"This wasn't an ordinary miscarriage, Detective. The placenta tore away from the uterine wall. She was hemorrhaging. She could have bled to death."

"Dear G.o.d."

"Luckily, an ambulance reached her within moments of the call. The EMT administered a fluid bolus en

route to the hospital. Frankly, they saved her life."

Stacy swallowed hard, thinking she would have to send her friend Frank a big thank-you.

"With this in her history," the doctor continued, "her physician will no doubt keep a closer eye on her

during her next pregnancy. That said, many women who suffer a placenta abruptio go on to enjoy normal, uneventful pregnancies."

Cold, Stacy rubbed her arms. "You said she was stable. What does that mean exactly?" "Out of danger. We had to give her a transfusion and will need to keep her at least overnight. To make certain she doesn't have an adverse reaction to the transfusion or develop an infection. Her regular physician will make the final call on the length of her stay and whether or not she needs a D and C. My guess is he'll order one because of the circ.u.mstances."

"May I see her?"

"Certainly. I gave her pain medication, so she may be sleeping. We'll move her to a regular room as soon

as one's available."

He indicated where Stacy would find Jane. The door stood open. She tiptoed in. Her sister lay on her side in a fetal position, looking small and fragile hooked up to the IVs and machines.

She wasn't sleeping, but weeping softly.

Stacy whispered her name. She turned and met Stacy's eyes. At the despair in her sister's, a lump formed in Stacy's throat. "I'm sorry, Jane. So very sorry."

And she was. For everything-the baby, Ian's arrest, the threatening letters. And for the distance she had

allowed to grow between them. The jealousy she had felt toward her sister.

Stacy crossed to her. She bent over the side rail and gathered her in her arms as best she could.

"I want my baby," Jane managed, voice trembling.

"I know, sweetie. I know."

Jane began to cry, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. "I don't have anything left."

"Yes, you do," she said fiercely, tears sliding down her cheeks. "You have me. You have your life, your

career. Ian will be found not guilty and the two of you will have other children. The doctor said you could."

"What if he's convicted? What will I do?"

The bleakness of her sister's question broke her heart. Stacy drew away, met her sister's eyes. "It'll be all right. Everything. I'll see to it."

Fresh tears filled her eyes. "I love you, Stacy."

"I love you, too," she said softly, voice thick with emotion.

An orderly arrived with a gurney. "We're moving you up to three, Mrs. Westbrook. I'll try to make the

trip as comfortable as possible."

He chatted as he made the exchange from bed to gurney. Within fifteen minutes, Jane was settled into her

room. The nurse took her pulse and blood pressure, clucked rea.s.suringly to them both, like a mother hen.

Before the woman had even left the room, Jane was dozing off. Ten minutes past that, she was deeply

asleep. Stacy decided it would be a good time to move her car and check her phone for messages.

Stacy exited the room. And found Mac waiting in the hallway for her. She crossed to him, grateful for his presence.

"How is she?" he asked.

"She lost the baby."

He caught her hand, curled his fingers around hers. "I'm sorry."

She looked at their joined hands. Hers trembled slightly. Even as she freed it, she acknowledged wishing she didn't have to. Wishing she could cling to him and cry. For her sister's loss. For her own.

"Thanks," she said, voice thick. "With everything going on... She's taking it hard."

"How about some good news?"

"I could use some."

"I've located Doobie. Figured you might want to take a ride with me. Called your cell, got no answer.

Dispatcher sent me here."

Stacy smiled for the first time that night. "Let's go."

Mac's Vice buddies had told him that Doobie had been hanging out at a bar in the Fair Park area called

Big d.i.c.k's. They had suggested he go late: apparently guys like Doobie crawled out from under their

rocks after midnight.

After moving her vehicle, they climbed into Mac's. As they eased onto I-30, Mac broke the silence.

"You ever run a background check on Jackman?"

"Yeah. And came up empty. No arrests. No warrants."

"You accessed the NCIC?"

"Yup."

"You try Theodore Jackman?"

"And Teddy. Came up with zip." Stacy was silent a moment. "I still think he's dirty."

"If he's not in the NCIC it just means he hasn't been caught yet," Mac murmured. "Or he's using an alias."

"Thought of that. If he's been busted, his fingerprints will be in the system."

"And getting one of his prints shouldn't be too difficult." Mac exited the interstate. "Seems to me I saw

him drinking a c.o.ke the day I was in Jane's studio."

He had been, Stacy remembered. In fact, now that she thought about it, she had seen several of the

red-and-white cans in the studio. Since Jane didn't consume carbonated beverages, they all belonged to Ted.

She grinned at her partner. "You might make a good cop one day."

"Kiss mine, Killian."

They drove the rest of the way without speaking. They reached the Fair Park area, found the bar and

parked in the crowded lot. Judging by the knot of Harleys, Doobie wasn't the only one who hung out at

Big d.i.c.k's. In addition to the bikes, several pickup rucks graced the lot, all with gun racks mounted in the back cab vindows. The single, gleaming white Porsche Boxster seemed voefully out of place. Its vanity plate read Poppy.

Stacy looked at Mac. "Either we got a rich chick named after a red flower or a dealer."

"I see why the Doobster hangs here."

They entered the bar. It was smoky and loud. The sound system screamed contemporary country. A

woman in a G-string danced on the small stage, gyrating around a white metal pole. She looked bored.

"I see now," Stacy muttered. "Big d.i.c.k's. A t.i.tty bar."

"Drug deals and a show, too. Imagine that."