It will make a difference in the way I help you. You may not want me to be your lawyer if you can't accept what I decide," she lied.

"Not that easy, Tara. You want me to say I want someone else to talk for me. That won't solve the problem." He spoke quietly, intent on his culinary task.

"If I told you something different, you still couldn't tell anyone else. Even if I fired you, you'd have to sit with two different things in your head, trying to figure out which one is right. Even if you said you couldn't be my lawyer, I'd still be with Donna and you'd still know about what I did."

Disgusted, Tara turned away but Bill reached for her. Taking her arm, he held her firmly in his grip. Her breath slipped into her throat, sc.r.a.ping between her teeth. Instinctively her hand covered his, her fingers digging into his. She fought no further because he was so close and she could see the sheen of his clean shaven skin, smell a scent that made him unique and beautiful. He moved closer to her, his lips parting as if he might kiss her. Instead, he spoke gently, those beautiful lips of his moving just outside her peripheral vision.

Tara closed her eyes. She trembled.

"I told you the truth. Don't be mad at me.

We've gotta work together. Together." He gave her a little underscoring shake.

"You're my hope. So hang in, babe, okay? I am one sick sucker. I'm so good sometimes, then sometimes I feel"*he sighed*"nothing."

Mechanically Tara opened her eyes, terrified to the very core of her being. She leaned away and looked at his hand. Finally she found the courage to look up at him. He was evil or he was sick, but one thing she knew with certainty*he was smart.

He let her go. Spoon in hand, he changed again, chameleon-like, quick and captivating. Conversational once more.

"So, did you find out anything? Did you go and ask whether or not the stuff I told you was right?"

"Yes," she almost stammered.

"I told someone what you'd told me and he promised to check it out."

"That's all, right? You didn't tell him my name.

You can't do that, right?" He tried to smile but she saw the worry behind those eyes of his. Tara shook her head. He was satisfied.

"Incredible.

Against human nature if you ask me, but whatever.

Did you figure something out5 I don't want to go to jail, Tara. Donna would understand a hospital but not*" "Thank goodness! You're finally home!"

Startled, Tara half jumped out of her skin and twirled toward the doorway. Donna stood with her arms out, half hanging on the jamb like they were monkey bars on the playground. She looked perfect.

Jeans, a big sweater that hid impossibly tiny hips, its cowl neck hanging just right. The shades of purple offset her platinum hair. She wore lavender cowboy boots, so pristine it was impossible to imagine they'd ever been worn outside much less in the presence of a horse.

"Hi." Tara's voice was so small she had a hard time finding it. Tara touched her brow, the sign of an exhausted woman, not one unnerved. But Donna wasn't paying attention to Tara. She pranced into the kitchen, wound her arms around Bill's waist, gave his back a kiss, and grinned at Tara.

"I'm starving, but Bill insisted we wait for you.

He said everyone deserves a good hot meal after a hard day's work." She breathed deeply, her eyes closed, "Smells heavenly."

"I usually just have a salad." Tara turned away but Donna caught her arm.

"Don't be a spoilsport," Donna said, a plea in her voice, fear that he might go play somewhere else if they weren't nice.

"He's worked so hard.

Even put out some munchies. Make an exception, just this once."

"Tara is one of those women, Donna, who makes exceptions for friends.

Bends over backward, right, Tara?"

Bill didn't wait for an answer. He put his hands on both women's waists and herded them out.

"Fire's a-goin' in the living room, little snacks, everything you need to relax *til dinner. Now get, both of you. I'll call when chow's on. Go."

Tara didn't need to be told twice.

"Oh, look at this. Cheese, crackers. Not exactly inspired, but sweet.

I swear, I didn't even know he could cook. Come on, have some."

Donna settled herself on the couch and put a piece of cheese on a cracker while Tara thought about Bill Hamilton rummaging around her cabinets, touching things that belonged to her and her family. He had violated her subtly, in so many ways*her mind, her home, her friend. This was detestable, sick or not.

"I don't want a cracker." Tara took off her jacket, avoiding Donna's curious gaze.

"I'm just not hungry, Donna. It's been a long day, and I'm not crazy about coming home to find someone using my things."

Slowly Donna put the cracker back on the plate.

The wine was forgotten, the good mood broken.

"If you don't want us here, you should have just said so."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I want you here."

"But not Bill, is that it? You're mad about last night. You're mad about his little prank with the car," Donna said quietly. To her credit she didn't pout.

"Oh, Donna, no," Tara said. Spent, she slipped onto the sofa beside Donna, her shoulders curled in as if she were exhausted.

"It was stupid. What he did was dangerous, but I'm not mad about that."

"Then what? You weren't yourself last night. It was like you went out the door in the morning and came back someone else that night." Donna drummed her fingers on the table and glanced at her friend.

"That was Ben last night, wasn't it? At Woodrow's c.o.c.ktail party."

"Yes."

"Had you ever seen him in that wheelchair?"

"No. He was still in the hospital when Dad and I had to leave for Washington," Tara said quietly.

"Guess you just went from one needy soul to the next." Tara looked up, confused. Donna smiled.

"Me. I meant me. That's when we met. I just didn't know about Ben. I didn't know for the longest time that you were having some troubles of your own. You really keep things in tight, Tara.

Maybe all those feelings you kept in about Ben when you were a teenager are coming back now.

Is that what's making you act so strange?"

Tara laughed, a short despairing sound.

"No, I don't feel badly about seeing Ben. His accident was years ago.

We're adults now. It actually feels .. ."

Tara paused, having no words to describe what she felt about her encounter with Ben. Those feelings were too wrapped up with this nightmare.

"He's handsome. Still looks good. Looks great as a matter of fact," Donna said brightly, but her good cheer was forced as she tried to find her way in the labyrinth of Tara's new mood.

"This isn't about Ben." Tara patted Donna's knee. She got closer, throwing her arm over the back of the sofa, an idea taking root.

"Look, I think I was just fooling myself. I am upset about turning forty. I need a vacation and I want you to come with me. Please."

Donna was content. This she could understand.

"Of course I'll go with you. Don't be ridiculous.

Where do you want to go?"

"I want to go far away. Europe maybe. Right after I clear up something with Woodrow." Bill's name burned itself into her tongue, but she didn't say it.

"I have a case that will be great if it works out. If it doesn't, then I'm out of here. I'm going to run away, and I want you to run away with me.

How about it?"

"Tara, I swear you're losing your mind."

"No, I'm not," she insisted.

"You're my best friend in the world. Pay me back for your fortieth.

You can do this for me, can't you?"

"Of course. I haven't been for ages, and Bill would love to see Europe," Donna soothed.

"No!" Tara half came off the couch. She stood up, covering her panic as she poured a gla.s.s of wine, calming herself with the mechanics of it. She couldn't look at Donna and spoke with her back turned.

"No, I want us to go. Just girls. He'll be here when you get back.

Please, a few weeks.

That's all." When the silence stretched, Tara looked over her shoulder. Donna was considering her, her expression troubled.

"Wine?" Tara asked.

"No, thank you." Donna put one elbow on her knee before resting her chin on her upturned fist.

"Tara, is there something between you and Bill?

Something you're not telling me?"

"Oh, Lord," Tara muttered, defeated.

"It's okay if there is. I understand. Believe me.

He's young, you're vulnerable. He's charming, you're overworked. He hit me that way too.

Women react that way to someone like him."

"Please, Donna. It's nothing like that," Tara groaned and took her seat again.

"I just want to go away with my best friend and relax. That's it."

"It's more. If it's not Ben, and it's not Bill, then it's something even you don't understand." Donna rested her leg on the couch, the other dangling over the side.

"I still think you're lonely. I can help you work through it, really I can. Or at least let me give you the name of my therapist."

"Donna, I don't need a therapist. I need a hammock under a beach umbrella. I just turned forty, I miss my father, and work just isn't .. ." Tara chose the next word carefully: "... challenging."

"Honey, I can't take off right now anyway. I've got book commitments.

Besides, if you and I are going to travel, I want to do it in style. Why rush it? Let me finish up my work and we'll plan a whopper of a trip." Donna reached for the cheese and crackers again. She gave one to Tara and took one for herself.

"I'm still going to give you the name of my therapist, and I hope your incredible pride won't get in the way of calling her. Talking to someone who doesn't know you from Adam can be so freeing. No judgments. Just help." Donna took a bite of the cracker and spoke through the crumbs.

"Kind of like your job. You help people who come to you without questioning why they do what they do. You know. Bill was in therapy since he was a kid. He's benefited so much from it."

"How'd you find out Bill had been in therapy?"

Tara asked cautiously.

Donna smiled beautifully, transported to some private moment she held dear. Tara shivered at the thought of Bill Hamilton and his confessions.

"He told me. Soon as we met. That's unusual for a man to admit something like that."

"Sounds like his problems were bad if he was in therapy as a child."

"I can't say. We shared our history in confidence, Tara," said Donna, sober as a judge.

Tara responded quickly, working the opening.

"I would just worry that his problems might create trouble in your relationship. I'd hate to see you hurt again."