Donna crowed.

"It's bloodless. There's no life in it, no compa.s.sion, no*" "There's honor in it, d.a.m.n you." Tara had turned so quickly Donna had to jump back. Tara towered above her, righteous indignation etched on every feature of her face. Anger colored her neck but left her cheeks pale. When she spoke again, her voice had lowered, the tension was heightened.

"There's honor in the way I live and in what I do. You, on the other hand, haven't a clue. You run around, jumping into situations, and cry when they turn against you. Let me tell you, Donna ..." Tara moved closer, leaning into her friend.

"You're in a h.e.l.l of a situation now. Jealous is the last thing I am.

Concerned. Frightened.

Those adjectives might work. But you, little lady, are thinking with something that isn't even close to your brain and you don't have a clue what you've got your claws into."

Tara turned and punched the b.u.t.ton that would give her permission to cross the street. She punched it so hard it sent a shot of pain straight up her injured arm. Donna grabbed her and there was another kick. She turned angry eyes on Donna. The other woman backed off, a fleeting expression of sorrow and guilt on her face. Tara exploited it.

"And if you want to talk about changes, look at you. You used to be so happy-go- lucky. Now you're so anxious you need constant rea.s.surance that Bill is the jewel you keep swearing he is. Are you having second thoughts, Donna? Or maybe you realized he's just a little off, but you're too proud to admit it. Maybe you don't know how to untangle yourself and you're hoping I'll give you a good reason. Maybe you're trying to goad me into saving you."

"Nice theory. So tell me what I've got myself into, and let me make a real adult decision about Bill. Let me actually think about our relationship instead of just lying on my back and spreading *em. Isn't that what you think, Tara?" Donna moved closer again.

"Or maybe that's the part you're jealous of."

"That's disgusting and beneath you," Tara snapped.

"I'm Bill's attorney. Did you know that?"

"Of course." Donna raised her chin proudly, but kept her lashes lowered. To hide the truth? To save face? Tara would never know.

"He told me you were doing business."

"Did he tell you what kind?"

"No. Tell me. Go on. Shock me. Make me shiver.

Tell me what's got your holier-than-though panties in such a knot, Tara."

"I can't," she screamed.

Donna was breathing hard. Her cheeks were red with the cold and now Tara thought Donna looked a little silly in her head-to-toe chile pepper ensemble.

She pulled away, looking at her with the dispa.s.sionate eye of an attorney. How many women were there like this, dependent upon men who didn't deserve to follow them down the street, much less lead them? With a tremulous, defeated breath, Tara spoke.

"I can't tell you, Donna. I won't tell you. Go ask Bill. Go crawl into bed with him and ask why he needs my help."

"I will," Donna whispered.

"And while I'm doing that, why don't you just lie all alone in yours and figure out why it probably won't matter to me at all."

Across the street, the little illuminated man flashed on. It was time to walk. Tara did.

"Hi." Charlotte was sitting on the porch, cigarette in hand, flicking ashes over the railing into the rosebushes below.

"Hi," Tara called, coming up the walk.

Charlotte took a last drag, expertly flipped the b.u.t.t into the flower bed below, and stood at the top of the stairs waiting for Tara to reach her. When she did, Charlotte gave her a kiss and put her arm around Tara's waist to walk her into the house.

"I'm so glad you could come. I meant to get back to you about taking you to dinner for your birthday, but things got out of hand." They stepped into the house. Tara loved Charlotte's calming taste, all muted colors, peach and beige, green and blue.

Small patterns on chairs, dark wood, a feeling of permanence. She closed the door behind them.

"I just couldn't get Woodrow's schedule and mine together, so I decided not to try to do anything fancy and just make it the two of us."

"I'm glad you didn't." Tara dropped her purse by the door.

"Believe me, your timing was perfect.

I was desperate to put my feet up and be waited on. I don't think I could have faced another restaurant."

"Sounds like you've had a rough day. I'm glad I called then," Charlotte said, walking on ahead and calling over her shoulder.

"Come on into the kitchen with me. Since it's just us girls, I figured you wouldn't mind casual."

"As if anything you ever do is casual." Tara laughed, pushing herself to good humor. Unfortunately, the memory of her icy parting with Donna blocked the effort. Tara slipped out of her jacket and tossed it onto the couch as she pa.s.sed.

"I've made a new dish. You're going to love it.

Bacon, sun-dried tomatoes, and that's just the pasta.

The sauce is even better." Charlotte was bending over to peer into the oven when Tara joined her.

"Homemade bread too."

"Beats burgers," Tara muttered.

"What?" Charlotte checked a pot atop the stove and an incredible scent filled the air. Tara smiled properly now.

"Nothing. Private joke." She was feeling better, here where life was stable with a predictable friend.

"Oh. Hope it's a good one. We haven't been doing much laughing around here. This whole thing with Strober Industries is causing Woodrow such grief I've never seen him so disheartened, Tara. Sit." She motioned to a ladder back chair.

Tara didn't need to be asked twice. Charlotte had the winegla.s.ses filled and was sitting opposite her ready for a good chat.

"I saw the interview with him this morning on television. He looked good, he sounded good.

What he did was perfectly ethical. The problem was taken care of and that should be that."

"It would be if this wasn't election time. You know they found out how it happened, don't you?

How the governor got hold of this information?"

Tara raised a brow.

"Really? I didn't know there was an investigation."

"All very quiet, naturally. Sort of a personal inquiry," Charlotte told her.

"Woodrow had Sandy looking into a few things. What else is a campaign manager for after all? Want some munchies?" Tara shook her head.

"Anyway, it was a woman who was laid off ages ago. She pa.s.sed the memo along to person unknown for a fee. Now she's terrified Woodrow will prosecute for theft even though that's not what it was at all. She just found it in her personal things."

"He's not going to, is he?"

"Of course not," Charlotte sniffed, her arms crossed as she rested against the counter.

"Can you imagine? Woodrow prosecuting a woman who's been out of work for almost a year, for giving the authorities something that could be construed as proof that Woodrow is the real culprit. He might as well stand on the Senate steps and wait for the old knife in the back."

"Well," Tara sighed, "I'd say that Woodrow is about due for a change of fortune. He's really been weathering one storm after another."

"I'll say. I could have shot that stringer who showed up at the party at La Posada. Everything was planned so perfectly, then there she was. I should have seen her coming." Charlotte poured the wine and gave a gla.s.s to Tara.

"The way I should have seen Ben coming?" Tara asked. Charlotte colored, smiling a sweet and innocent smile.

"Mad?"

"Nope," Tara admitted.

"Heard from him?"

"He called," she said.

"And?"

"And I've been busy. I'll call him. I promise. I actually would like to apologize for running out on him that night Your pot's going to boil over." Tara raised a hand and Charlotte jumped to rescue the pasta.

"I saw that. You were out of there like a bat out of h.e.l.l. What was going on?" Tara ignored the question; Charlotte ignored the silence.

"So you're feeling better?" Charlotte drained the pasta, added a squirt of olive oil, and smiled at Tara.

"What?" Charlotte nodded and Tara raised her arm.

"Oh, much, thanks. I can't imagine how that happened. My mind was on other things."

"Things can happen that way. I know I worry about Woodrow when he has a lot on his mind."

She sipped at her wine, stirred something in another pot, opened the oven, and checked the bread.

"I think of him having a car accident, or having a heart attack or something. But sometimes I just worry about him failing because that would just kill Woodrow."

"Everyone fails sometimes, Charlotte," Tara said.

"You can't protect a grown man from that. Besides, Woodrow can hold his own. Grief is something he can dish out."

Tara twirled her winegla.s.s and looked out the picture window onto the Webers' impeccable backyard.

Charlotte's husband, that selfless public servant, wasn't all he appeared to be, but it wasn't her place to point that out.

"I hear you're giving some back," Charlotte answered, taking her attention from the stove, giving it to Tara.

"Grief, I mean." The two women looked at one another for a minute that stretched to two.

Charlotte smiled and held out her hand.

"Pa.s.s me that colander, will you, Tara?" It was in her hands and a second pot of pasta drained by the time Tara recovered her wits.

"Charlotte?" Tara was cautious and Charlotte was chatty.

"Get the salad out of the refrigerator, will you?"

Tara stayed where she was. Charlotte got the salad herself. They both knew what was coming and Charlotte had the chutzpah to force the issue.

"Tara, come on, we'll talk about it over dinner. Sit down again, have some wine. It's no big deal."

Charlotte made up a plate for Tara and was holding one for herself.

Tara looked at neither.

Her appet.i.te had died. Charlotte fluttered her lashes and finally put her plate on the table.

"Okay. I'm sorry I said anything, but I couldn't help it. Woodrow's worried about this thing between you and him, and I'm worried about him and you. There, I said it. Now, please eat. I worked all day on that."

"Woodrow put you up to this, didn't he?"

Charlotte lay her fork down with great deliberation.

She reached for her throat, but the pearls weren't there and this wasn't a meeting of the sisterhood of homemakers.

"Of course not. Woodrow can fight his own battles. I'm telling you as a friend that I'm concerned that this Circle K thing could ruin a friendship that has stood for years."

"It can't possibly, Charlotte. Our profession has nothing to do with how we feel about one another.

Those are two different relationships," Tara answered, knowing if Charlotte went much further she would amend that statement.

"Not if what you're doing professionally affects your friend's ambitions. Not if you are deliberately holding back information on a dangerous man, one whose incarceration could result in a safer community as well as help Woodrow get what he wants."

"I'm not a part of Woodrow's campaign. Charlotte"*Tara pushed away from the table*"and I'm not sure you should be quite so well versed on the details of the district attorney's business."

"Now that's ridiculous," Charlotte laughed humorlessly.

"I'm Woodrow's wife. You think he doesn't tell me what he does with his day?"

"I would have thought he'd keep information general, but it seems that Woodrow likes to fill you in on the specifics. And you're the second person today who doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong with shading a line here or there between professional ethics and personal curiosity. What's this world coming to?" Tara drawled and pushed the chair into the table as she headed out.