'Did you use any other techniques?'

Harper knew what Leslie was asking. The theory was that PTSD symptoms might be minimized or interrupted if, at the start of a flashback, sufferers grounded themselves in the present moment. Which meant sharply stimulating their senses. Leslie had recommended biting into a lemon, smelling intense scents like mint or cloves, clutching an ice cube (or, in a pinch, the point of a pencil), listening to music or even counting the number of chairs in a room or trees in a park. So far, Harper hadn't tried many of these techniques.

Leslie waited. 'You said you didn't have a lemon with you. How about your scents?'

'No. I carry drops in my bag, but it was up in the classroom, and I was outside.'

'So they were no good.'

'Leslie, if I'd eaten an entire lemon, it wouldn't have helped. This was powerful. I was in no condition to concentrate on smelling salts or counting by threes.'

'I get it.'

They were both silent. Leslie frowned.

'It wasn't your fault, you know.'

'What wasn't?'

'Any of it. The mugging. The suicide-'

Sudden tears blurred Harper's vision. 'Leslie, I was holding his arms. He fell out of my-'

'It's not your fault. Nor is what happened to Marvin and the others in Iraq. Nor is your father's fraud or your parents' divorce or Hank's fall. None of it's your fault. None of it.'

Now, Harper was angry. 'So? If none of it's my fault, why bring it all up?' She tensed, almost got to her feet. 'What's your point, Leslie? That things keep happening to me? That I'm some kind of perpetual helpless victim?'

'Yes, in a way-'

'What?' Harper stood, her face red, eyes bulging. 'Seriously? Me? A victim?'

'Yes. A victim.' Leslie remained unperturbed. 'But no more than anyone else. Harper, none of us a no matter how many push-ups we can do or how accurately we fire a rifle a none of us can control everyone and everything all the time. Once in a while, everyone a even the toughest of us a becomes a victim. Nobody can protect everyone-'

'And I don't expect to. But today a it was my job to run that recitation. Which implies to protect it. And, since you brought it up, I was in charge of the patrol, too. It was my job to take Marvin's back and secure that area-'

'Harper, you could not foresee what happened to Marvin.'

Harper didn't answer. She remained rigid, hands on hips. Leslie was trying to soothe her, and that was infuriating.

'Nobody could have prevented what happened to Marvin except the bombers.'

'You weren't there. You don't know.'

'I think I do, Harper, because I know you. If anything could have been done, you'd have done it. You weren't at fault. Not then. Not now.'

'No? Well, that's good news. I guess everything's just fine, then.'

Leslie scowled. 'Do you want it to be your fault, Harper? Is feeling guilty preferable to feeling powerless?'

Harper fumed. She pushed a hand through her hair, sat again. Drank more tea. Didn't look at Leslie. How had the conversation turned to fault, anyhow? She'd never meant to discuss blame. People were gone. What did it matter whose fault it was? Marvin was gone. So were Sameh and the boy. And nine other soldiers, and seventeen civilians. And her father. And Graham. Even Hank was gone, in a way. Fault wasn't the issue, was it?

'Harper. Do you think you're still in danger?'

In danger? Of another flashback? 'Not really.'

'Because that mugging didn't seem random.'

Oh, the mugging. Leslie had changed the subject. 'No, it wasn't.'

Leslie put her mug on the coffee table. She met Harper's eyes. 'I've got to tell you, Harper, I'm concerned. The guy knew you and was specifically following you; he wasn't just coasting along until he saw a book bag he liked and decided to grab it. Am I right?'

She was.

'So what did he want? Six hundred dollars? A gun? A few pills?'

'What are you saying?'

'Harper, whoever attacked you is impulsive, violent. Willing to take risks, even in broad daylight. Look, I'm not a cop. But it's clear to me that you were targeted because somebody wanted something you had. If that something was in the bag, fine. He got it. Game over. But what if it wasn't?'

'Then he'll be back.' Harper hadn't articulated that possibility; she'd merely reacted to it, becoming super-watchful, alert, braced for an attack. 'And, next time, I won't be surprised. Next time, I'll break his effing neck.'

Leslie said nothing. Harper checked her watch. The hour was up. She gulped the last of her tea, set the mug down, stood to go.

'Hang on a second.' Leslie went to the tiny refrigerator in the corner. 'I can't help you fight off muggers, but at least I can give you this. Keep it handy.' She pressed a plump lemon into Harper's hand. 'You start to feel detached or fuzzy, chomp away.'

'Yum.' Harper stuck the lemon in her bag and gave Leslie a hug. 'This was good, Leslie. Thank you.'

'Be careful, Harper.'

Harper stepped into the hall, looked both ways, then paused to look back through the window of Leslie's office. Leslie was still standing there, brown eyes fixed on her as she walked away.

Harper strapped her bag on to the Ninja and took a long way home. The air was heavy, buggy, humid, but the motorcycle tore through it, carving its way down the road.

Home was on Hanshaw Street, about a mile north-west of campus. Harper parked her bike in the driveway, grabbed her bag, stopped on the front porch to look around. The grass was knee-high; the gazebo surrounded by weeds. Her flower garden overgrown, untended. Neglected. Sighing, she went into her empty, half-renovated house. Glanced into the dining room covered with drop cloths. Dropped her bag in the hall, headed for the kitchen. And heard her cell phone ring.

For half a nanosecond, she thought: maybe it's Hank. But then she remembered; of course it wasn't Hank. When would she accept reality? Hank wouldn't be calling any more; he couldn't call. Couldn't talk. Hank had Broca's aphasia. When would that sink in?

Reaching into her leather bag, Harper found her phone. Caller ID said CAYUGA NEUROLOGICAL. Wow, maybe it was Hank, after all? She answered, breathless.

'Harper?'

No, it wasn't Hank. Harper's eyes darted around the foyer, the walls stripped of paper. She smoothed her hair.

'Are you busy? Is this a bad time?'

'No. No. I a it's fine.' Why was Ron calling? Oh God, had something happened to Hank?

Hesitation. 'I enjoyed our coffee today.'

Harper bit her lip. Why was she so damned awkward? Ron was just being polite. Then again, his voice was muted, hushed. Why was he talking so softly? Never mind. It didn't matter. 'So did I.' She tried to sound chirpy.

He paused. Harper waited.

'So I said I'd call when I had news about that pill.'

Of course. That was why he was calling: the pill. She thought of Detective Rivers, what she'd said about the other deaths. 'You found out what it is?'

Another pause. 'The short answer is yes. But it's a long, rather complicated story-'

'So? Start.'

'Harper. Is something wrong? You sound a I don't know. Short?'

Short? She stood up straighter. 'I'm just tired. Tell me about the pill.'

'No, you've had a rough day. If you're tired, it can wait-'

'I'm fine. Tell me.'

He exhaled. 'It's a new drug, still experimental, but in final trials. About to be approved by the FDA. It has amazing properties; it stimulates parts of the frontal lobe, improves learning, enhances mental acuity and short-term memory. Its potential applications are boundless-'

'So why didn't you tell me this earlier?'

'How could I? I had to identify it.'

'Really?' Harper frowned. 'Because I saw Detective Rivers earlier. She knew what the pills were right away-'

'What?'

'She said that the same pills were found with other recent fatalities-'

'Wait.' She pictured Ron leaning back, covering his eyes. 'You discussed the pills with the police?'

Harper let out a breath. 'I didn't plan to discuss them, Ron. But she insisted, and . . . Look, I don't want to go into it. Like you said, it's been a rough day.'

'But, after our conversation earlier, I don't understand why you'd draw police attention-'

'Because after you and I had coffee, I got mugged-'

'Wait a what? Are you OK?'

'I'm fine-'

'Harper, my God. Why didn't you call me?'

Call him? Why would she have called him?

'I'm fine, really. But afterwards, I met with Detective Rivers-'

'No, don't go on. This is crazy. Tell me in person. Have you had dinner?'

Dinner?

'Look, I've got another hour or so here, then I'm going to grab a bite. How about joining me?'

Joining him? Harper looked up the empty steps. Then down the empty hall.

'I can't.' She couldn't.

'Tomorrow, then. We need to talk.'

'I don't know. I have a lot to do-'

'You've got to eat, Harper. And you come to the Clinic every evening, don't you? Why don't we meet tomorrow after visiting hours. Say, around eight thirty. We'll eat; you'll tell me what happened to you today, and I'll fill you in about the theft.'

Theft? 'What theft?'

'Oh, sorry, I didn't finish. I'll tell you tomorrow-'

'Tell me now.'

'OK.' He took a breath. 'Short version. At the Center, we store all experimental drugs in coded bins. This spring, there was a robbery. A bin was emptied out. And guess what? Graham's pills came from that bin.'

Really? 'They were stolen?'

'Hundreds of vials were taken. Gone. During final trials.'

'But they aren't harmful a I mean, you said they make people smarter.' She wondered about Graham's grades. Had his As been drug-induced?

'Harper, all drugs have side effects. And if taken in large doses, those side effects can increase.'

'What side effects?'

He sighed. 'How about I explain it all tomorrow at dinner?'

Fine. But a detail was bothering her, nagging in the corner of her mind. 'Today, in the coffee shop. When you saw the pills, you recognized them, didn't you?'

Ron hedged. 'I suspected, but I wanted to be sure before I said anything.'

'So what Detective Rivers said about them a is it true? Have those pills been associated with rapes and fires and other violence? Were there other deaths besides Graham's?'

His voice tightened. 'That whole idea is misleading.'

Misleading?

'In fact, it's completely erroneous. That drug is perfectly safe.' Ron was insistent. 'But this conversation is too important for the phone. Let's talk tomorrow. The lobby. Eight thirty.'

OK. Tomorrow. In the lobby. At eight thirty.