Kim's eyes welled with tears. "You're right. I'm so scared. And his work stuff scares me too. The people in Miami he's dealing with - his plans for here."

Carmen nodded. "I've heard some stuff in the Ybor clubs about his boss. You know it's Carlos Tosca in Miami?"

Kim shook her head. "Whoever it is, I know he's dangerous. Carmen, you better keep your mouth shut out there. These guys don't fool around."

"Like I don't know that. That's why I brought you this." Carmen proceeded to remove an object from her purse and laid it gingerly on the table.

"That's a gun." Kim's eyes were wide.

"Yeah, a pistol or a revolver? I don't know s.h.i.t about guns. The guy I got it from did tell me it's got a hair trigger, so be careful."

Kim stood back, shaking her head, dilated eyes still focused on the weapon. "Carmen, are you crazy? I've never even shot a gun."

"Doesn't matter, there must be some kind of a safety. Right? Don't all guns have one?" Carmen gingerly rotated the gun in her hand, inspecting. Then she shrugged and set it down on an end table.

"Look, that's why I came over instead of calling. You tell Frankie you lost your house key. It happened to me once, a busted key chain, you know? So you got back here after work and then you went back to the station to look for it, but you couldn't find it, and you spent the night there. Totally deny anything that kid said about Nelson, okay? That's for starters. And this," she indicated the gun, "is for protection. Understand?"

"Okay," Kim said slowly. "Okay, honey, I'll try the key thing - and this. Thanks."

"Best you get somebody to show you how to use it."

"Uh-huh. Maybe I'll ask Steve. He knows about guns."

"Good." Carmen smiled. "Listen, I'm back in NA. Got a new sponsor. I'm really gonna make it this time."

"Oh, Carmen, I hope you do. I'll help you all I can."

"You already have, saved my life so many times. That's why I'm here." Carmen got up and hugged Kim, avoiding her friend's bruised cheek. "I'm sure gonna miss you, but you have to get out of here, Kimmie. You gotta get out from under Frankie's influence."

CHAPTER FOUR.

Laura tossed her canvas bag on the kitchen counter, reached for a fresh-baked oatmeal cookie, and glanced up at the clock. Not bad, five thirty. All week she'd managed to get home at a decent hour by postponing all but emergency cases. For the first time in ages, she'd been home five nights in a row for dinner.

"Marcy?" She knew her housekeeper couldn't be far. Pots bubbled on the stove and the smell of roast beef made Laura realize she'd skipped lunch.

"Hey, home early again." Marcy Whitman clucked as she headed for the stove, grabbed a spoon and started stirring a pot. "You're cheating. I make the kids wait until after dinner before diving into the cookies."

Rotund, with her salt-and-pepper hair pulled into an old-fashioned bun, Marcy looked older than her fifty-six years. She'd worked for Laura and Steve ever since they'd moved to Tampa, when Laura began her internship seven years ago. Patrick had been only ten months old; the twins, three; Kevin, four; and Mike, seven. Thank G.o.d for Marcy, Laura repeated at least a dozen times each day.

As for Marcy, she claimed the children gave her the will to go on once she'd lost her husband to cancer. Fiercely dedicated to the Nelsons, she lived in a small apartment over their attached garage so she could be on call for those frequent occasions when both parents worked erratic hours.

"Friday, I never thought it'd come." Laura slumped into the nearest kitchen chair. "How're the kids?"

"They're all in the family room," Marcy said.

Laura started to get up.

"You had a few calls."

"Who?" Laura grabbed one more cookie and started stuffing it into her mouth.

"Your mother. She wants to know if you'd like her to stay with you over the weekend. You know she's worried about you. And a lawyer. Says you know him, a Mr. Sanders. And then Roxanne. She called about this Mr. Sanders. She wants you to call her before Monday morning."

"Oh? I'll call them later." Laura wiped the crumbs off her lips. "I'm going in to check out the kids."

Laura stepped across the hall and was about to call out, "I'm home," when she suddenly stopped. She sensed before she saw the serious expressions on her kids' faces. They were deep in discussion and did not notice her arrival at the verge of the door. Mike, her oldest son, sat stiffly on one end of the sofa. He looked so much like a younger version of his dad that she flinched. Broad shoulders, wavy blonde hair, but with Laura's green eyes. Like Steve, Mike was clean cut and smart, yet unlike Steve, he was modest, even oversensitive. Hard for Laura to accept, but Mike was fourteen now. Steve had been nineteen when she'd met him. So much had happened to both of them since then. They were now two entirely different people. Gone their rosy eyed optimism, gone their shared values.

"They're not telling me anything," Mike was saying. "But Dad was at my baseball game yesterday, and he said he was coming back." Laura grimaced at the new pitch in his voice. p.u.b.erty, a tough transition for any kid under the best of circ.u.mstances.

Next to him sat Kevin, age eleven, another blonde, but with fine, straight hair with s.h.a.ggy bangs brushing his eyebrows. His freckles seemed apt to his role as family clown, but at the moment his blue eyes - the medium blue of his father's - clouded over with unfamiliar worry.

The younger three were sitting Indian style on the floor in front of their brothers, a half-finished puzzle before them. It was one of those rare occasions when the television was turned off. Natalie and Nicole, identical ten-year-old twins, flanked eight-year-old Patrick.

Laura felt her heart turn over in her chest. Should she walk in or lurk out here and listen?

"He's never coming home," Nicole announced with smug authority. "Mom won't let him live with us anymore."

"You shut up, Nicky," shouted Patrick, clenching his fists. "That's not true. Is it, Mike?"

"Daddy would never leave us by ourselves," said Natalie before Mike could respond.

"We're not by ourselves, silly," Kevin interjected. "We have Mom and Mrs. Whitman."

"Who cares anyway," said Nicole in a strangely cold tone.

"You're a mean jerk," Patrick yelled, reaching over to shove Nicole.

"You're just a stupid baby," Nicole shouted. "Get away from me. And don't touch my puzzle! I'm not kidding."

"But he's gotta come home," murmured Natalie.

"Who cares?" Nicole said again, shrugging. "Mom doesn't want him anymore. He did something mean to her."

Laura stood silent, listening.

"Oh, just forget it," Kevin slammed shut the book on his lap. "C'mon Mike, let's go outside and have a catch." Jumping up, he grabbed his catcher's mitt, and slammed the door on the way out to the backyard.

Laura slipped back into the kitchen as the kids filed out the door behind Kevin.

"What can I tell them that will make them understand?" Laura's shoulders slumped against the refrigerator.

"I'd start with Mike," Marcy said, nudging Laura aside so she could open the refrigerator. She pulled out a gallon of milk. "He needs to know what's going on. Adolescence is tricky. You have to face up to the facts."

"I know, but how do I explain about Steve, you know, what he did - what this is all about?"

Marcy shook her head sadly. "Now that you're sure you want a permanent separation, it's better to tell the kids."

"What if I'm not doing the right thing?"

Marcy left Laura alone as she left to pour the kids's milk in the dining room.

"Kevin seems fine, doesn't he?" Laura asked when Marcy returned.

"That's Kevin."

Laura always marveled at this child's ability to avoid anything unpleasant or controversial. "But Nicole sounded so - I don't know - tough - that worries me."

"I'd be lying if I didn't say me too, Laura. I don't know if that's better or worse than Natalie, who cries at the drop of a hat and refuses to even go out to play with her friends."

"d.a.m.n Steve anyway." Laura wrung her hands. "How am I going to deal with this?"

"I've cooked a great roast with mashed potatoes, fresh string beans, and peach cobbler for dessert. After that, at least tell them that you and Steve are separating, but that they'll still have a father."

"You're right, Marcy. What would I do without you?" Laura gave the older woman a hug.

"Oh, now. You all sit down to dinner and straighten things out."

"Come on, kids, let's eat while we talk about this," Laura began. "About me and Dad. First of all, you're always going to have a mom and a dad. You know that, don't you?"

Each child reacted differently as she struggled to find the right words to tell them that nothing would be exactly the same, but that everything would still be okay. Mike was studied and solemn and seemed especially protective of her. If he did not reject her outright, the others would follow. After the others went to bed, she'd need to spend time alone with him and try to make him understand.

Kevin said practically nothing, trying to blink away his tears. The twins reacted according to their distinctly polarized personalities, Nicole seeming actually pleased, and Natalie distraught and weepy. But it was Patrick that most worried Laura. So different from the others with his chestnut brown hair and hazel-flecked eyes. The baby of the family, born with a heart murmur, Patrick was used to getting his own way. Everybody said that he was Steve's favorite. And now he stubbornly refused to accept her explanation that Daddy would live somewhere else and see them on weekends.

"That's not true, Mom," he yelled, pushing his untouched food aside. "My dad is going to live right here with all of us! I mean it." There were no tears, but the animosity in the little boy's flushed face was blatant. He shoved his chair back and bolted for the door.

"Come on, honey," Laura rose to go after him, "Dad will be here tomorrow for you -"

Mike jumped up. "I'll go make sure he's okay."

"I'm goin' with Mike," snuffled Kevin.

Nicole came over and gave Laura a hug, "Everything will be okay, Mom. Thanks for explaining to us. I tried to tell them, but they just wouldn't believe me when I said I knew Dad wasn't going to live here."

"I love you, Mom." Natalie joined her sister and Laura and she put her arms around them both. "We get to see Dad, don't we?"

"Of course you do," Laura said softly.

"Even if I don't want to," challenged Nicole.

"Of course you want to," murmured Laura, trying to comprehend what was happening to her family.

The phone interrupted.

"Why don't you two go out and play. I'll clean up here. Then maybe we can all watch a movie," Laura suggested as she rose to answer the phone. She pushed the peach cobbler away, and steeling herself, a.s.sumed it would be Steve, calling about moving back in again as he had all week under the pretense of making arrangements for picking up the kids.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Dr. Nelson? I'm so glad I caught you at home," drawled a vaguely familiar male voice. "I've tried you at the hospital, but -"

"Who's calling, please?"

"Sam Sanders. We met briefly. I'm an attorney handling the Ruiz case."

Laura was silent. Roxanne had warned her that this man was going all over trying to get evidence against the hospital and the doctors. Apparently, the truck owner's insurance had lapsed, his license was invalid, he had a history of DWIs, and no financial resources. As a result, this Mr. Sanders was trying to sniff out some malpractice somewhere, looking for enough evidence to convince his potential client to sue any deep pockets.

"Look, Mr. Sanders, I'm really busy right now. Perhaps -"

"Won't take but a minute," he drawled. "I heard that you were mighty upset with the Tampa City emergency room performance that night."

"That's not something I can talk about right now."

"And why is that, if you don't mind my asking? n.o.body at the hospital wants to talk to me either - except for one of the nurses, that Roxanne Musing you work with. That makes me wonder."

"That's not what I meant. I meant that I just don't have anything to say. And I don't appreciate your calling me at home -"

"I do apologize," he interrupted. "Maybe you did all you could, maybe not, but that little Ruiz girl was alive when she got to that hospital in that helicopter, and I'm making it my business to find out why she died. I'm sure you don't disagree that Mr. Ruiz deserves some compensation for all his losses. He's a carpenter and won't be working for some time. I intend to see that his family is compensated for any mistakes that were made."

"I am truly sorry about the Ruiz family, but there's nothing I can do. Now goodbye, Mr. Sanders."

Laura made a mental note to call Cliff Casey, Tampa City Hospital CEO, on Monday to pa.s.s along Sanders's threat of a liability suit in case he was not already aware of it. Maybe this weekend Roxanne would come over with the little boy. With a stab, however, Laura realized that none of her own children would be home. They'd be off visiting Steve in that dingy, cramped apartment he'd borrowed.

She sat down and ate half the peach cobbler while thinking about Roxanne. Was she developing a personal relationship with Louis Ruiz? On the day after the accident, his five-year-old, Jose, had been discharged from the hospital to the Hillsborough County Children's Home. When Roxanne found out, she pleaded with the county to let her take the child to her own home. It was the least she could do, she told Laura, for such an unfortunate man who'd just lost his wife and both daughters. The other two boys would recover, but only after extensive hospital stays and huge medical bills.

CHAPTER FIVE.

The next Thursday, Steve sat crouched behind his cluttered desk in his office at the TV station. Posters of media spots filled the room's walls, a series of candid shots of Kim Connor and himself. Such an attractive pair, everyone said. So why had everything fallen apart?

Tomorrow would be exactly two weeks since Laura walked in on him and Kim. She was jealous and angry. But this was going on too long. Staying in that cramped downstairs apartment in Old Hyde Park, courtesy of a reporter friend on a.s.signment, was getting old. When the kids were there, they had nothing to do since all their friends and toys were at home on Davis Island. Tomorrow he'd surprise Laura with a box of G.o.diva chocolates and convince her that enough was enough. Then he'd be back home in his own bed with his own big screen TV, stereo system, walk-in closet full of clothes and, hopefully soon, with his wife.

But if not, there may be another option. Truth be told for the first couple of days after Laura kicked him out, he'd fantasized about Kim. About how they'd fallen into each other's arms, how soft her b.r.e.a.s.t.s felt against his chest, the velvety touch of her skin, the fragrance of her hair, the fullness of her lips. He'd never imagined that pa.s.sion could be so hot and intense. Then he'd wondered dreamily how long Kim had had such a strong s.e.xual attraction to him. About how blind he'd been not to recognize it sooner. Would they become lovers and leave Tampa together so Kim could get away from that abusive guy? If so, how would he deal with Laura and the kids? Lots of guys were divorced and still got to see their kids. But deep down Steve knew he didn't want a divorce. And he couldn't give up his kids. He wanted to see them every day, not on some rotation schedule.

But Steve's fantasy and resultant dilemma dissipated the following Monday when Kim made it unmistakably clear that she had no intention of seeing him outside the studio. Her excuse: that night she'd been distraught, too upset to think. It had just happened, she told him, and it would not happen again. If her boyfriend, Frank Santiago, ever found out, they'd both be dead. Santiago was dangerous - the worst kind of dangerous - "in-the-mob" dangerous.