"We get twenty points a month. They're good for everything from running red lights, or getting faced and busting up a bar, to murder-well, manslaughter, because you really can't plan to do it. Well, you can, but...Anyway. Twenty points works out to be either two civilians or five Marines. Right? Because Marines are, you know, subhuman?"

"I think you already got your five for December," Lindsey played along beautifully.

"Aw, shit. Already?" Jenk complained.

She nodded, making the most perfect too bad face. "The thing at the mall. With the truck?"

It was all he could do not to kiss her, she was that good. "Damn," he said instead. "That's right. I got four in one stomp of the gas pedal. Bad move. And then number five was that other corporal who offended you with that Amy Tan joke."

"You're a Navy SEAL?" Frank asked again.

"Yeah," Jenk said. "But hang on, okay? Don't go anywhere. My friend Izzy's here somewhere. He's a SEAL, too. Maybe he hasn't killed all his December Marines. He probably wouldn't mind killing you for me, considering you called my fiancee a little. Yellow. Fucking. Machine." His last words were through clenched teeth, and Frank actually blanched.

"I'm, like, so not yellow," Lindsey said, a pitch-perfect imitation of a Valley Girl. "I mean, look at my arms. Yellow? I don't think so. I don't know which of the Western explorers is to blame-Marco Polo or whatever-but the genius who came up with yellow? Seriously color-blind?"

Frank was gone. Out the door. It was going to be a long time before he came back to the Bug.

"I guess you don't have a problem with little," Jenk noted.

She laughed, but he could tell she was still pretty pissed off. "I'm sorry about that. Thank you, though, for not killing him and getting yourself in trouble."

"Does that happen a lot?" he asked.

"Well," Lindsey said, "I get hot Asian chicked more often than LYFM'd. I hear that ugliness more near the military base."

He put both arms around her. "I feel like I need to apologize for the entire human race."

"I accept your apology," she said, "but you're not responsible for the Franks of the world. And I do appreciate your nonviolent approach. I once dated this guy, in college, and I'm pretty sure the only reason he went out with me was because he liked getting into fights."

She had her arms around his waist, almost as if they were slow dancing. Man, but it felt good. "I seriously doubt that was the only reason he dated you."

"Spoken like a true gentleman." Amusement danced in her eyes as she stood on her toes and kissed him. On the nose. "I've been wanting to do that for about a week now."

"Thanks," he said, like an idiot. He should have kissed her back-a real kiss. Instead he just stood there, smiling down at her, caught by the sparkle in her eyes. "You want another drink?" he asked. "Or...?"

"I think I'm ready to go," Lindsey told him. "And you don't need to drive me. I'm fine."

She pulled away from him heading toward the bar where she'd left her jacket, and Jenk knew that this was the moment of truth. The next words out of his mouth were going to define exactly how this evening ended. But as he caught her hand and tugged her back to him, as he looked into Lindsey's eyes, he had to smile. Define exactly? Probably not. Despite Izzy's pronouncement, this woman was not a sure thing. She could never be that predictable or mundane.

So he did it. He said it. "In that case, maybe you could drive me home." He'd linked their fingers together, and she now looked down at their hands.

"That depends," she said. "Are you going to invite me up to see your collection of Star Wars action figures?"

"How did you know-" The words were out of his mouth before he realized that she hadn't known anything. She was, in fact, joking.

Her smile was incredible. "Do you seriously have a-"

"No," he said, but it was too late.

"You do." Lindsey's laughter wound around him as she pulled her hand free. "Oh, my God, you're a Star Wars nerd."

Sometimes complete honesty was the best approach. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I am. Is that a problem for you?"

"Jar Jar Binks," she said. "Thumbs up or down?"

"Down," he scoffed. "Give me a break. Although I do have a mint Jar Jar, still in the original packaging. It's in storage, though. My entire collection is. Except maybe...I think I've got a Darth Vader and an X-wing Fighter or two somewhere in my apartment, but it might take me a while to find them."

"I could help you look," she said, which made his stomach do a slow somersault.

Yeah, he'd definitely gone into free fall. "I'd like that. Very much."

Her smile was swift and beautiful. "Then, yes. I'd love to drive you home."

And there he stood, just smiling foolishly back at her. Except, Jesus, there was more conversation needed. Words that had to be said, even though he had no idea how to broach the topic. God forbid he say anything that would make her change her mind. Although not being completely honest with her would be wrong.

She beat him to it, answering his question of how best to broach the topic. Point-blank, apparently, worked really well.

"That was just pickup-joint code, right?" Lindsey asked him. "I did just say yes to you asking me if I wanted to spend the night with you?"

"Yeah," Jenk said, loving her straightforwardness. Man, she was amazing. "Is that what you thought you were saying yes to? Because it doesn't have to be. It could just be a ride home. If that's what you want."

She was just standing there, gazing at him, heat in her bottomless-pit brown eyes. Finally, she spoke. "I like you."

Okay. "Yeah," he said. "I thought maybe you did and...I like you, too. Very much."

"I'm not good at this," she told him. "You know, the game, so...I just wanted to verify that your invitation was, um..."

"It was," he said. "But it doesn't have to be." Shit, why did he keep saying that?

She was wondering the same thing. "Is that code for something else that I should know about-"

"No," he said. "It's not."

Lindsey nodded. "Neither of us are particularly in the right place for a relationship. I'm not. Of course I'm never..." She waved away whatever it was she'd been about to say. "But right now, in particular, it's not...I've got to bottom line it for you, Mark. I'm not looking for anything heavy."

"That's good information," he said. "I mean, as long as we're on the same page, we should be okay. Right?"

"Yeah," she said. "I figured, you were...Well, considering you have a thing for Tracy..."

"Yeah," Jenk said. "About that. It's not so much of a thing right now." Considering she was probably with Lyle right this very moment.

Lindsey was looking at him, sympathy in her eyes.

Uh-oh. Was this...?

Jenk picked up her jacket, handed it to her. Finished off the last of his beer, and went point-blank. Why not? If she could do it, he could, too. "So is this, you know, you and me, tonight? Is this like a..." He wasn't as good at brutal honesty as she was and he had to clear his throat first. But he spit it out because he had to know. "Pity hookup?"

Lindsey laughed-a mixture of surprise and genuine amusement. "Yes," she said, clearly shitting him. "Because I look at you, and I think, what a shame. He's funny, he smart, he's unbelievably ripped and drop-dead handsome, with the prettiest eyes and these adorable freckles that just make me want to bite his nose. And oh, yeah, he's a Navy SEAL. I feel so, so sorry for him."

Okay, now he was blushing. Did she really think...?

Lindsey took her car keys from her pocket, dangling the ring from her index finger, holding it out for him. "Since we're going to your place, you want to drive?"

LOCATION: UNCERTAIN.

DATE: UNKNOWN.

Number Five remembered her final day of life with remarkable clarity.

She relived it often, sometimes even dreaming about it at night-a temporary escape from the darkness and fear.

Beth-she'd been Beth back then. Beth had slept late, waking at eleven, lazing for another half hour in her bed, in the tiny bedroom that she'd hated since her mother moved into this house nearly twelve years ago, when Beth was fourteen.

She was feeling sorry for herself because John had come into the bar the night before with his new girlfriend. Beth had had to serve them both, which had sucked. She'd started pounding back the gin and tonics herself, and had gotten so drunk she'd ended up leaving her car in the lot. She'd caught a ride home with George Henderson who was cute but married. He'd wanted sex, but she'd been smart enough to say no.

She had let him steal a few kisses, and she was pretty sure he'd had his hand up her shirt at one point. But she'd kept her jeans on.

She finally got out of bed to find some coffee to help her headache, going into the kitchen in her T-shirt and panties, fuzzy slippers on her feet. Her mother had left a note on the kitchen counter. Make yourself useful, with a whole list of chores that needed to be done.

Mow the lawn. Yeah. Snowball's chance, Ma.

She made herself some toast to eat with the coffee, then wandered out to the mailbox to get the mail, hoping for a magazine to leaf through.

She'd gotten a far bigger prize. A letter from Bobby, from Iraq. It wasn't more than a few lines, scrawled on a ratty piece of paper, but her brother had sent her a check for a hundred dollars. He'd realized he'd missed her birthday, he wrote. He knew she'd moved back in with Ma, who was garnishing her paychecks to help pay for her car insurance, rent, and groceries while she was living there. This money he'd sent was for Beth to buy something nice for herself.

She'd showered and quickly gotten dressed. Her hair was maintenance free-it would dry by the time she drove over to the mall, except...shoot.

Her car was still over at the Lamplight Inn.

Beth called Jenn and Lisa and even Carleen, who was, on a usual day, the last person she'd call for a ride anywhere. But no one was home.

She'd almost called George, who worked over at the Meijers. She had no doubt whatsoever that he'd drive right over and take her wherever she wanted to go.

Instead, she walked-intending to hitchhike when she hit the state road. Mostly because she knew word would get back to her mother. Lord knows she had to give her something to bitch about. Besides, that is, Beth's failure to mow the lawn and live like a saint and settle for marriage to boring Mitch Jeffers and shave her legs without making a mess in the bathroom.

Beth remembered the heat of the sun on her shoulders as she walked. She remembered the clear blue of the sky, the freshness of the late-spring air.

She remembered the crunch of the ground beneath her feet. The hum of the cars that passed-all going in the wrong direction.

She remembered the silence then as the traffic faded away. The rustle of the breeze in the grass, the buzz of locusts and crickets in the growing heat.

She remembered another car passing, again in the wrong direction. But it slowed.

She turned to watch it. A blue Impala, circa the time of the Pilgrims. Still, it wasn't coughing out black clouds of smoke the way her dying Escort did.

The driver braked to a stop, then did a smooth three-point turn right in the road. And came back toward her.

Well, wasn't that right neighborly?

She could tell from looking through the windshield that the driver was a man. Not a big surprise.

It wasn't until he stopped alongside her and lowered the passenger window, leaning across that big bench seat to talk to her that she saw he wasn't just a man. He was a very well-dressed man.

He wore a business suit and tie, unlike most of the men who lived and worked in this county.

He had dark hair and he wore sunglasses that hid his eyes, but his smile was dazzling. "Need a ride?"

"Just into town." The car was old, but it was cherry, as Bobby would've said. It looked as if it had rolled out of a time tunnel, direct from a dealer's showroom in 1970.

No doubt about it, this man had money. "Hop in." Money, but no wedding ring. Which, of course, didn't mean a thing.

Still, Beth opened the door. Climbed in. Gave him back her best smile. "Thanks."

"Live around here?" he asked, his accent flat. A Yankee. And older than she'd first thought, but very good-looking.

"All my life," she told him. "Where are you from?"

"It seems like a nice little town-what I've seen of it, anyway."

"Thinking about moving here?" she asked. "I have a friend in real estate."

"Is she as pretty as you are?"

Well, well, the Yankee-strange duck that he was-could still bring it. Beth smiled. "Considering she's a he, and his name's Fred...no."

He glanced at her. "Your boyfriend?"

"No," she said. "I'm between boyfriends. My name's Beth, by the way."

"No, it's not."

She laughed. "Yeah, okay, you're right, it's Elizabeth."

"No," he said again. But he was smiling, which softened his words. "You're Number Five."

She laughed again, but in truth she was starting to get a little nervous. "And who does that make you? Number Six? No wait, don't tell me-you're Double-Oh-Seven."

"I'm God," he said.

It was then that he slowed down, pulling off into the old Forrester farm road-overgrown with disuse.