"I've lost before."

Tara nodded and walked back into the house, wondering if she was going to let Ben make that call, wondering if she was that much of a coward or that much of a heroine. Clinging to her oath?

Her license? She turned back as Ben came in and closed the door. She wanted to discuss this with him, to ask his opinion. Instead she said: "Donna was wrong, you know."

"About what?" Ben asked.

"Love and need aren't the same. Not for me.

Not when it comes to you."

Twenty-one.

They had lain side by side, fully clothed, on top of the covers after Ben made the call to Woodrow at eight. An hour later Woodrow called back. Bill Hamilton had been picked up for questioning over the strenuous objections of his girlfriend. Ben took the call. Tara felt sick. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be for her, Bill Hamilton, Donna, and definitely not Ben. The second call came at eleven.

Tara dragged herself from the bed, showered, and changed. It had already been a long night that would now be interminable. Tara was in the Albuquerque police department waiting to be escorted to a very angry Woodrow Weber by midnight.

"Ms. Limey."

A uniformed deputy held the door, pivoting to get ahead of her the minute she was through. She followed him into a large room, turned left staying on his heels, then made a sharp right and started down a long hall. She heard Woodrow before she saw him. She recognized the way he walked when he was mad. Precise. As if he were keeping time to a Sousa march. The deputy stood back, having done his duty by bringing the two of them together.

Tara went past him, eyes forward, heading right for Woodrow. They met at the halfway point.

The hall was deathly quiet and all Tara could think of was how amazing it was that Woodrow was freshly shaved at this hour.

"It's about time. I called you an hour ago," he complained.

"It's been tough all around, Woodrow," Tara said wearily.

"I know that you know exactly what went on at my house so let's not play games."

"If it was that bad, you should have called 911.

If you'd done that, we wouldn't be having problems now. We could've picked up that idiot and had the whole thing wrapped up after we got his prints."

"He didn't hurt me, Woodrow, and it's my prerogative to press charges or not," Tara responded.

"Can I see him?"

"No. No. I don't want you to see him until we have an understanding. The guy is denying any knowledge of the Circle K. killing. We can't budge him. I want you to advise that client of yours that it's time to cooperate. Obviously you thought he was whacked out enough to finally tip us."

"Woodrow, get your facts straight." Tara snapped out of her lethargy. Life was getting in her face and she felt bad enough about letting Ben take the fall she should have taken.

"I didn't make that call, Ben did. And for your information, Ben was concerned about Bill Hamilton and me. I didn't hold the same concerns he did, and I am still bound by confidentiality. Ben is working on a report as we speak. That, and the last few hours you've spent with my client, will convince you that you must pet.i.tion to commit him. Forget everything else.

Let's get him help, and let's get it tonight."

Woodrow wasn't buying it. He turned, looked over his shoulder, and c.o.c.ked a finger.

"Follow me.

Tara dogged his steps, wishing she'd worn a blouse. The station was hot even without all the daytime bodies. She was running her finger around the high neck of her sweater when Woodrow stopped in front of a door. He opened it. He stepped back, arm outstretched as he held the k.n.o.b. He looked inside, his eyes sweeping over the gentlemen who sat there.

George Amos gave Tara a nod, but didn't lift his head from the cushion of his upturned hand. The detective who had slept in her drive was there, still looking sleepy. And of course, the guest of honor: Bill Hamilton.

"Hey, Tara. Ridin' in to save the day. That's my lady." Bill grinned. He sat in a small, hard chair, leaning back so that he balanced on the back legs, one boot-shod foot firmly planted on the beige linoleum, the other crossed casually over his knee. One arm was thrown over the back of the chair; the other lay on the table in front of him. A casual man. A happy man. Not the same man Tara had seen in her home, not the sh.e.l.l of a man Donna had led away from it. Woodrow closed the door.

They were alone in the hall again. He put his back to the wall.

"Your madman has been talking cars, Tara. Old cars, new cars, engine torque, and tire width. That man knows more about cars than I ever wanted to know. He has a quick wit. He can even make car jokes. He's crazy about cars, Tara. He's driving me crazy. But if he's insane, I'll eat my hat." Woodrow ran a hand across his brow. He was tired. It was a shame men didn't cry. Woodrow looked like he'd like to.

"Tara, do it. Get him to talk about Circle K. Get him to do anything but talk about cars. Ben gave me enough to send out a car and bring Hamikon in. Now you get him to talk, Tara, or I swear I'll put a tail on him. The minute he sneezes too loud, I'll arrest him. I'll fingerprint him. I'll indict him. No chance for a hospitalizarion pet.i.tion. This is your last chance. Get him to talk to me and I'll be objective about all this. But I swear, as I look at it now, that guy is sane. I see no reason to entertain your request for any special treatment on your client's behalf."

Tara eyed him, judged the tension factor, and said: "I'd like to see my client alone, Woodrow."

"Fine. Fine."

He opened the door again. Tara pa.s.sed in; the others came out, leaving her alone with Bill Hamilton.

She went no closer than necessary. She held his gaze, despising him yet challenged too. The dichotomy was hateful. Her hands were in her pockets and her coat hung open. She suffered Bill Hamilton's lazy looks, the happy little hey-ho shake of the head he gave her.

"You having a good time, Bill?" Tara asked quietly.

"Rather be home in bed. Had a hard day," he breathed, taking his hands and clasping them behind his head as if they were having a porch chat on a summer day.

"I know you did." She sighed and kicked out at nothing as she walked to the back of the small room. The lighting was a horror, bleaching everything a shade paler than was even remotely attractive.

Yet somehow Bill Hamilton looked wonderful, full of life, delighted to be here. Tara put a hand to her eyes and rubbed, trying to banish the exhaustion.

"Why don't we talk about that first, Bill.

Why don't you tell me exactly what you were trying to communicate to me today? What were you trying to accomplish at my house?"

His smile faded into an expression of distress.

He let himself down, the chair landing on the floor with a thump. He crossed his arms on the table, his expression defining the word sincere. He'd practiced and perfected the effect. She thought to give him a hand but restrained herself.

"I am sorry about that, Tara. d.a.m.n if I know what got into me. I was just so darned mad, you know. I lost it. What can I say? I keep telling you I need help. I need somebody to just take me in hand *til I can learn to control all this."

"So, you hitchhiked all the way from Donna's house to mine, waited for me for who knows how long, then decided to rip up a mattress." Tara lay her head against the wall and stared down at him.

"That's the longest fit of madness I've ever heard of. I don't know much about insanity, but from what Dr. Crawford's told me, I would have expected manifestations to be a bit more spontaneous.

A long ride and a little wait for me would take away a bit of that capriciousness, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't know about that, Tara. I don't know about any of these things. d.a.m.n but you use some dollar words!" He was smiling again. She was moving.

Tara pushed off the wall, took two steps to the table, and splayed out her hands. She leaned over, her hair falling to the scarred surface.

"Yes, you do. You know d.a.m.n well what you're doing." She looked at him hard and thought she saw, for the first time, concern in those eyes of his. That sparkle couldn't quite be called fear, but she sure as heck wouldn't call it confidence either.

Her voice was low and intractable.

"Ben thinks you're nuts. I think you're a liar, a cheat, a con man, and a murderer, and I'm beginning to think the only thing you're really good at is hurting things. I think you walked into my life and turned it upside down because you felt like it. I think you like freaking people out. I think Woodrow's right.

You're no more insane than any of us."

The accusation took form and hung heavy between them. Bill's gray eyes shaded from the color of fog to the three dimensions of steel. Every range of emotion ran through them instead of his mind, his heart, or his conscience. A shiver of recognition gripped him. He knew what she was thinking. d.a.m.n, he could read her mind.

Bill stretched out, extending his long, hard body until it seemed he simply leaned against the chair instead of sat in it. His lashes were down over his eyes, and he shifted his hands to make his head more comfortable in them. Yet he still looked at her. She knew it. She could feel it.

"Remember the first night we met, Tara? I bet you do. You had the hots for me that night. I know you did." He chuckled a little longer when she remained silent.

"You were jealous of Donna. Your very best friend's new beau was just the ticket that night, huh? Whooeee, you thought I was cute."

"Those comments might make you certifiable."

She'd finally found her voice and it was dry. She licked her lips.

"Let's talk about those other nights. All those ridiculous things you did that made it seem like you were on the edge. Why, Bill, when the risk was so great? I could have broken the client confidence the minute I felt you'd stepped over the line.

"But I didn't step over it, did I? Even today was a call, wasn't it?"

His hands came down and hung limply at his sides.

"The clerk in the convenience store?"

He pulled his lips into an exaggerated frown as if it helped him think.

"Same thing. It was a call."

Tara stood up and pulled out a chair, wanting to ask him about Paulette's dog. She didn't.

"Do you know right from wrong?"

"Yes."

"Dr. Carrol thought you were dangerous. He had you on heavy medication."

"And they all worked, doin' their thing on my head. Put a damper on this old boy's fire, I'll tell you." He was teasing again, but he seemed unhappy, maybe a little angry. He didn't want to play anymore. He hooked his thumbs over his belt, defiant in his casualness.

"I didn't mind seem' that shrink. It was better than being alone with my mother. Now there's a case for you," he scoffed and Tara half expected him to spit.

"But the doctor wasn't bad. Just the pills. He should have talked to her. She was crazy. I was a big boy. But all that was a long time ago. Now all I know is I'll be a nut if they lock me up."

"Then why even come to me, Bill? Why put yourself in this kind of jeopardy. Bill? You had to know there was a risk. You had to know that no one could snap their fingers and get you what you wanted."

"I figured if anyone could, you could," Bill drawled.

"All I'd heard from Donna was how great you were. You could get me what I wanted, or die tryin'."

"That still doesn't answer the question. n.o.body was looking for you. The Circle K murder wasn't even making the papers anymore. Why wave the red flag, even to me?"

"Cops leave that kind of thing open forever."

Bill's chin fell to his chest. He plucked at the b.u.t.ton on his shirt. Looking up and right at her before he raised his head. He talked low.

"It'd come one day. Thought I'd head it off at the pa.s.s." He tired of playing with his b.u.t.tons.

"My prints are there, on a mop." He chuckled and looked away for a minute as if embarra.s.sed.

"Tried to clean up the mess I made. Can you believe that? Got scared.

Wouldn't my mama yell if she saw that mess." Tara shivered, feeling what Vera must have when she was close to him. He didn't notice her aversion.

"Didn't do a very good job. Got blood all over that poor woman. Smeared it everywhere. On her face, her clothes. Got kind of sick seeing that. I dropped that old mop and needed some air. But the air was hot. So I started drivin' again. Couldn't get cool. Then I remembered that mop. d.a.m.n nice of me to clean up. d.a.m.n stupid to drop it without wiping ..."

"Stop it. Stop it." Tara slapped the table. She was up. She was appalled. She was still his attorney.

"Okay. Sorry." He held up his hands to calm her and tried the smile.

It didn't work. So he enjoyed himself instead. He told her more.

"I killed her and it was a d.a.m.n hot night. The sand was in my teeth, and I wanted cigarettes. I walked in there and I swear, Tara, everything just looked so incredible. Colorful and quiet, then I saw her making that coffee and ignorin' me." It wasn't as fun as he antic.i.p.ated so he threw away the telling with a wave of his hand.

"Aw, there's no excuse. I killed her, and I knew that one of these days something' stupid was gonna happen. I'd get pulled over. I'd try to get me a credit card.

I'd touch something where another guy did the deed and they'd get me.

Someone's gonna put my old fingers on the ink pad and that'll be that. Better to nip it all in the bud now, huh, Tara? Better to have someone smart to do the nippin'. So I found someone smart, didn't I?"

"I don't know, Bill. I think you're just a lucky guy. You were lucky to meet Donna, and lucky she knew me. You've been lucky your whole life that no one told on you or turned on you. There were some who should have, weren't there. Bill?"

Bill laughed, surprising her. His face softened, his smile was affectionate.

"Christ, you can be so sweet."

"I don't see what's so funny."

"You are. You're right I was lucky, fallin' into your lap. That was luck beyond belief." He sat up straight now and matched her posture across the table.

"But I didn't just happen on Donna. I wouldn't be caught dead in a library *less I had something' to do, and I had something' to do that day. I had a little lady to catch."