On a prayer, she took her last chance and poured on the speed. The

oncoming car swerved, brakes high and shrill, horn blasting. She caught

a glimpse of the car behind her veering back to the right at a dangerous

speed.

For a second, she was alone, around the next turn. Then she heard the

crash. It echoed with her own screams as she hurtled down the winding

road toward the lights of L.A.

MCCARTHY mD BEEN RJGHT. Not only did Michael feel better after a meal

and an hour's break, but he thought more clearly. As a

second-generation cop, he had not only his contacts to call on, but his

father's. He made a call to Lou's poker buddy who worked in

Immigration, to his own contact in the Motor Vehicle Administration,

used his father's name with the FBI and his own with Inspector Carlson

in London.

No one was particularly pleased to be called on after hours, but the

meal had made it easier for him to use charm.

"I know it's irregular, inspector, and I'm sorry to bother-1/2h, Lord, I

totally forgot the time difference. I am really sorry. Yes, well, I

need some information, background stuff. Robert Blackpool. Yeah, that

Blackpool. I want to know who he was before 1970, Inspector. I should

be able to connect the dots after that." He made a note to himself to

contact Pete Page. "Everything you can find. I don't know if I've got

anything, but you'll be the first-"

He broke off when he saw Emma running in, gla.s.sy-eyed, with a trickle of

blood on her temple.

"Please." She collapsed into the chair in front of his desk. "Someone's

trying to kill me."

He cut Inspector Carlson off without a word. "What happened?"

He was beside her, taking her face in his hands.

"On a road up in the hills ... a car ... tried to run me

down."

"Were you hit?" He began to search frantically for broken bones.

She heard other voices. They were crowding around her. A phone was

ringing, ringing, ringing. She saw the lights revolve. The room

followed it before she slid out of the chair.

There was a cloth against her head. Cool. She moaned, reaching a hand

to it as she opened her eyes.

"You're okay," Michael told her. "You just pa.s.sed out for a minute.

Drink a little of this. It's only water."

She sipped, letting her head rest against his supporting arm. She could

smell him-her soap, his sweat. She was safe again. Somehow she was

safe again. "I want to sit up."

"Okay. Take it easy."

She stared around, waiting to settle. She was in an office. His

father's office, she thought. She'd seen it when she'd stopped by

earlier in the week, wanting to see where Michael worked. It was very

plain. Brown carpet, gla.s.s walls. The blinds were closed now. His desk

was ordered. There was a picture of his wife on it. Michael's mother.

Looking beyond, she saw another man, thin, balding.

"I'm sorry. You're Michael's partner."