They wound their way through the club's patrons, making their way to the bar. They slipped onto a

couple of stools. The bartender moseyed over.

"What can I get you?"

Mac laid a twenty dollar bill on the bar and leaned forward. "We're looking for Doobie. He been in

tonight?"

The bartender, a man whose face suggested he had been in a brawl or two in his fifty-some years, narrowed his eyes. "Don't know any Doobie."

Mac produced another bill. "Slimy little dude. I'm sure you know him."

Stacy saw the instant the man made the connection: cops. He casually laid his hand over the twenties and

slid them to his chest. He hasn't been in," he murmured. "Not tonight or the past few nights. Thought maybe he'd up and gotten himself busted."

"Have him call Mac when he comes in. You think you can re-member that...d.i.c.k?"

"No problem. You might try a couple of the other places down the way. Seems he likes Louie's and the Hideaway."

"Thanks, we will."

They exited the bar. When they hit the night air, Stacy hunched deeper into her jacket. "How'd you know that was Big d.i.c.k? He wasn't wearing a name tag."

"Took a guess. He looked the part."

Louie's and the Hideaway were clubs of the same ilk as the last. And, as they had at Big d.i.c.k's, they

asked the bartenders about Doobie, then left.

As they exited the last club, Stacy jammed her hands into her coat pockets, frustrated. Exhausted.

He glanced at her. "Don't worry. We'll hear from him."

"Soon, I hope."

They climbed into Mac's sedan and rode to the hospital without further conversation. Every so often she saw him glance her way. As if in question. As if he had something to say but couldn't decide if he should.

The silence grated. She released a short breath. "Okay, Mac. Out with it."

"With what?"

"Whatever you're thinking but not saying."

He hesitated, flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I'm worried about you, that's all."

"I'm fine."

"Bullets bounce off you, right?"

"Pretty much."

He made a sound of frustration. "Needing people isn't a weakness. Being soft or scared or afraid isn't the

same as folding."

She ignored him. "Drop me at the door. I'm going to check on my sister before I head home."

"You're the boss."

She cringed at the sarcasm in his voice. When was the last time she had allowed herself to be soft? To

need another human being?

To need a man?

Longer than she could remember.

Mac pulled up to the main entrance and stopped. He didn't look her way.

She grasped the door handle. "Thanks, Mac. For everything."

"Stacy?"

She turned, met his eyes. Something in his gaze sent her pulse racing. "Yes?" she asked, the word coming

out low. Like an invitation.

She cringed, wishing she could take it back. It left her feeling vulnerable. Exposed.

Silence that was anything but quiet stretched between them. It crackled with awareness. With things felt

but left unsaid. For one crazy moment, she thought he meant to kiss her.

Then he looked away. "Nothing. You coming into the division this morning?"

"Probably not. But I'll check in for sure."

"Okay. See you Monday. Or before, if I hear from Doobie."

Even as she told herself it was for the best, that they were partners, that a relationship between them was impossible, she acknowledged disappointment. So bitter it stung her tongue.

She hid it as best she could. "See you then."

She climbed out of his vehicle and hurried toward the hospital's entrance. When she reached it, she

glanced back. And found that he hadn't moved. She swallowed hard, lifted her hand in a final goodbye

and stepped into the building.

This time of night, the building was deserted. A tired-looking woman manned the information desk, a paperback romance open in front of her.

Stacy nodded at her and headed for the elevator. She stepped into a waiting car, punched in her sister's

floor number, then watched the illuminated numbers advance as they climbed.

She alighted on three. The floor was deathly quiet. The lights had been dimmed. Two nurses occupied the station, talking quietly to each other.

They nodded at Stacy, recognizing her from earlier. Visiting hours were over, but she was both a family member and a police officer. Stacy crossed to them, anyway. "I just want to peek in. Make certain she's okay."

"She's sleeping," the nurse murmured. "Dr. Nash is with her."

Dave was here? How, Stacy wondered, had he heard?

Stacy moved down the quiet hallway. From one room came soft snoring, from another, someone

moaning in their sleep. She found Jane's door cracked open. She eased it farther open with her fingertips. To the soft glow of the night-light, she saw that Jane was, indeed, asleep.

And that Dave was by her side.

He sat in a chair beside the bed, shoulders slumped, head in his hands. She opened her mouth to call softly to him, then shut it as she realized the truth.

Dave was in love with Jane.

Stacy had suspected as much on many occasions. Now she knew it was true. To his credit, he had never let it get in the way of their friendship. He had been there for Jane through good times and bad, had supported, counseled and laughed with her. With them both. He had even agreed to walk her down the

aisle. Without a father, grandfather or uncle, Jane had turned to the man she considered her oldest and best friend.

It must have been agony for him. How had he managed to hide his feelings so well?

Uncomfortable with the realization, Stacy backed wordlessly out of the room.

FORTY-THREE Friday, November 7, 2003 4:00 a.m.

Stacy left the hospital, her thoughts on Dave and his feelings for Jane. How long had he loved her? she

wondered. Why hadn't he ever expressed his feelings? Had he feared rejection? Or losing her sister's friendship and trust?

She crossed the parking lot. Her Bronco came into view.

Her steps faltered. Her heart began to thunder.

Mac stood beside the SUV. Waiting for her.

He looked up. Their gazes met. Awareness moved over her.

She closed the distance between them, using the moments to ground herself. "Mac," she managed, when