bodies increased.

She stopped at the swinging door, automatically waiting for him.

"How old is your boy?"

Graham pushed the door open and held it for her.

He didn't bother asking how she knew about Jake.

"Seven."

' 'Seven," she echoed. She tried to imagine him as a father of a

seven-year-old and, despite the telephone conversation, had trouble

conjuring up the image." I guess he's a handful, then, if he's

anything like you.

Graham inclined his head.

The black-and-white floor leading to the main entrance was checkered with scars no amount of wax could disguise.

He was aware of everything.

Mainly, he was aware of Caitlin walking beside him.

"He has his moments."

He pushed open the heavy double door for her.

It was like stepping into an oven.

Heat shimralered up from the pavement like wisps of faded mirages.

He didn't have to look to find his car.

It was parked in the same place it always was, day in, day out.

It was the,only place near the building large enough to accommodate the

vehicle.

The other detectives knew enough to leave it free.

"That way."

Graham had to stop himself from taking her elbow.

Old habits were attempting to resurface as if they hadn't been dormant

for more than ten years.

It had taken him a year to get over her.

A year he had no intentions of reliving.

Sliding one hand into his pocket, he gestured with the other toward his

car.

He didn't bother breaking stride.

Caitlin stared, fascinated, as she fairly trotted next to him to keep

up.

He had to be kidding.

"The pink one?"

Disbelief framed the question and she glanced at him, waiting for a

disclaimer.

"The pink one," he confirmed.

She was amazed that there wasn't a hint of embarrassment in his

voice.

The car, a '59 Eldorado Biarritz, was in gleaming mint condition.

It was a convertible, but he had the top up.

I-ess sun damage that way.

Parked on the far side of the building, it stood out amid the other

cars @ a giant in the midst of a tribe of pygmies.

Caitlin stopped at the passenger door, then raised her eyes to Graham's. She was apparently waiting for either the punch line or a lengthy explanation.

Did she think he was driving the car on a dare?

When he remained silent, she asked, Why?

He would have thought that was self-evident.

Graham lightly ran his palm along the chrome handle before unlocking

it.

"Because it's rare. There were only one thousand, three hundred andtwenty made. And because it's beautiful."He said it the way a lover spoke of his mistress.The way, she recalled without wanting to, he had once spoken to her.Maybe the car would have better luck than she had, Caitfin thought sarcastically.

Graham opened the door for her and, after a moment, she got in.

The seat gave, @ a loving old friend, accepting her.

"Doesn't this stick out a little in the neighborhood?"

He rounded the long hood and slid in behind the steering wheel.

"A little."

If she looked closely, she could detect a hint of a smile on his face.

Was he pulling her leg?

"How do you do surveillance in a car like this?""I don't. We usually take one of the department's cars, the way we didwhen we went to your shop. But it comes in handy."

As he spoke, he glided his hand over the dashboard.

Caitlin watched, and remembered.

Self-conscious, she lowered her eyes.

He put the key into the ignition and then glanced over his shoulder to

make sure the path was clear.

It was.

"People don't expect a policeman to be driving something quite SO-)P

She stared at the hood. There seemed to be miles of car in front of

them. And miles more behind. It was like being in a tank. A pink

tank.

"Gaudy?" she suggested.

"Obvious," he corrected.

"I see."

Caitlin settled back in the seat as Graham started the car.

She expected to hear gears groaning in protest.

Half the time her car sounded as if someone had let loose a chain saw