And he was gone.

It took me a minute to realize I was sitting there-my mouth hanging open, catatonic-staring at the door that had just slammed.

Moving only my eyeballs, I surveyed the cookie crumbs, coffee drips, and crumpled napkins surrounding Alan's empty coffee cup. Then I shook my head and broke into semi-hys-terical laughter.

The kind of laughter that makes yougrab your midsection because it's almost painful in its intensity. I let the crazed frivolity roll through me for a few seconds then started talking to myself, out loud, which, in some quarters, might be construed as a bad sign.

"I choose Fictional Creatures for $500, Alex!"

Propping my feet up on the chair that'd been recently va-cated by the firm hindquarters of the cutest FBI agent I'd ever seen, I raised my coffee cup in a solitary toast to the memory of his tight jeans exiting my kitchen and loudly vocalized the theme song from the TV game show, "Jeopardy."

I put on my best AlexTrebek voice. "These bloodsuck-ing,undead denizens of the night have taken over the rational minds of the populace ofDenver ."

I pretended to press an invisible button on the table. "What are vampires?"

Imitating Alex again."Yes! Our new winner is Dr. Kismet Knight, formerly a respected psychologist, now a per-manent resident ofDenverPsychiatric Hospital ."

I sang the theme song again, applauded myself and heaved a huge sigh.

"Idefinitely didn't get enough sleep."

I stared out the window, transfixed by the streaks ofcolor floating across the morning sky, and drank my coffee. It was exactly one week ago that Midnight walked into my office for the first time, and since then,my life had turned into acliche -ridden, afternoon-matinee, horror movie. And I was apparently playing a lead role.

I'd fantasized about having more excitement in my life and I must have inadvertently rubbed some genie's bottle, because I definitely got my wish. Unfortunately, it fell under the category of "be careful what you ask for because you might get it." If I was as smart as I thought I was, I'd cut my losses and run. I could refer Midnight and Ronald to other therapists and just go back to my regularly scheduled pro-gramming.

No harm, no foul. Only a madwoman would purposely visit some dance club allegedly run by vampires- vampire wannabes, no doubt-or listen to fantastical stories told by delectable FBI agents.

But then I tried to imagine never seeing Devereux again and my solar plexus clenched up.Definitely not a desirable option.

I decided to have one more cup of coffee-there's noth-ing like being wired and sleepy at the same time-and jot down some notes for my book. Agent Stevens' fertile imagi-nation had given me lots of ideas for chapters and I'd have to remember to ask him for permission to use the material he'd shared with me. He wasn't a therapist, so there were no confidentiality issues. Maybe I'd even give him credit in the finished manuscript.

I brought my laptop computer over to the table, wrote for a while, then stretched the cramped muscles in my arms and checked out the time. Since it was still early, I figured I could either go back to bed for a couple of hours, or I could break my routine and do something different. Maybe go take a walk in that bigolourfulood park I'd been meaning to ex-plore.JeffersonPark wasDenver 's equivalent of Central Park inNew York City , and it had lots of trees, benches, and trails and was only a couple of blocks from my townhouse.

Yes, exercise. That was the ticket. Whether I liked it or not, it had recently come to my attention that being physi-cally inactive had a downside, and I'd promised myself I'd rectify that situation and gain some muscle in other places besides my brain. Never again would I be held hostage by any kind of wannabe.Svengalihypnotist or not.

I changed into a comfortable, dark bluesweatsuit , put on my unworn, still-in-the-box walking shoes and headed out the door.Denver could be counted on to have over 300 sunny days per year, and this morning was a prime speci-men. Actually, the fact that it was mostly sunny inColorado was one of the few things I would have changed about a state that was, otherwise, paradise. Coming from theMidwest , I loved a good rainstorm and relished the introspective em-brace of a gray, overcast day.

The first thing I noticed was how many walkers, joggers, runners, bicycle riders, skateboarders, and pet owners were out on the trails this early in the morning. And, even more interesting, how many of them were holding Starbucks cups in their hands as they did those activities. Iolourful at the level of physical coordination it would take to run and drink coffee at the same time.

Kismet, is that you? I thought you lived around here someplace."

The voice was familiar. I froze, turned around slowly and stared into the dark brown eyes of Dr.

Thomas Radcliffe, my astrologer-humping ex-boyfriend.

Shit, This wasn't how I'd imagined our first meeting would be after all this time. In my vision, I was dressed to the nines- painted, polished, and gorgeous. He'd be overcome with remorse for his treatment of me and would beg me to take him back. But, instead, here I was looking like something the vampire dragged in, wearing an old, baggy sweat suit. I couldn't even remember if I'd brushed my hair before I left.

There was absolutely no justice in the universe because he hadn't changed a bit. He was still classically handsome, impeccably groomed, and he could've been a model who'd just stepped out of Healthy Living Magazine. And, to add insult to injury, he'd finally grown his thick black hair out, which I'd asked him to do repeatedly during the time we were to-gether. There's just something about a man with great hair.

"Tom. How nice to see you," Ilied, silently pleading with my face muscles to transform what I was sure was a grimace into an acceptable smile.

He came over and almost-hugged me.One of those not-quite-embraces-complete with an air kiss on either side of my face-so popular among the rich and famous. "You look just as I remember you."

Which made me want to kick him in the shins.

He grinned. "You just popped into my head the other day, and I decided to make it a point to see you when I came toDenver ."

Hmmm.I popped into his head. So much for my fantasy of the daily inner torture I hoped he'd endured as he replayed the loss of me over and over in his mind.

I retreated from his pseudo-hug and made my face as neutral as possible. I observed theolourful skin paint that passed for running pants and noticed he still wasn't reluctant to advertise all his products and services. I coaxed my eyes up to his face, straining my brain for something brilliant to say, but instead came out with the verbal equivalent of eleva-tor music. "You're still running every day?"

"Yes, indeed. I've got to keep one step ahead of Father Time." He smiled and patted his tight stomach.

Dr. I. I wonder if this man ever has an original thought.

He pulled my arm and guided me over to a nearby bench and sat. "Can we sit for a minute? Now that I've got you here, I'd love to catch up. What are you up to? Are you writ-ing? Are you married?"

I joined him on the bench. "Well..." I managed to get that one word out before he launched into: "Things are going so super for me. My private practice inSan Francisco is booming, both because of the success of my last book and my radio program. You wouldn't believe how busy I am and how in demand I am as a speaker. Did you see me on Dr. Phil? I was one of the experts for a recent segment.

Oprah's people are talking to my people.

Can you imagine what an appearance on her show will do for my books? I live in a fabulous house in one of the finest sections of town and I just ordered a brand new Ferrari. I'll take you for a ride the next time I see you . . ."

I just stared at him as he went on with his manic rant. He didn't seem to notice that I hadn't spoken or that I was gaping at him like he was a nasty squished bug on my windshield. Had he always been this way? What had I been thinking? Had I really been so dazzled by his appearance that I'd ig-nored his self-absorption? I amused myself for a few seconds by mentally thumbing through the list of personality disor-ders he fit into.

"So, whatever happened toSummer , the astrologer?" I interjected loudly."Who?Oh, yes. She was a sweet thing.Simply adored me. Thought I walked on water. But we were from two dif-ferent worlds and she wasn't a good fit for where I was going. We parted the best of friends."

Yeah, sure.I bet. I wonder what her version of the break-up is.

He glanced down at his diamond-studded watch. "Oh, damn. Look at the time. I've got to hurry back and get dressed for my presentation. Hey, here's an idea. Why don't you come to the conference with me and you can listen to my lecture. I'll bet you'd really learn a lot from it. What do you say?"

"Well, as tempting as that sounds," I said sarcastically, which, judging by his solemn head-nodding, he'd totally missed, "I'll have to pass. I have clients this morning."

"Bummer!It's a shame you can't attend, but I know how seriously you take your work."

He said that as if it was a bad thing. He'd always viewed my refusal to join him in the fast lane as a character flaw, as well as a personal disappointment.

"I was going to keep this as a surprise for you, but I guess I can tell you now. I expect I'll be seeing a lot more of you because I'm doing a series of workshops in Colorado and I'd love to discuss the possibility of my using your office part-time while I'm here. Could we get together for dinner tonight and talk about it?" He flashed me aCalifornia smile.

Welcome to the wonderful world of Tom Radcliffe's ego.Plenty of room for everyone, folks. Step right up. Enter at your own risk.

He stood, and began running in place. "Tell youwhat, I'll just drop by your house after the conference is over at 9 p.m. I got your new address from the APA Directory." Be-fore I could answer he jogged away backward, yelling "I'll see you then."

I sat on the bench, shook my head and laughed out loud. Luckily, no clients were around to witness my temporary joy-ful insanity. I did have a reputation to uphold, after all.

Suddenly, everything about Tom Radcliffe seemed hilar-ious. How could I have been in love with such a narcissistic egomaniac?Such a superficial moron? I'd spent the last two years grieving and miserable, and now I couldn't, for the life of me, remember why. And, as long as we kept enough miles between us and a bedroom, I might never be tempted to re-cover the memory.

I smiled through a brisk walk around the park and whistled all the way back to my house. Maybe things were looking up.

The first thing I noticed when I got off the elevator in my office building a while later was a bulging manila envelope propped against my waiting room door. I picked it up, tucked it under my arm and unlocked the doors leading to my recep-tion area and then to my office. I sat down at my desk and inspected the package. There was nothing unusual about it-no address on the front, postage or writing of any kind. I opened the clasp. Inside the envelope was some kind of light blue fabric with extensive stains on it. I had an immediate bad feeling and picked up a pencil to lift the cloth out of its container. I'd seen enough cop shows to know about not con-taminating evidence, and my intuition told me that I was in possession of something awful.

Using the pencil to spread out the fabric on top of my desk, I could see it was one of those flimsy gowns they use in hospitals.The ones that never close in the back. The stains looked and smelled like dried blood.

Something about dried blood made me think of Emer-ald. Would she have worn this kind of gown?

No. There must be hundreds of explanations for this gown turning up in front of my door. It probably had noth-ing to do with Emerald at all.Just a case of someone leaving the package at the wrong place.

Even though I tried hard to delude myself, none of the rationalizations were working and I began to feel nauseous. The smell of the package reminded me of my dream, and I unconsciously reached up to touch the wound on my neck, which I'd covered with a band-aid. I had the unpleasant realization that if I didn't get to the bathroom in ten seconds, I'd throw up on the floor. I made a mad dash and reached the toilet just in time to lose my morning coffee Feeling hot and cold at the same time, my stomach com-pletely empty, I went over to the sink and swished some water around in my mouth. It was a good thing I always carried a toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash in my purse. I stared into the mirror and reaffirmed Alan's earlier assertion that I did, indeed, look like death today. Sometimes even the best makeup job wasn't enough. Having such fair skin was a blessing most of the time, because I always appeared younger than I was, but today I had definitely crossed the line be-tween an ivory glow and ananemic pallor.

I shuffled back into my office and rummaged through my briefcase, searching for the business card Alan had given me, and I called the number. He answered on the first ring.

"Stevens."

"Alan, someone left me a bloody hospital gown."

"Kismet?Is that you? What about a hospital gown?"

I told him what I'd found. He said he'd alert the local po-lice and they'd be right over.

I fished the dental hygiene products out of my purse and scurried to the bathroom, where I brushed and swished until I felt almost normal, then headed back to my office.

I sat at my desk, scrutinizing the blood-stained material, and I wondered again what I'd gotten myself into. I'd spent the last week bouncing back and forth between fear, confu-sion, and arousal, and I was exhausted. I didn't think I'd been of help to anyone, and I certainly hadn't done myself any good.

Staring off into space, I realized I hadn't checked my messages, so I punched in the retrieval code for my business voice mail and found several. The first was from Ronald, asking if we could reschedule hisappointment because he'd been up all night searching for Emerald. It was a good thing he couldn't make it, because he'd be due at the same time the police would likely arrive and I hadn't even taken that into account. In fact, I'd totally forgotten I had a client coming.Another indication of my impending mental breakdown. I made a note to call him back later.

Ipaused the messages and scanned my appointment book to make sure I hadn't neglected any other important business, and smiled. Fran, my 76-year-old UFOabductee client was scheduled in this morning for her long-standing appointment, but it wasn't going to work today. One of Fran's challenges was a deep distrust of authority figures. I could only imag-ine what would happen if the police were still here when she arrived.Fran, who weighed no more than 90 pounds soak-ing wet, had been known to start screaming and flailing at the sight of a uniform, which usually guaranteed problems with whoever was wearing the offending garment at the time. Yes, I was definitely going to reschedule Fran.

And after Fran was Spock. Spock's real name was Henry Madison, but he got very upset if anyone called him that. He lived in a perpetual Star Trek episode, even going as far as having his ears surgically altered to be "Vulcan." He had his costumes tailor-made and shaved his eyebrows so he could draw on the "correct" ones. Interestingly enough, Spock hadn't come to therapy for any of the reasons one might as-sume.He'd come because he wanted to explore his poor choices with women. He just couldn't seem to find the woman of his dreams. He suspected Motherissues . I thought that was only the tip of the iceberg.

Continuing with the messages, up next was my daily re-minder from Brother Luther about the current state of my immortal soul. He usually gave me a portion of the sermon-of-the-week, and kept his remarks very general and impersonal. Today's message had a different tone. He seemed agitated, and he talked a lot about being "washed in the blood," and made a comment about being a warrior for God. He contin-ued on until the allotted message time ran out and he was cut off mid-tirade. That was the first time one of his messages caused me to feel uncomfortable, and, in light of the other events of the morning, I considered whether or not I needed to tell the police about Brother Luther, too.

Within an hour, my office was inundated with police officers and forensics specialists. They bagged up the manila envelope and its contents, confiscated the pencil I used to move the cloth around, and were in the midst of seeking clues by crawling inch-by-inch along the hallway in front of my waiting room door.

Alan stood next to my desk, silently observing the investigation and writing in his ever-present notebook.

A noticeably physically substantial female officer ap-proached me. She was big the way that a weightlifter is big. Not fat, but solid and muscular. She must have been six feet tall. Dressed in a no-nonsense, dark blue pantsuit, she appeared to be in her late forties, but the years hadn't been kind.

Her gray-streaked hair was cut very short, in a style that required little upkeep, and the lines in her face had formed themselves into a continuous scowl. I'd guess she'd been someone for whom high school had been hell, and she'd taken the Gold in the Olympic HoldingA Grudge competi-tion. Not someone I'd want to mess with, even if she hadn't been wearing a gun at her waist.

She marched purposefully over to me and snarled, "You Dr. Knight?"

"Yes." Gazing up at her, I suddenly felt six years old, called to the principal's office.

"Lieutenant Bullock. I need to get your statement." She pointed with her thumb back over her shoulder.

"Let's go over there."

I nodded. We walked over to the couch, sat down, and I told her everything about finding the envelope, taking out the bloody, blue gown and calling Special Agent Stevens. She stopped writing and cocked her head, observing me, wait-ing, I supposed, for me to say something else. When I didn't, she prompted, her voice deceptively even, "I understand you have a missing client?"

"I'm afraid I'm not able to respond to that question."

She lowered her chin ever so slightly. "Why is that, Dr. Knight? You're the one who called us." Her voice became very quiet and controlled.

Feeling the chill of her frosty gaze, I swallowed loudly and cleared my throat. "Under the rules of confidentiality, I'm not able to discuss whether someone is or isn't a client. I called Special Agent Stevens because finding a package con-taining a bloody anything is out of my area of expertise. I thought it might be something he could deal with."She held my gaze for a moment. "Why would someone leave a blood-stained hospital gown in front of your door, doctor?"

"I have no idea."

She gave an unfriendly smile and raised an eyebrow. "Do you know Emerald Addison?"

I sat silently, keeping my face pleasantly neutral.

She moved closer and locked eyes with me. "I know Emerald Addison is your client. You're obstructing a police investigation by refusing to cooperate. I'll need copies of the records you have on her friends, who are also your clients," she demanded, her voice getting louder.

I tensed. "Lieutenant Bullock, I can only repeat what I've already said. I'm unable to respond. I'm bound by the rules of confidentiality."

She bolted up off the couch. "You're starting to piss me off, Dr. Knight."

She paced around in front of me, stopped and bent down so that our faces were inches apart. She whispered loudly, "If the blood on that gown matches the blood of the missing girl, you're going to have a lot more questions to answer. Maybe you didn't just find the gown. Maybe you had it all along. Maybe you're hiding something. Maybe I'll get a court order to force you to give me your records."

Every time she said the word "maybe," she accented and held out the first syllable, allowing each repetition to rise in pitch.

My heart pounded in my chest and I felt sweat breaking out on my forehead. I'd never had anyone get in my face and threaten me that way before, and I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. That seemed to make her even angrier.I knew she couldn't force me to divulge information, and I assumed she knew that, too.

"Wilson," Lieutenant Bullock barked at the tall, lanky policeman who hovered next to her, "make sure you getall the good doctor's contact information. I want to be able to find her day or night."

"I have it," he said, giving me cold eyes.

She squinted at me and growled, "Don't leave town."

And, like a fiery comet pulling meteorites in its tail, she left, taking all the officers with her.

Alan came over, sat next to me on the couch and patted my hand. "Now you know why her nickname is 'Bull'."

I reflexively flopped back against the cushions, letting my shoulders slump. My mouth was so dry it took me a couple of attempts before I could speak.