"The missing waitress?" Angie asked innocently.

Connie stood mute.

"Don't play dumb," the woman countered. "I saw her and your neighbor on the dock. I saw the way she looked at him. I don't know who else she would have gone to."

Angie looked heavenward. What did those two do on the dock, for pity's sake? "Who are you?" she demanded.

"Gail Leer. My husband owns Athina. I'm Hannah's friend. Her only friend." Gail looked over her shoulder back toward the restaurant. "Let's walk. Let's cross the street and head away from the wharf."

Angie and Connie followed as she led them down a block. "I'm worried about her," Gail said when they were out of sight of the restaurant. "Her baby is due and I know she doesn't have any money or relatives around. I want to help. I'd planned to tell her that, but before I could, she disappeared."

"She didn't know you wanted to help?" Angie asked.

Gail chewed her bottom lip. "I never put it in so many words. I guess I thought she understood. Where is she?" She twisted her fingers with agitation. "I was sure she'd gone to your neighbor for help, especially since I saw him here several times. Something about her makes some men want to protect her, take care of her. And, in other cases, to use her." She shut her eyes as if trying to erase some ugly memory. "She's a sweet girl, an innocent, which is hard to believe in this day and age. Where is she?"

"If she's so sweet, innocent, and loved, why would she leave and not tell anyone?" Angie asked. "Especially in her condition. Was she afraid of something? Someone?"

Gail's gaze darted from side to side. "I...I don't know. I've asked myself what I could have done to help her."

"If you were a friend, why didn't she go to you for help?" Angie asked. "Me and my neighbor are strangers to her. I don't see a pregnant woman wanting a stranger to help her when she has friends, do you?"

"You think I'm lying about being her friend?" Gail shook her head woefully. "I'm not! I loved her like a daughter! Now, though...now she's gone and I don't know where. I've got to find her! She might be in danger."

"Danger from what?" Angie asked.

Gail paused, searching their faces. When she answered, her tone had become stiff and formal. "The baby's due anytime. Without help, it's a dangerous situation."

Angie caught Connie's eye. Even Connie realized Gail was lying.

"She can trust me," Gail pleaded. "You-both of you-can trust me. I wouldn't hurt her. I'd protect her. Please tell me what you know."

"Protect her from what?" Angie asked.

Gail shook her head again. "I don't know," she murmured. "You don't understand."

"Why do you think I know where she is?" Angie asked.

"Because I know Hannah!" With that, her frustration getting the better of her, she spun on her heel and headed back toward the restaurant.

Angie and Connie watched her a moment, then got into Angie's car.

"What are you going to do?" Connie asked. "Something awful is going on at that restaurant. I can feel it."

"That woman worries me," Angie said. "There's a lot she isn't telling us."

Chapter 16.

Angie stood by the main entrance to KQED and waited for Peter to pick her up after another night of persuading people to bid for the dinners and pledge their support. He was late. Tonight's cooking extravaganza had been three hours of Yan Can Cook. She never wanted to see anyone julienne bamboo shoots again.

Tonight, none of the restaurateurs knew her or her mother. No, that was wrong. One of them remembered a rather negative review she'd once written about him for Haute Cuisine. Talk about embarra.s.sing!

She was just about to call the cab company again when the taxi arrived. Someone other than Peter got out and headed for the building. He wore a baseball cap pulled low on his brow, his collar turned up, and dark gla.s.ses.

She stuck her head out the door. "Who are you looking for?"

"Angie Amalfi," he said.

"That's me." She didn't like the guy's looks, but it was late and taxi drivers didn't necessarily dress for the cover of GQ. She got into the cab. "Where's Peter? The dispatcher said he was already on his way when I called."

"I think he broke down. I was told to come get you."

She guessed she should expect such things to happen.

The driver started up the cab. "Where to?" he asked.

"You aren't going to drive with those gla.s.ses on, are you?"

"The glare," he said.

"Glare? What glare? We're the only ones out here. It's after midnight."

"Where to?" he repeated.

"The corner of Green and Jones."

He nodded and started up.

Something made her uneasy. He put on the radio to KJAZ. John Coltrane played "Soul Eyes."

To her relief, he drove directly to her apartment building and parked. "That's where you live?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Big building. Are you up very high?"

"Yes." She handed him some money and he started to pull out some change.

"Doesn't it make you nervous being in earthquake country and all? Or with terrorists possibly targeting this city? You aren't on the top floor, are you?"

She was, but something made her not want to admit it. "I worry more about crossing the street in heavy traffic." She took out a couple of dollars for his tip and quickly hurried from the cab into her building. The building manager locked the front door this time of night. As soon as she got in, she locked the door behind her.

She hadn't realized how quickly she'd moved or that she'd been holding her breath.

Silly, she told herself. There was no reason to be so nervous around the cabdriver. So he wasn't Peter. So what?

"Angie," Paavo said softly. "Wake up."

She awoke with a start. The morning sun was just beginning to lighten the sky. Paavo stood over her bed. Slightly dazed, she sat up and looked around the bedroom, then at the clock. Seven fifteen. "Paavo? Am I still dreaming?"

He sat down beside her. "No, you're not."

She blinked and tried to shake the sleep from her. "Is something wrong?" As soon as she said the words, they worked like a jolt of adrenaline. Paavo would get first word if there'd been an accident-if something had happened to one of her relatives or friends. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were all right," he said. She could see the worry etched on his face. Whatever had caused him to rush over to her apartment this way?

"I'm fine. Why?"

"I called, but then I remembered that you've been turning off the ringer on your phone so that the telemarketers and others don't wake you up. I tried your cell phone, but I guess it's off as well. So I came over. You didn't hear my knock."

"I got in late last night, then had to work two crosswords and three jumbles before I could fall asleep. Why were you worried?"

"You've been riding with a Yellow Cab driver named Peter Leong, right?"

Her face fell. "Don't tell me something's happened to him? He's a good man."

"He was found this morning two blocks away from KQED-TV. He's alive, but in a coma. Someone bashed in the side of his head. Normally, they would have figured a pa.s.senger had robbed him, but the last pa.s.senger he dropped off was a little after eleven-thirty. He then spoke to the dispatcher and said he was going to get a cup of coffee and pick you up at twelve-fifteen. You were his last fare."

"Poor man! Is he going to be all right?" she asked.

"The doctors hope that once the swelling goes down, he'll be back to normal. They figure he was. .h.i.t with a brick or something similar."

"How do you know about this?" she asked, confused. "You're in Homicide. Wait-you didn't even go to work yet, did you? It's too early."

"One of the cops at the scene is a friend. When he heard your name, he called me. We were worried about you. We didn't know if you were in the cab at the time."

Questions filled her.

"No money was taken from Leong's wallet," Paavo continued. "And we aren't sure why he went back to the area near the TV studio. What time did he drop you off at home?"

"Drop me off? He never picked me up. It was someone else," she said.

Paavo stared as if her words made no sense.

She continued to explain. "A taxi driver told me Peter's cab broke down. He said he was told to get me."

"No...not according to the dispatcher's records."

In the fog of her sleep, she hadn't put it all together until Paavo said that. If the dispatcher thought Peter was going to pick her up, she hadn't sent a replacement. "Are you suggesting that the man who...who drove me home...wasn't sent by the Yellow Cab Company? He wasn't a cabdriver?"

Paavo shook his head. "It doesn't make sense, does it?"

"My G.o.d! I'm taking a taxi to be safe! And now it seems they're even more dangerous than driving myself around!"

"What can you tell me about the person who took you home?" he asked abruptly. She expected that question, but not his next one. "Was it a man or a woman?"

"A man," she replied.

"Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"

He had someone in mind, she realized. "He had a beard-"

"A simple disguise-"

"Plus an Adam's apple and low voice. Why? Who do you think it was?"

"No one. I don't know," he said, lost in thought. "Can you describe him?"

She told him about the dark gla.s.ses and KJAZ on the radio, and then remembered how someone had followed her and Peter the night before.

She was suddenly very nervous, as was Paavo. She reached for him. He held her close, kissing and comforting her, but she could feel the tension this had caused him as well.

Neither could imagine what was going on. She had one night left of the KQED auction. That night, Paavo would be her chauffeur.

That morning, he was much more.

"If you're going to stay up all night," Angie's sister Frannie said irritably a few hours later, "you've got to sleep later in the morning. Having you visit and then watching you yawn the whole time I'm talking to you is not only disgusting, it's rude besides."

"I didn't stay up all night, but you'll have to admit that the news I woke up to was more than a little disturbing." All Frannie's talk about yawning made Angie feel the need for a nice long one, replete with a good stretch of the arms. She tried to suppress it.

Frannie looked even more put out as she handed Angie a second cup of coffee. She was just a few years older, but the two sisters couldn't have been more different. Frannie was taller, and since the birth of Seth, Jr., had worked so hard to lose the weight she'd gained that she was almost emaciated. Her hair was tightly permed and worn in ringlets that resembled dreadlocks. Floppy Birkenstocks and smocklike dresses were her clothes of choice. "I'm sure the phony cabdriver was just some kid wanting a joyride or doing some reality playacting. Maybe a gang initiation-"

"Oh, that's encouraging-"

"Who knows? Who cares?" Frannie said. "You're safe. It wasn't about you, no matter what you think."

"I wish I knew what to think," Angie murmured.

"He took you home, didn't he?" Frannie asked. When Angie nodded, she said, "All right, then. Forget it."

Angie would rather forget her sister. The only thing she could figure was that the guy who attacked Peter wanted to be a cabdriver and stole the cab, plus found information about Peter's next fare in the taxi, and that's why he picked her up. If he hadn't, the dispatcher would have known immediately that something had happened to Peter. Made sense, didn't it?

"I didn't really come here to visit-" She had to stop talking as the yawn overtook her.

Frannie scowled. "I know. You're here to find out what I know about your engagement party. Believe me, if I knew anything, I'd tell you. I don't see why you get a big, fancy engagement party. Mamma didn't do all that for mine."

"Your party was everything you said you wanted," Angie exclaimed. "How can you complain?"

"I thought it was, but now it seems lacking in imagination. I wish I'd listened to Mamma more, frankly. She had some good ideas. And my idea of a vegan party with a healthy tofu cake didn't go over nearly as well as I'd imagined."

"That anyone ate it at all was the surprise," Angie said as she sipped the coffee and tried to wake up. "But overall, I thought your party was fine except for when Papa found one of the caterers in the closet with Cousin Richie. They tried to say they were making sandwiches, and Cousin Pia said it was more like rolled pork. Remember that?" Angie began to chuckle, but her laughter quickly died. Could something like that happen at her party?