of his spare shirts before he bought the dress for her. He wondered how Dr. Teri Miles was faring with her. He didn't envy the woman, spending days alone with the little b.i.t.c.h. Thinking about it, a familiar worry whispered in his mind. He pushed it away. They're all right, he told himself.

"What's your drothers for breakfast?" Cindy asked. "I make a mean Spanish omelet, if you've got the makings."

"Hmmm?"

"Spanish omelet. h.e.l.lo? You tuned in?"

"Yeah. That sounds great. There're chilis in the refrigerator."

"Cheese, eggs?"

"Them too.Yougo ahead and get started, I'll bring in the paper."

"News paper?" She wrinkled her nose. "How dreary."

"I just read the funnies."

"Liar liar, pants on fire."

"Not at the moment."

With a laugh, she pulled open the refrigerator. She bent over, the tail of the shirt riding up. Dukane glimpsed her pale rump, then turned away.

Outside, he spotted the Times halfway up his long drive way. He crossed the lawn, its gra.s.s cool and dewy under his feet. The driveway felt pleasantly warm and dry. He picked up the paper. Heading back to the house, he pulled off its plastic ribbon.

The bold letters near the bottom corner of the front page made his heart lurch. KABC anchorman and wife slain.

He stopped in the wet gra.s.s: KABC news anchorman Ron Donovan and his wife, Ruth, were found brutally murdered last eve ning in their Hollywood Hills home. The bodies...

He didn't read more. He ran to the front door, flung the paper down in the foyer, and raced upstairs. In his bedroom, he grabbed his trousers. He tugged his wallet from the rear pocket, flipped it open, and searched the bill compartment. He pinched out a business card: Dr. T. R. Miles, MD. At the telephone beside his bed, he dialed.

The phone rang fifteen times before he hung up.

In less than a minute, he was dressed. He rushed downstairs.

Cindy was on her knees, reaching into a cupboard, when he entered the kitchen. He patted her bare rump. "Come on."

"Huh?"

He held out her pan ties and skirt. "Put'em on, quick. I've gotta get somewhere fast."

"What's wrong?"

"Just hurry."

Looking puzzled and worried, she started to get dressed. "Where're we going?"

"Venice. I have to check on someone."

She zipped the side of her skirt and followed him to the side door. "My shoes."

"You can stay in the car." He rushed into the connecting garage, climbed into his Jaguar, and pressed the remote b.u.t.ton to raise the door. Cindy slid onto the pa.s.senger seat as he gunned the engine to life.

"Are you going to tell me what's up?" she asked.

"No," he said, and sped backward up the driveway.

"That's a h.e.l.l of a note."

"It's business. It's dangerous. You're better off not knowing." He glanced back to make sure the road was clear, then swung onto it, hit the brakes, and shifted to first gear.

"Then why are you taking me with you?"

"Wouldn't be safe to leave you behind."

"Safe for who?"

"You."

"Oh wonderful."

"It'd probably be all right," he said, "but I don't want to take the chance, so it's better if you just stick with me for now."

"G.o.d, what've I got myself into?"

"Consider it an adventure."

"Maybe you could just drop me off at my apartment, huh?"

"No time." He sped down the wooded hillside, stopped at Laurel Canyon Boulevard to wait for a break in the traffic, then shot out.

"Look, I'm really not up for an adventure."

"I'm sorry. Believe me, I was looking forward to your Spanish omelet, a day of swimming and lying in the sun, pa.s.sionate embraces..."

"Me too, d.a.m.n it."

"Things go wrong."

"Yeah. How about letting me out?"

"Barefoot and purseless?"

"Just stop down here at Ventura, and I'll hop out."

"That's a long hike to Hollywood."

"I've got a girlfriend. She's only a few blocks away. I'll be fine, thank you."

Dukane thought it over. He didn't like the idea of dumping her out, but he saw no point in dragging her to Venice, possibly into danger. Steering with one hand, he slipped the wallet from his pocket. He gave it to her. "Keep that until I get your purse back to you. Collateral."

"Oh Matt, that's not necessary."

"There's some cash in it. Use what ever you like."

She laughed. "Are you joking?"

"Not at all. Pick up a pair of shoes, treat your friend to lunch, what ever. I'll get your purse and stuff back to you to night. You'll be home?"

"I'll be there."

"The address on your driver's license, right?"

"Yep."