"What about the attack in your apartment? You think it's the same guy?" asked Garnett.

Diane hesitated a moment, startled at being brought out of her thoughts. "This guy really wanted to kill me," she said. "I think if he had me as vulnerable as I was in my apartment he would have done it. Frankly, I don't know what this is about. You should have heard him as he was telling me he hated me. It was...

it was gut level. He meant it."

"Can you think of anyone you've offended . . .

lately?" asked Garnett.

"Other than Riddmann, no," said Diane. Garnett grimaced. "I appreciate you apologizing to him. I know it was tough."

"Not very," said Diane. "I had my fingers crossed."

She eyed the video. "Is there nothing that shows his face? No reflective surface, nothing?"

"I haven't seen anything," said David.

"It's just not there," said Frank. "He must have known where the cameras are."

"Is he stalking me?" said Diane.

"He has to be," Frank said. "How else would he know you were at the hospital and how to get to you here?"

"Well, d.a.m.n," said Diane. "What the h.e.l.l did I do to this guy to inspire so much hatred in him?" "I have no idea," said Garnett. "You're going to have to answer that. Go home and get some rest.

Maybe something will occur to you in the morning." "What about the exam room at the hospital?"

asked Diane.

"No go," said Garnett. "A doctor came in and overrode your instructions. He had it cleaned up so they could use it."

Diane swore.

"Do we have anything?" she asked.

"We did find black nylon fibers on your hospital gown," said David.

"His ski mask," said Diane. "Probably the same one he wore tonight."

"There were two gowns," David said. "Did you have two?"

"Yes, I was trying to correct for a flaw in the design," said Diane.

She turned from the video. "I'm going to go get some sleep. When you find the guy who attacked me,"

she said to Garnett, "let me know so I can send him my drycleaning bill. David, what are you doing working in the crime lab? You are supposed to be doing your vacation work."

"I am, but your crime scenes alone are putting a lot of pressure on the unit. I thought I'd lend a hand,"

he said.

"Go get some rest now. I'm going to," said Diane. Before Diane would leave she made sure her crime scene crew and Andie went home-except for Jin. He said he was staying in his lab. Jin designed the DNA lab that Diane had installed in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the west wing. In it Jin allowed room for two small bedrooms, each with two bunk beds and bathrooms.

Everything in them was either shiny metal or tile and looked so modern it could have been a cabin on a s.p.a.ceship. Diane suspected that he often spent the night there. David said he probably spent hours just standing in the middle of the lab gazing in adoration at the equipment. Diane halfway believed him. "Did you lose a whole day of work because of me?"

Diane asked Frank on the way to his house. "No. I got more than a day's work done at home.

I had to go over some account books and correlate them with dates, and the quiet of my home is more conducive than my office to that kind of work," he said.

"That's a relief. I hate to think that it's come to the point that you have to babysit me," said Diane. Frank took her hand. "I'm having the Mountain Rose deliver our meal tonight. I thought while you are a guest I'll take advantage of it," he said, kissing the palm of her hand.

"Wow. I can't wait for dessert," she said.

When Frank was in full romantic mode it was better than a vacation at the beach, or the mountains, or even caving. Certainly better than a good night's sleep. Better than a month of good nights' sleep. Frank had a gift for romance. So when Diane arrived at the museum the next morning, she felt in control of the day.

She parked the museum car-which she'd had museum security deliver to Frank's house early that morning-in her usual spot and went to security first. Chanell Napier was on her two-week vacation and her second-in-command was in charge. C. W. Goodman was waiting for her.

Goodman kept his hair cropped close to his head. It was hard to tell what color it was-premature gray or blond. He was a thin, boney man who had been in security all his working life, which Diane guessed was about fifteen years.

"I figured you would come here right away," he said.

Though he didn't have a hat at the moment, she could visualize it in his hand as he stood in front of her. He looked unhappy as he offered her a chair.

Diane didn't sit in the chair Goodman offered. Instead, she stood behind it and gripped its back with her hands as she spoke.

"I know it's hard to keep people out of a place that, for most of the day and some of the evening, is open to the public. I also know that there are hundreds of places to hide if someone is determined-and this attacker last night was nothing if not determined," she said.

"That's true, ma'am," said Goodman.

"However, I thought there were procedures in place so that no one leaves the front desks unattended in either wing," she said.

"There are, and all I can say is Adam made an error in judgment. He knew he was going to be gone just a minute and didn't want to bother another guard. I think he has learned his lesson. There is no such thing as just a minute. A lot can happen in a minute," said Goodman.

"Yes, it can. Reinforce in the personnel that they need to follow the procedures Napier has laid out." Diane paused a moment. "I know this museum doesn't seem like any kind of security risk, and the temptation to let some rules slide is great. This isn't NORAD, but we still need to take security seriously. We have a lot of valuable things in here and a lot of people that need to be protected."

Diane was sure many in security thought that she herself was the only security problem. It certainly seemed that way to her. When she finished with Goodman, she went to her office. Andie was already at her desk, as usual.

"Are you all right today?" asked Diane.

"Am I ever. What a rush. I can see why you have so much fun," she said.

Fun. Is that what I have? thought Diane. "Andie, thank you for the rescue. As for chasing the guy, don't do anything like that again. He is very dangerous- whoever he is." thought Diane. "Andie, thank you for the rescue. As for chasing the guy, don't do anything like that again. He is very dangerous- whoever he is."

"I know that, but I was just so full of adrenaline," she said.

"I understand, and I really appreciate your coming in when you did. I just don't want you to get hurt."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I didn't tell my mother," said Andie.

Diane smiled. "So, anything going on this morning?"

"We are still getting phone calls and e-mail about the artifacts. Several contributors have called to say they are canceling their contributions. You know, that's hardly fair," said Andie.

"No, it isn't. But that's their choice. Anything else?"

"Yeah, something really really weird," said Andie. weird," said Andie.

"Must be, for you to call it weird. Weird is the norm for this place," said Diane.

"Well, you know I open your mail," said Andie.

"Yes, that's part of your job description. I take it you found something strange," she said.

"Well, yes. I opened this envelope." Andie took a fat package out of her drawer and laid it on her desk.

"What is it?" asked Diane.

"It's money. A lot of it."

Chapter 30.

"Money?" said Diane. "How much?"

"I haven't really counted it, but there's a bunch."

Andie pulled a packet of bills from the large envelope.

"There's a lot of these bundles and they're all hundreddollar bills."

Diane picked up the stack of bills and fanned through it. A lot of pictures of Ben Franklin. "Is it a contribution to the museum? Is there a letter with it?" asked Diane.

"Not exactly a letter."

Andie lifted a piece of paper from the envelope lightly, holding it by its edge between the tips of her thumb and index finger, and laid it on the desktop.

Diane stared at the sheet of plain white paper with one word printed on it in large block letters. b.i.t.c.h. "Well, I'm confused," said Diane. "You're right.

This is weird, even for us. Is there a return address?" "No," said Andie. "What do I do with it? I mean, I can't deposit it, can I?"

"No, I wouldn't think-"

Diane was interrupted by the door opening. Andie shoved the packet of money back into the envelope. "Agent Jacobs," said Diane, "you're up early." He looked at his watch. "Is it early? I thought I slept in." He looked from Diane to Andie. We must both look guilty We must both look guilty, Diane thought. "So, can I look at your accounting books?" he asked. Diane frowned, then picked up the package and the note. "We need to talk first."

Diane's office door was behind and to the right of Andie's desk. Diane led Agent Jacobs through her own office and into her conference room, where he had interviewed Jonas and Kendel. Her conference room looked like a comfortable living room. It was decorated in shades of green. The main focus was a large round oak table with padded oak chairs. Just beyond the table were two plush gold-green sofas at right angles to each other. Both were very comfortable. She had slept on them overnight many times.

The walls were the same hue as the sofas. They gave the room a golden glow. There was a full bathroom and closet where she kept changes of clothes. It did not look like an interrogation room.

She closed the door behind them. "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked.

"No, I just had breakfast. Maybe later. Great bedand-breakfast, by the way." He studied her for a moment. "This looks serious," he said and smiled as if it really were not.

He and Ross Kingsley must be from the school of FBI philosophy that says friendly is okay, she thought she thought as she looked at his sparkling white teeth. She wondered how much of it was his act to make people trust him. She sighed. It didn't really matter. She poured the money out on the table.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What's this?"

he asked.

"I really don't know. It arrived in this morning's mail. This came with it." She gave him the note. "That's it? 'b.i.t.c.h'? Do you know what it means?"

he asked.

"No. I haven't a clue. Not much of one anyway. I was attacked here in the museum last night by the same man who attacked me in the hospital. He called me a b.i.t.c.h on both occasions." Diane told him about the attacks, about his anger, and what he had said- about her being a dirty dealer.

"You think it may be related to the artifacts?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell me yesterday when I was here about the first attack and what he said?" That's the trouble when you decide to withhold important information from the FBI. They want to know why and you need a really good explanation.

Diane took a deep breath.

"I wasn't sure it was related. I had just been attacked in my home; that's why I was at the hospital.

Well, not exactly attacked. Let me start from the beginning."

Diane told him about waking up in the wee hours of the morning, about falling in the blood.

"The a.s.sault at the hospital was violent, and whatever happened in my apartment was extremely violent-they seemed at the time to be related. The artifacts-well, that wasn't violent. At least not at our end, though something may have been going on at Golden Antiquities. When I woke up yesterday morning I was drugged and confused and it took a while for the barbiturates to get out of my system. Apparently someone had put sleeping pills in both my and, I suspect, Ross' drinks when we dined together. That's why he fell asleep at the wheel. At least that's the hypothesis until he gets some tests back. But, that's why I slept through a violent murder in my living room." "Okay, I'll admit, that's not a bad answer. Ross was drugged too? Why?" Jacobs asked.

"I think someone wanted to make me sleep soundly.

But rather than keep up with who got which drink, they just doctored both of ours," said Diane. "I just discovered that the waiter who filled our drinks didn't show up for work yesterday."

"That's cold. Ross could have died," said Jacobs.

He shook his head. "There was only blood, no body in your apartment?"

Diane nodded. "The blood trail indicated the body was dragged outside and put in the trunk of my car." Jacobs c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "They didn't arrest you?"

"The DA wanted to. The barbiturates in my tox screen gave me an alibi of sorts. I'm not out of the woods."

"No one saw anything?" he asked.

"Or heard anything, which is really strange. I can hardly walk across the floor without my downstairs neighbors calling up and telling me to be quiet. And my neighbors across the hall live to eavesdrop on what's going on in my apartment-they even broke in once because they were sure I was harboring a forbidden cat."

He smiled and shook his head. "Do you know who the blood belonged to?"