She banged her fist on SNOOZE, then turned around and headed for the bed again. She looked down and noticed she was still in her dress.

d.a.m.n!

It looked like h.e.l.l. So did she, most likely.

Like a failing tree, she collapsed facedown on the mattress.

Why did she feel so rotten? She hadn't had that much to drink last night. The combination, maybe?

. Whatever it was, she didn't like it. Her stomach was queasy, and her head . . . G.o.d, her head.

She was just dozing off when the howling guitar riffs filled the room again. This time she got up and turned off the radio. She staggered to the bathroom, removing the dress along the way. She looked at herself in the mirror.

Yuck. Awful. Simply awful.

She turned on the shower and stripped. As soon as the water was warm, she stepped in and let it run over her head and down her body.

G.o.d, that felt good.

She began lathering herself, starting with her face and working down.

The water and the scrubbing action began to revive her. She was returning from the dead, reentering the world of the "Ow! " She twisted and looked down at the lateral aspect of her right thigh.

She'd felt a stab of pain while scrubbing the area. Tender there.

She ran a hand over the spot and noticed a small bruise. She must havecollided with the corner of a table or her nightstand on her way to bed last night.

But wait . . . this bruise was more toward the rear of her thigh than the front. The only way she could do that was by walking backward.

She braced her foot on the edge of the tub and took a closer look.

More than a bruise. The skin had been broken. A little semicircular cut in the center of the bruise. Almost like the one she'd seen on .

Senator . . . Marsden . . .

Gin's knees buckled and she grabbed the towel rack to steady herself.

No, wait, stop, she told herself as the bathroom wobbled around her and she fought to regain her balance. This is crazy. This is impossible.

But when she looked again the tiny laceration was still there. She probed it. She could feel the fine ridge of the edge. Had to be fresh. She pushed harder. A tiny droplet of blood appeared at its center. She probed deeper around the bruise, palpating the subcutaneous fat, looking for Her fingers froze. Was it her imagination or was something there?

Something soft like fat but too smooth to be fat. Something oblong, cylindrical. Like an implant.

The bathroom wobbled again. And even with the hot water coursing over her, Gin suddenly felt cold. And sick. She stepped out of the shower and bent dripping over the toilet and retched. Nothing came up.

Her head throbbed even more painfully as she sank to her knees. When the room steadied, she took another, closer look at her thigh. She touched the spot again, but gingerly this TIME If there really was something under it, and if that something was an implant, she didn't want to disturb it or . . . rupture it.

But how could it possibly be an implant? Duncan had dropped her off, and she'd locked the door . . .

Wait. Duncan had had the keys. He'd opened the door for her and let her in. And then he'd left. Had he handed her the keys? No. Had she seen him leave them? No. She hadn't seen much of anything. The door latched automatically, and she hadn't bothered with the chain lock.

All she'd wanted was to hit the pillow.

Gin pulled herself to her feet, wrapped a towel around her, and shut off the water. She shivered.

The coffee in Duncan's office last night. She'd believed the bitterness was due to some strange black sambuca he'd said he was trying. But it could have been something else. Could have been chloral hydrate.

An old-fashioned Mickey Finn.

He'd had her keys. He could have kept them, driven around the block a few times, come back, let himself in, and stuck an implant in her thigh while she was out cold.

Still dripping, she stumbled out of the bathroom and went to the front door. The chain wasn't on, but she didn't remember fastening it. And her keys . . .

She looked around and spotted them on the coffee table.

But of course he'd leave them behind after he'd finished with her.

What use were they to him then?

But why? Why would he do this to her just hours after asking her to a.s.sist on the president's surgery? It didn't make sense. Unless .

Unless he thought she knew too much. What if he'd found out about the FBI and the staged accident and the Mltl done on Senator Marsden's leg?

What if Oliver had told him that she''d guessed about the president?

He' d want to make sure she was out of the way. Before Friday. He'd The phone rang. Her hand trembled as she lifted the receiver. When she recognized Duncan's voice, she almost screamed.

"How are you feeling? " Controlling her terror, the hurt, Gin forced herself to reply calmly.

"Fine. A little headache, maybe."

"Glad to hear it. You were sailing last night. For a while there I"

"Duncan! " Unable to repress them any longer, the words burst from her.

"Duncan, how could you do this to me! " "Do what? " "You know d.a.m.n well what! You stuck an implant in me last night! " "What? Hold on just a minute." He put me on hold! she thought. I don't believe this!

She was just about to slam the receiver down when she heard a click and pressed it back to her ear.

"Now, Gin, " he said. "I don't understand this. What do you think I've done? " "Don't play dumb with me, Duncan. I know all about it.

You slipped me a Mickey last night and put an implant filled with TPD in my leg. ' "You think I broke into your apartment and did surgery on you? And what's TDP? " "You know d.a.m.n well what it is! It causes psychotic symptoms.

"Gin, listen. Think. If I wanted to dose you with something, why bother with an implant? Why not just inject you with it? " That took her back. Why hadn't he just shot her up and been done with it? And then suddenly she knew.

"Because you were out with me last night. We were seen together. You want a comfortable buffer zone between when you were with me and when I have a breakdown."

"I fear you're having one now, Gin."

"Just what you'd like people to think, isn't it? Well, listen, Duncan" "Have you heard enough, Barbara? " And then Gin heard Barbara's voice, husky with pity. "Gin, you've got to calm down.

We're you're friends here.

We only want to help you.

Please. You've got to believe that." Gin nearly dropped the phone.

"Oh my G.o.d! Barbara! He's conning you! " The b.a.s.t.a.r.d! He'd put Barbara on the line while she was on hold. Now he had a witness that she was making wild accusations before her complete breakdown.

'"Just stay where you are, Gin, " Duncan said. "I'm calling an ambulance to come to your place. We'll get you to where you can receive the help you need."

"NO! " She slammed the phone down and ran for her bedroom.

"d.a.m.n me! How could I be so stupid! " She pulled on her clothes. She had to get out of here. She could see it all now . . .

He had set all this up, and so cleverly. First the fake-out on , r, i.

Marsden. She must have made it too obvious that she suspected something.

So he'd pulled a reverse on her by puncturing the senator's thigh with an empty trocar. He'd led her into making a complete fool out of herself. But that was the least of it. Now her rationality and soundness of judgment were suspect.

But how in the world did he know how much she knew? Unless he had a security camera in the office or something.

My G.o.d! Was that possible? Then he would have seen her picking the lock on his desk drawer, seen her peeking behind that book two days ago. She groaned. No wonder he wanted her out of the way.

She pulled on a sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door. She stuttered to a halt at the threshold.

Where am I going?

Home? But that was the first place he'd look for her. And she did not want to get her folks involved.

Gerry? He had awful doubts about her reliability. But this time she had proof. Right here in her leg. An implant nestled there in the fatty layer.

She leapt back to the phone and dialed Gerry's home. He'd still be there now. At least she hoped so. As the phone began to ring, she worked to keep her voice under control. She wanted to sound sane while she explained something insane. How to say it all in as few words as possible? And make it believable. She had to make Gerry believe.

"Gerry, it's Gin." Gerry felt a small glow of pleasure at the sound of her voice, also a stab of guilt and, in a way, relief. He'd wanted to talk to her but had been hesitant about making the call. He'd been pretty rough on her last week. He was glad she'd taken the first step.

On the other hand, he couldn't help being more than a little apprehensive about what she might have to say, especially since her voice sounded strained.

"h.e.l.lo, Gin. I've been meaning to call."

"I don't have much time, so please listen to what I have to say. Last night Duncan put one of those implants in my leg while I was asleep.

It's still in there. ' He groaned. Not again.

"Oh, Gin. You've really got to get" Her voice rushed on. "Listen to me, Gerry. I beg you. This isn't fantasy. There are two hard facts you can check out. One is, obviously, the implant in my leg. I know it's there. I can feel it. We can get a scan to prove it, but what I really want is someone to operate and remove it. The second is the reason Duncan did this to me, He's doing cosmetic surgery on the president tomorrow morning. ' Gerry closed his eyes. Poor Gin.

Duncan Lathram strikes again, first Senator Marsden, now the president.

"I know what you're thinking, Gerry, " she said, 'and I don't blame you.

But just check it out. You've got to know someone in the Secret Service."

"Yeah. I know a couple of guys." Bob Decker immediately came to mind.

He was on the White House detail.

If anyone would know the president's hour-to-hour whereabouts, it would be Bob.

"Good. Call one of them. Call them all. Confirm what I said about the surgery. Once we've established that, maybe you'll be more willing to believe that I'm not completely . .

crazy.

"I don't think you're crazy, ' he said, hoping he sounded convincing.

"You're a terrible liar. But please don't leave me hanging. Check this out. Then we can get on with removing this thing from my leg and put a stop to Duncan before he does something catastrophic. Please.

I'm begging you." The note of plaintive desperation in her voice cut through all his rational objections to getting sucked in again.

She's frightened, he thought. Deeply frightened.

"Okay. I'll call'the White House." It was the least he could do.And what would it hurt? "But it may take me a while to get an answer.

Those guys aren't just sitting around waiting for calls. If the president's out somewhere, they'll be with him."

"It's still early.

Maybe you can catch somebody."

"I'll try."

"Thanks. That's almost more than I could hope for." She sounded not only frightened, but lost. Not a friend in the world.

"Where will you be? Home? " "G.o.d, no. He's coming for me. I've got to get moving. I'll call you back in a little while. When I get to a safe place." Oh, Gin.

"Do you want to stay at my place? " he said. "Martha will be in school.

You could stay here till I hear from the Secret Service guys." He wanted her safe. What should he do with her? He had to get some help.

Maybe get in touch with her parents, let them know she was having a breakdown.