"Andy, I didn't lie to you. Now it's late and I'm tired. I'm going to go home and go to bed. I think it would be a good idea if you did-"

Suddenly I couldn't breathe. This was the moment when I needed to scream, but his hands were too tight around my throat. My back was slammed against the wall of a building. Go for the eyes. That's what Dena always said. I reached my hands out, thumbs extended, but I only grazed his cheeks. He was so tall. I don't think I ever really realized how tall he was. I could feel myself being lifted off the ground. I kicked at him but it was useless. Little dots began to float before me, multiplying as they went. I was going to die now. Would everything just go black? How long would it take? Dear God, if I could just have one last breath of air.

And then I was on the ground, and the air I had been deprived of flooded into my lungs with such force that it caused me to hack and convulse. Things still weren't in focus. Andy was on the ground screaming-but who was on top of him?

"What's going on down there? I'm calling the police!" It was a voice from one of the windows above. My vision began to clear and I saw Anatoly. He had his knee in Andy's stomach and was using both hands to bang his head into the pavement.

I began to make sense of what was happening. "Stop!" I screamed. "Pin him, don't kill him! He doesn't know what he's doing!" I crawled to Andy's head and grabbed Anatoly by the shirt. "I'm okay! It's okay! Just pin him!"

Anatoly looked at me. The cool calculation in his eyes made me recoil. He looked down at Andy, who was now clinging on to consciousness and whimpering like an injured child. "She called me retard. I didn't mean to. It's not nice. It's not nice."

The sirens came and the police told us to lie flat against the pavement. Considering our position that was an easy feat to accomplish. For Andy, it wasn't even a choice. At first I thought the dampness against my face was the result of the mist, but as I heard the second set of sirens approaching I realized that it was tears.

In a matter of minutes another squad car arrived and then an ambulance. The police separated the three of us so we could be questioned individually. I don't think Andy was ever able to give them a coherent answer, and it wasn't long before the paramedics loaded him onto the ambulance. A uniformed cop climbed on with him and the vehicle disappeared down the street with its siren blaring. I tried to ignore the pain speaking caused me so I could answer the questions of the blond sergeant standing by my side, but for some reason I was having a hard time making sense of his words. I mumbled something about being cold, and he told me I was in shock. He draped a blanket around my shoulders and helped me into his police car. I heard him say something about taking me to the hospital for an exam and I nodded my consent. I looked out the window and locked eyes with Anatoly who was busy answering the questions of one of the other cops. We didn't break eye contact until the squad car I was in pulled away from the curb and drove off.

Two and a half hours later I was still shaking. I was sitting on the cushioned examination table in a stark hospital room. I had been questioned, a woman had taken pictures of the rapidly forming bruises on my neck and I had been checked for any lingering injuries. Andy was in another room somewhere being nursed back to health so that the waiting policemen could lock him up. I was finding the whole thing impossible to grasp. How could my turning down a date transform a sweet guy into a raving psychopath?

"How you doing?" I looked up to see the curly-haired detective who had questioned me earlier. His lean body resting against the door frame seemed to offer little protection against everything that awaited me outside the room.

"How's Andy?"

The detective gave a rueful laugh. "That's awfully generous of you." He scratched the back of his head and took a few steps forward. "Manning has a hairline fracture in his skull and a minor concussion, but he'll live. No thanks to him, you will too."

I put a protective hand over my throat.

"We weren't formally introduced before. I'm Detective Joe Lorenzo."

I tried to smile but I couldn't find the will to do it. "I don't know what set him off. I made up some excuse when he asked me out, but still...he had always been so nice to me, to everyone."

"Not to everyone-at least not to the woman he recently killed in your neighborhood."

My stomach did a little nauseous flip-flop. "Susan Lee? Are you sure?"

"We took his prints." Lorenzo lowered himself onto the doctor's stool. "They're a match to the ones that were all over the crime scene. The doctors don't want us interrogating him yet, but I was able to sneak in a few questions. He's not denying it."

"After Anatoly pulled him off of me he was mumbling something about being called a retard. I've never said anything derogatory to him. Do you suppose that was something she said?"

"Very possible. Manning has frontal lobe damage. That can occasionally result in impulse control problems and violent behavior." Lorenzo crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. "I just got off the phone with Gorman. He told me that the damage done to your car was treated as a standard vandalism. I'm sorry about that. You understand he was just following procedure."

"You think Andy was the one who tore up my car?"

"Most likely. Infatuated people sometimes do weird stuff."

"Are you going to check the car for his prints?"

"Has it been parked on the street or in a garage?"

"The street. I haven't driven it since it was vandalized."

Lorenzo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "And the window was broken, right? So it wasn't-isn't-locked?"

I let my gaze fall to the speckled linoleum floor. "It didn't seem like a necessary precaution considering the state of my car." I silently cursed myself. I should have called the emergency window-repair place.

"We might dust it in hopes of finding more evidence to support our case, but a lot of time has passed. Theoretically he could have touched your car after the vandalism. A print would be a nice bit of circumstantial evidence, but nothing more."

"What about the prank calls?"

Lorenzo shook his head to indicate he hadn't been informed of that portion of my fun-packed week.

"On Thursday I received a whole bunch of prank calls, at least four. They didn't say anything, just hung up," I explained. "After the fourth one I told the caller that I was married to a cop so he'd better cut it out. That night he called again. I got the weirdest feeling that he knew I was lying about the cop thing."

Lorenzo pulled out a miniature notebook from his pocket and jotted something down. "How many of these calls have you had since Thursday?"

I shook my head. "None. It was just that day."

Lorenzo clicked his pen and returned the notebook to his pocket. "I'll ask the D.A. to put in a request for Andy's phone records, but if your number doesn't show up it won't be worth pursuing further. There's no real need to worry about this. While it would be nice if we could prove that he vandalized your car or called your home, it won't be necessary for a conviction. We have enough now to get him on assault, and we'll probably get him on second-degree murder."

He stretched his long legs into a standing position. "The D.A.'s office will be in touch with you about your testimony, but for now you're free to go. If you want a minor sedative to help you sleep tonight, I'm sure the doctor will prescribe one for you. But you'll probably sleep a lot better now anyway knowing that we got your stalker in custody." He turned to leave.

"Not really, no."

Lorenzo turned back around. "I'm sorry?"

"I won't sleep better and you don't have my stalker."

"Got it. You feel sorry for Manning because of the brain damage." Lorenzo's lips curled into a patronizing smile. "Hey, if you don't want to call him a stalker, then don't. Call him an amorous guy with murderous impulses. The point is, we got him and you're safe."

"You don't get it at all. Andy may be my attacker, but the person who messed up my car and broke into my flat is still out there. Andy's not clever enough to have pulled all that off so smoothly."

Lorenzo's jaw was jutting out a bit now. "Listen, I know you've been through a lot tonight and you're not thinking clearly, but Gorman and his partner aren't at all sure that anyone ever did break into your place. It's also unlikely that a guy who was obsessed with you just happened to try to kill you a day after some mystery person ripped apart your car. That coincidence is just a little too hard to swallow."

"Well, maybe you're just not very good at taking pills. And, for the record. I am thinking clearly."

Any softness in Lorenzo's features was now gone. "Good night, Miss Katz. I'll see you at the trial."

I tried to yell after him as he strode out of the room, but I found that the effort was still too painful. I squeezed my eyes closed. None of this made sense. It was obvious that the police were willing to overlook a few inconsistencies in order to wrap everything up neatly. Unfortunately those oversights could cost me my life.

A hot cup of tea, a warm bed and a good cry is what the doctor should have prescribed. Actually, tea spiked with brandy, that's what I needed, but I had no brandy at home and all the liquor stores would be closed. I really wanted to get up and walk out of the examination room but I wasn't able to move. I had almost lost my life to someone I had trusted. So what would this anonymous stalker do to me given the chance?

I was terrified of being alone. Of course, I could call my mother or Leah, but then I would have to tell them what happened, and I definitely wasn't up for any more hysterics. There was Dena and Mary Ann, but they would be only slightly less frantic than my family and they definitely wouldn't be able to hold off on questioning me until the next morning. That went double for Marcus. So alone it was. I accessed my last resources of strength and pushed myself off the table.

When I stepped into the lobby, five microphones were thrust into my face.

"Ms. Katz, can you describe the attack?"

"How long have you known Andrew Manning?"

"Did you have any idea what he was capable of?"

"What do you think should happen to Manning now?"

This was a thousand times worse than any hysterical mother. I fought back the tears stinging my eyes. I sure as hell didn't want to be seen bawling on the morning news. What I wanted to do was tell them all to just go away, but I couldn't trust myself to talk. What a fitting ending to the most horrific night of my life.

I looked from reporter to reporter trying to find any hint that the mob would relent. It was then that I caught sight of Anatoly walking briskly toward the group. When he reached the huddle he pushed his way past the camera crews to my side, and I felt his protective hand find a resting spot beneath my shoulder blades. "Miss Katz is suffering from a severe sore throat due to the attack," Anatoly reported. "She will be able to answer questions after she's had a day or so to rest her voice."

The journalists voiced some protests, but Anatoly maneuvered me through the horde, his hand never leaving my back. I half expected the reporters to block our way, but there was something very authoritative about Anatoly's manner. You kind of got the feeling that no one wanted to mess with him.

Outside the hospital a few cabs were lined up in wait. We sat down in the first one and Anatoly gave the driver my address. "How do you feel?" he asked, addressing me for the first time since our less-than-hospitable exchange hours earlier.

"Like I need to pull the covers over my head and not come out for a week."

"Got it. Is there anything you really need to do this week?"

The flicker of amusement dulled my depression. I regarded him without making eye contact. "I assume the police talked to you?"

"Of course." He propped an arm up against the back of the seat. "There was some question of my using excessive force, but it didn't take long for it to become clear that I was just protecting you."

"Did they tell you about Susan Lee?"

"Yes."

"They say he killed her. And if you hadn't shown up he would have killed me too."

Anatoly raised an eyebrow. "I guess I'm not such an asshole after all."

"No, you're still an asshole. You're just an asshole with really good timing."

Anatoly let out a rich, full laugh. It was contagious; I began giggling along with him despite the pain. It didn't take long before the giggling turned into hysterical laughter. I put one hand on my throat in an attempt to soothe it and the other on my convulsing stomach. Anatoly, who had quieted down, gently pushed a stray curl away from my face and that was all it took. I was sobbing against his shoulder as he silently held me. My mind drifted back to a few days earlier when I had been comforting Andy in a similar manner, and that just made me cry harder.

By the time the cab arrived at my apartment I had begun to pull myself together. "Are you all right?" he stroked my hair and used a thumb to wipe away a stray tear.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

Anatoly looked incredulous.

"Well, it was a pretty stupid question now, wasn't it?" I wiped the remaining tears with the back of my hand and searched my purse for money.

Anatoly beat me to the punch and paid the fare. He got out of the cab and waited as I climbed out after him.

"I'll walk you up to your door."

"Thank you. That would be great." Without speaking we walked up to the third floor. Anatoly stood at the head of the stairs as I stuck my key in the lock. I paused as I summoned the nerve to ask for yet another favor. "I don't suppose you could step in for a minute while I get myself settled?" I asked, keeping my eyes glued to the door.

"I'd love to."

"Don't get the wrong idea, Anatoly."

"I wouldn't dream of it. I've learned my lesson about being too presumptuous."

"Good." I quickly ushered him in. Mr. Katz came out of the bedroom to cajole some cat food out of me, but after seeing Anatoly, changed his mind and quickly retreated. "He doesn't like strangers."

"Smart cat."

"I was going to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like some?"

Anatoly waved his hand in refusal. He sat down on the couch and watched from the living room as I put the kettle on. "Did you know him well?"

"I wouldn't ever have qualified him as a close friend, but I would have felt comfortable vouching for his demure disposition. I guess that means I didn't know him at all, huh?"

"Not necessarily." Anatoly rubbed his eyes and yawned. "The police said he had frontal lobe damage. People with that condition can be very unpredictable. They can come across as relatively stable, well-adjusted individuals and then something happens and they just snap. The brain's mysterious that way."

I waited for the water to boil before sitting down in a chair opposite him. "The police think he's the one who tore up my car."

"Really?" He scratched the stubble on his chin. "I suppose that's possible. What do you think?"

"Possible." I took a sip of my tea. I toyed with the idea of telling Anatoly my real theories. After all, he seemed to want to listen. Maybe he could help. I looked up at Anatoly and noted that he had eased back farther on the sofa and was resting his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said, glancing at my wall clock that read 2:00 a.m. "You must be exhausted. If you want to go home, I totally understand."

His lids retracted enough to display the red veins surrounding his pupils. "Do you want me to stay?"

I hesitated, unsure of what he was asking.

"Don't worry. I realize the mood right now is not one of romance. If I stay I'll sleep on the couch, but after everything you've gone through tonight, I thought you might not want to be alone."

Melt. Once again Anatoly had gone through an apparent metamorphosis. That, or I was talking to the only man in the world who was able to balance being an egotistical jerk with being exceptionally insightful and considerate.

"If you're sure you don't mind. You wouldn't have to stay on the couch. I have an extra bedroom with a fold-out futon."

Anatoly nodded. "That sounds perfect."

I got up to make the bed for him. Maybe I would tell him about all the other stuff tomorrow. Right now it was time to sleep.

CHAPTER 9.

"No one can make you doubt yourself more than the people who claim to believe in you most."

-Sex, Drugs and Murder I woke up at eleven, which wasn't nearly late enough considering I hadn't turned the lights off until 4:30 a.m. But Mr. Katz was making the possibility of further sleep an unreachable goal due to his repeated attempts to curl up on my head.

I reluctantly rolled out of bed and examined myself in the mirror. The bruises on my neck had come to resemble monstrously large hickeys. Great. Hopefully it would be cold today, because I was definitely wearing a turtleneck. For now I settled for a terry robe over my cotton pj's. When I got to the kitchen I found Anatoly in the living room jamming his feet into his socks and boots.