CHAPTER ONE

Never in my wildest nightmares had I ever imagined myself strapped down in the Psych Ward at County General Hospital, but here I was. Strapped down tight, voice gone from screaming. Why had I been screaming? Combination of things, I guess. The blinding pain shooting across my temples was certainly a large part of it, plus the futility of my efforts to grab my head and squeeze. There was also the all encompassing, completely irrational but none-the-less real fear. Did I say fear? I meant gut wrenching, mind flaying terror. I was thinking somewhat clearly at the moment, but it was a fleeting transitory state at best.

  CHAPTER TWO

Maybe I should start at the beginning. It was a Monday morning and I was sitting out on the deck sipping iced tea. I was wearing nothing but my ratty old yellow bath robe, had my feet propped up on the railing, plastic lawn chair tilted back against the wall, sweating glass resting on my chest. I was languidly staring off at nothing, a stupid grin tugging at my lips. My current sluggishness was due to a blissful weekend in Oakland with Karen.

Karen Ellis was a petite little thing I’d met at a bookstore – something in the window had caught my eye and I’d entered on a whim. Five foot five in heels, an athletic 130 pounds, with long chestnut hair and huge brown eyes, made all the more larger behind stylish wire-rimmed glasses. She’d been wearing faded blue jeans, black boots and a T-shirt several sizes too large that almost obscured the gentle slope of her bosom. Her nose had been buried in a book as she careened into me. She’d bounced off my bulk and fallen on her rear with a thud, books and magazines scattering around her.
     
      “Sorry,” I said, holding my hand down to help her up.
      “Huh?” She leaned back on her hands and glared up at me. I smiled at her, feeling guilty for being in her way. She took my hand and pulled herself up, brushed herself off.
      “Thanks,” she said.
      I knelt down to help her pick up her books, noticed they were all pornographic and lifted an eyebrow at her. She narrowed her eyes at me in defiance – daring me to comment, but I refrained.
      “Can I help you carry them to your car?”
      “No car.”
      “How far?”
      “Alameda.”
      I blinked at her. “That’s all the way across town. You can’t carry all these that far. I’ll give you a lift.”
      She looked me up and down appraisingly, furrowed her brow. “And why would I want to go home with a stranger?”
      Good question. She didn’t know me from Adam – I could be an axe murderer. Why did I even care? Something about her, though, made me want to protect her. There were a few tables set up in front of a counter at the back – one of those existential little shops that couldn’t decide if it was a coffee shop, diner or bookstore.
      “If we sit down for a drink,” I found myself saying. “I won’t be a stranger.”
      She glanced at me sideways, trying to decide if I was serious or not.
      I smiled sweetly.
      She snickered and smiled back. At that moment, I knew why I wanted to protect her – she was a beautiful young nymph.
      “Okay,” she said and let me carry the books to one of the tables at the back. We ordered coffee and pie, but I never noticed what either tasted like. I can’t even recall just what we spoke about. The proprietor had to kick us out at closing time.
      She giggled out on the sidewalk.
      “What?” I asked, grinning.
      “I think they were staring at us.”
      “Not us,” I told her. “You.”
      She barked a laugh and said, “Bullshit.”
      I must have shown my surprise at her language because she giggled some more. I shook my head in adolescent exasperation and handed her the pile of books as I opened the trunk of the Seville. Once the books were stashed, we climbed into the car.
      “Nice old thing,” she said.
      I wasn’t sure if she meant me or the car and I suddenly felt old. I drove her home, wondered if I’d make it back in time to watch Letterman.
      “Come on up and have a cup of real coffee,” she offered.
      I watched her in the glare of the headlights. Smooth pale skin that had never known make-up, cherub cheeks, pouty lips moistened with a clear lip gloss, a narrow line of pale fuzz just under a narrow nose. What was I doing? She was no more than a child. She smiled sweetly at me and I melted.
      Her apartment was small, but tidy. The living room contained a dented three drawer filing cabinet next to an IKEA desk with computer, printer and fax in the corner along with a modest entertainment center, sofa, recliner and coffee table. Carpeting was your basic apartment green and two walls were covered floor to ceiling in book shelves – all full of porn. Really made me wonder.
      She placed two steaming mugs on the coffee table and sat next to me on the sofa – not too close, not too distant – no clear message. “Karen Ellis, by the way,” she said, holding her hand out. Delicate hands, long fingers.
      I smiled, hadn’t even realized we hadn’t exchanged names yet. “Alex Delaware.” Her grip was firm and her warm fingers lingered in mine a little longer than necessary.
      “So, Alex, do you make a habit of picking up girls in bookstores?”
      “Actually, no – usually it’s the grocery store.”
      She laughed and I smiled at the sweet sound, sipped my coffee. Excellent coffee.
      “You’re very sweet, you know.”
      “Am I?”
      “Very gallante of you not to mention all the, uh …”
      “Erotica?”
      “Porn.”
      I smiled. “None of my business, Karen.”
      “Well, it is mine. Business, I mean.” When I didn’t comment, she continued. “I’m a writer. Porn writer. That shelf over there is full of my stuff. The rest is …”
      “Research?”
      “Exactly!” She laughed and I smiled.
      “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever known a porn writer before. Any money in that?”
      “Sure, if you’re good. Meaning adaptable and prolific, which I am.”
      I wasn’t sure what to make of it all, just grinned. Professional training: when in doubt, shut up.
      She grinned back. “Thanks for not launching into a sermon.”
      I raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I’ve been known to read a porn mag or two in my day.” Actually, I’d written a paper in grad school on the psycho-dynamics of pornography as sexual stimuli – did my share of research too.
      She threw me a mock shocked look and said, “Not many guys would readily admit that – not to a woman, anyway.”
      “That’s me – Mr. Sensitive.”
      She studied me a moment, probably trying to decide if I was mocking her or not. “What do you do, Alex?”
      “Psychologist.”
      “Oh, that explains a few things.”
      “Does it?”
      “Like your innate listening skills.”
      “Oh, I’m not listening,” I told her. “I’m admiring.”
      She took the half full mug out of my hand and placed it on the table as she climbed onto my lap and kissed me deeply. I tried to tell myself I was old enough to be her father, but it just didn’t seem to matter. She started unbuttoning my shirt as I picked her up and carried her into what I hoped was the bedroom. It was.

Afterwards, I lay sprawled out on her bed naked, the sheets wadded up around my ankles and Karen curled up next to me with her head resting on my chest, rising and falling with each breath I took. She was facing away from me, so I didn’t know if she was awake or not. The fingers of my right hand couldn’t help but comb through her thick wavy hair.
      “You busy this weekend?” she asked.
      “No.”
      “I have a meeting with an editor in Oakland on Friday, why don’t you come with and spend the weekend.”
      “Okay.” Did I really just agree to spend the weekend with a girl I’d just met? Had I really just jumped into bed with a girl I’d just met? Geez, Delaware, what is this? Second childhood?
      “Ready to go again?”
      “Already? I don’t think …” She started doing amazing things with her tongue and whatever I was about to say flew out of my brain and I was hers again.

Hence the stupid grin tugging at my lips. A classic MG pulled up in my driveway, but I didn’t budge. Milo unfolded himself and climbed out – how the heck the big guy had squeezed his 75 inch, 240 pound frame into the tiny vehicle, I didn’t know. I had to grin. He was wearing wrinkled khaki slacks, blue dress shirt and a hideous paisley tie. Tan suede desert boots and a clichéd old trench coat rounded out the ensemble. His thick black hair hung over his forehead, giving him a boyish look despite the snow white sideburns. The early morning sunlight illuminated the pock scars across his face, and even from the porch I could see his bright green eyes flashing as he waved. For him to be this animated so early in the morning meant something was up and since Milo is a homicide detective, that something was probably murder.
      Didn’t matter – nothing could dampen my lust for life this morning.
      “At least cinch the robe before I’m forced to arrest you for indecent exposure,” he said on his way past.
      I smiled, took another sip before getting up with a sigh. I found him in the kitchen with his head in the fridge.
      “Time you stocked up on groceries, Alex,” he told me.
      “What’s with the matchbox car, Milo?” I asked.
      “Like it? I’m test driving it.”
      I doubted that. “Where do you keep the clowns?”
      He laughed. “Was the only unmarked left in the motor pool last night. I really need to get my own car again.” He came to the table with an apple and a beer.
      With a nod toward the beer, I asked, “Bit early for that, isn’t it?” He’d been hitting the bottle a bit lately and I worried.
      “Time is relative – I’ve been up all night.” He opened the beer and took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
      “Oh?”
      “You’re gonna love this. Family slaughtered over in Korea Town”
      “Lovely. Isn’t that out of your jurisdiction?”
      “Yeah – listen. Whole family killed – pretty gruesome, really, but the killer is found round back of the house, bloody knife in hand, OD’d on some bizarre mixture of PCP and cocaine.”
      “What’s to investigate?”
      “Yeah – open and shut, right?” He took a big bite of apple, talked with his mouth full. “Wrong.” Swallowed, downed some beer. “Month ago, same thing over in Brentwood – my case – no-brainer, until the path report comes back on my killer a few days ago – non-priority. The guy had an old shoulder injury, Alex. Could barely lift his arm – no way could he have swung a knife.”
      “I don’t get it.”
      “There’s more. I find another massacre up in Pacoima three months ago – almost identical in every particular – including the killer OD’d at the scene. Same mixture of PCP and coke.”
      He finished off the apple in two more bites while I sat and blinked at him. “Someone is … what? Killing families and setting up some patsy to take the fall each time?”
      “Looks like it. And no one would have questioned it if my so-called killer hadn’t been crippled.”
      He finished the beer while I pondered the implications. Then he rummaged around my cupboard, found a stale bagel, toasted it, buttered it and sat down with it and another beer. He waited for my reaction.
      I frowned. “Any connection to the victims? I mean … sheesh. Any connection between the slain families? Between the families and framed killers? Between the framed killers and each other? Any connections at all?”
      “Not so far.” Mouth full.
      “Jesus Christ, everything is random?”
      “Looks like it.”
      I sat back and frowned. “Well, he sure as hell must be one organized SOB.”
      “Any other insights, doc?”
      “Wow. I don’t know. Any indications there’s more than one killer?”
      “Nope.”
      “The patsies – did they go missing any time before being found dead with murder weapon in hand?”
      “Nope.”
      “Then, he doesn’t capture them first to prepare.” I ran a hand through my hair, intrigued despite myself. “The time of death for the family and the patsy – close together? Or any length of time between?”
      “So far as the ME can figure, about the same time.”
      “Man. Does he kill the family then find a patsy? Or find a patsy and then kill the family? Any similarities between the families?”
      He sat back and ran his hands over his face, like washing without water. “All young couples with one child. Two white families, one Asian. Kids are different ages, went to different schools, none of the family members seem to have known any of the other families. It’s weird, Alex.”
      “How bout the patsies? Any similarity?”
      “All men between the ages of 20 and 40. Two white, one black. All upstanding citizens.”
      “The black patsy – did he supposedly kill the Asian family?”
      He shook his head.
      “God, you’re right, Milo, it is weird.”
      We sat in silence for a while, my weekend momentarily forgotten and Milo lost in his beer. Or should I say my beer?
      “Were the family members bound?”
      “Yep.”
      “Were the patsies from the same neighborhood as the families they were framed for murdering?”
      “Actually, no. That is a puzzler.”
      I chewed my bottom lip a while and Milo got another apple. When I glanced up at him, his expression was blank. I raised an eyebrow and said, “Might as well go get the file you have out in your clown car.”
      He grinned and went out to fetch it. You’re the patsy, Delaware, I told myself with a smirk.
      I skimmed quickly over the crime scene photos – more nightmares I don’t need, but we poured over the rest of the data all morning, trying to find a pattern. Milo has a unique job with the LAPD now – he’s a lieutenant, but he gets to stay on the streets. He has a tiny little office that I suspect used to be a storage closet (yeah, lots of jokes about being back in the closet – ha-ha) and he usually works on cold cases – or any new cases he decides he wants. It means he’s pretty isolated, but he likes it that way.
      We ordered a pizza. I paid on condition Milo went to pick it up. He went to pick it up on condition I let him use the Seville. While he was gone, I showered and got dressed properly – was presentable in jeans and UCLA sweatshirt by the time he returned.
      “Figured I owed you,” he said, holding aloft a six-pack of Grolsch.
      As I ate and Milo drank, a thought occurred to me and I went for a calendar. “Check this out, Milo.”
      “Hmm?”
      “Each murder transpired during a new moon.”
      He stopped mid-chew and stared at me a moment. Then he swallowed hard and took a swig of beer. “Don’t tell me it’s some sort of Satanist shit.”
      I shrugged. “Can’t be a coincidence.”
      “But he skipped one?”
      “He skipped one – or there’s a dead family out there you haven’t found yet.”
      “Shit.”
      While he got on my phone and started re-calling every division house in the area, I took out a map and started plotting the murders. I used a red marker to indicate where the families were murdered and a black marker to indicate where the patsies had lived.
      When Milo hung up and said, “Another family two months ago found at a hotel in Walnut Park.”
      “Supposedly killed by a guy from Pacoima.”
      He stared at me for a long time. “How the hell did you know that?”
      I held up my map so he could see it and the four arms of the pentagram I’d drawn in black and red.
      “What the hell?”
      “The framed killer comes from the area of the previous kill – all linking up to form this.”
      “It is some kind of satanic crap.” He sat down heavily with a sigh.
      “Or someone wants you to think it is. In Satan worship, the pentagram is usually inverted.”
      “You mean like this?” He turned the map around in my hands so that it was upside down.
      I glanced at it and smirked. “Good point.”
      He growled and ran his hands over his face. “Why do I come to you for advice? I never like your theories.”
      “Yeah, but I’m usually right.”
      “I know, and it pisses me off.”
      I grinned, chose not to think about the times I wasn’t right.
      “So now what? We have 30 days to figure this shit out before he kills again and completes his pentagram and goes on his merry way?”
      I shrugged, took the last piece of pizza while he downed the rest of his fourth beer. “The last family will be killed in Venice, though, because that’s where the first patsy was from.”

CHAPTER THREE

The next day it was early afternoon and I was with a patient when the front doorbell rang. Ten year old Ashley Kerns was mature beyond her years and was having no real trouble adjusting to her parents divorce. She was lucky because, while her parents hated each other, they were wise enough not to take it out on their child. A rare situation. This would be my final session with Ashley before I would recommend joint custody and I wasn’t worried about her.
      Though a hefty child, she was very fit and active – played little league baseball with the boys – a real scrapper. She had short brown hair and almond eyes, thin lips that were always smiling. Today she was wearing a pretty blue dress and strap sandals. She obviously preferred her usual jeans, t-shirt and sneakers because she was squirming in her seat and tugging at her sleeves, but her smile never wavered.
      When the doorbell rang, I excused myself and was surprised to find Karen on my doorstep.
      “Am I interrupting?” she asked.
      “Yes,” I answered, bending low to kiss her cheek. “Make yourself at home, I’ll be out in fifteen.”

After escorting Ashley to her mother’s car, I found Karen on the couch with a beer and my copy of the murder file. “Okay, that’s a no-no,” I said, pulling the file from her hands. I was a little perturbed that she’d been looking at it, but I was pissed that I’d left it laying out. I’d so easily fallen back into my living alone routine and felt a momentary pang of regret that angered me more.
      “Sorry, Alex. It didn’t look like a patient file, so I didn’t think it was confidential.”
      I was glad I didn’t have copies of the photos. “It’s a police file and I shouldn’t have left it out.” I shoved it in a drawer out of the way.
      “How come you have a police file?”
      “It’s a case I’m helping with. That’s mostly what I do now – forensic psychology.”
      She folded her legs up beneath her and leaned towards me. “Fascinating, Alex. Tell me more.”
      I think maybe I blushed. I went to get myself a beer as cover. I came back and sat in a chair opposite the sofa, rested my left ankle on my right knee, took a swig of beer, switched ankles. Why was I so uncomfortable? I’d been completely uninhibited with this woman for an entire weekend and now I was fidgeting like a schoolboy.
      “Not much to tell, really.” I switched ankles again. “I take an occasional referral from the court and sometimes my friend Milo asks for help with a case.”
      “Milo?”
      “He’s a homicide detective.”
      “Really? That is so cool.”
      I felt like I was being interrogated. “So, Karen, what brings you round today?” Oh, great, Delaware, could you possibly sound any more clinical?
      “Do I need a reason?”
      “Okay, can you tell I’m a little disconcerted?”
      She smiled. Damn. “Yes.”
      I set my beer down as I sat up, leaned an elbow on a knee and ran a hand through my hair nervously. “I don’t know why.”
      “Easy. I’m invading your man space.”
      “My man space?” I had to smile now too.
      “Uh-huh.”
      I smirked and nodded. “My man space. Okay.”
      She floated over and climbed up onto my lap. Her kiss left me breathless. “My real reason for stopping by – you have a lovely house, by the way.”
      “Thanks.” I still hadn’t quite gotten used to it. A psycho had burned my house down a few years back and this new one was bigger and more practical, but just not the same.
      “I brought some of my work. So you can see what I’m all about.”
      I raised an eyebrow as she reached over for her tote bag. She pulled out a glossy magazine and handed it to me. “My latest publication.”
      Boys Will Be Boys magazine. I raised my other eyebrow, tried not to look at the cover photo. I searched the contents page, but didn’t see her name. “Which one is yours?”
      “The one by K. E. LeBeau.”
      It was entitled Midnight Rendezvous and was illustrated with full color photos. I was sweating by the time I finished reading.
      “So, what do you think?”
      “Uh, very well written.”
      She laughed. “That bad?”
      “No, well, a bit … er … homosexual for my taste.”
      “Homophobe?” she asked.
      Thinking of Milo, I said, “No, just never expected to get this up close and personal with a gay relationship.” Unbidden images of Milo and his lover Rick raced through my mind. Would I ever be able to look at them both the same again?
      She laughed. “Do you think it’s weird for a woman to write gay porn?”
      “Actually, no – it’s a very common occurrence. As is lesbian porn written my men.”
      She frowned and I was afraid I’d said the wrong thing. “Not sure I like being common.”
      “I didn’t say you were common – just the circumstance.”
      She kept me squirming a moment longer before smiling and pulling out a stapled manuscript. “And this is my newest story – I just sent it out today.”
      Another chance to redeem myself – at least this one didn’t have photos. A Perfect Weekend. As I read, I felt the blood flush my face and then my groin. It was an embellished play-by-play account of my weekend with Karen – right down to the gondola ride. The character of Alberto was written as pretty damned fantastic. Should I have been flattered? Or was I just grist for her porn mill?
      “So?” she asked expectantly.
      I wasn’t sure how to react. “Flattering.”
      “Then you’re not mad?”
      “Mad?”
      “That I … you know, wrote about … us.”
      I took a deep breath before answering. “No, I’m not mad.”
      “But?”
      “Well, I can’t help feeling a little bit used.”
      She smirked at me. “You picked me up.”
      “Actually, you walked into me.”
      She laughed. I’m sure she could feel the bulge in my pants. She kissed me again and the bulge got bigger. Damn, but she was irresistible.
      “Shall we make more editorial material?”
      “Why not?” I picked her up and carried her to my bedroom.

I was catatonic when the phone rang, so Karen answered it. “Dr. Delaware’s boudoir,” she said in a sing-song voice that made me grin. “He’s comatose at the moment, can I take a message? Oh, Milo, the detective? Way cool. Any new juicy murders?”
      I tapped her shoulder and motioned for the phone. “What’s up, Milo?”
      “Who’s the happy pixie?”
      Funny, she really was like a pixie. “That’s Karen – she’s a figment of my imagination. What’s up?”
      I could almost see his smirk and I knew he was itching to ask, but I also knew he wouldn’t – at least not on the phone. “I was just calling to see if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight, but it sounds like you have other plans.”
      “Yeah, can I have a rain check?”
      “You know, you can bring her along. She sounds cute.”
      “Another time, maybe.”
      “One question?”
      “What?”
      “Is she old enough to drink?”
      I laughed. “Talk to you later, Milo.”
      As I handed the phone back to her, I realized I really didn’t know for sure if she was old enough to drink. She looked 19, but she was old enough to sell porn, so … is there an age requirement for writing porn for profit? I’d have to ask Milo about that.
      “Milo sounds nice.”
      “Sounds can be deceiving.”
      “He’s not nice?”
      She was now slowly tracing a finger lightly up and down through the line of hair that bisects my abdomen and I was finding it hard to focus. “Big teddy bear,” I muttered, eye lids feeling heavy.
      She continued down past my navel now and any concentration I had left went out the window. She was ravenous. I was beginning to wonder if I would survive this relationship.

Milo arrived first thing the next morning, no doubt hoping to catch Karen before she left, but she hadn’t spent the night, insisted on puttering off on a little moped at 3 AM. He actually looked pretty good in black loafers, pressed grey trousers, black dress shirt and green and pearl striped tie that looked like silk and really set off his eyes. Me in my ratty old bathrobe looked like a hobo by comparison. His trench coat was tossed over a chair and he was eating a bowl of cornflakes while standing in front of the sink when I staggered out bleary-eyed. The twinkle in his eye told me he was in a playful mood and I was about to get a ribbing.
      “So …” he said. “She gone already?”
      I smirked. “Yep.”
      “I see you survived.”
      “Barely.”
      He laughed and sat down. “So, tell Uncle Milo all about it. No holding back, now.”
      I shook my head. “Nothing to tell, Uncle Milo.” I poured myself a large glass of orange juice and sat down across from him.
      “Uh-huh. Always the gentleman, huh?”
      “What’s the occasion?”
      “Hmm? Oh, my fashionable duds? Meeting with the other Ds on this case.” In a pretty good approximation of his Captain’s voice, he added, “Must make a good impression, Sturgis. Let your boyfriend dress you.” A derisive snort. “Bastard.”
      “Did Rick dress you?”
      He shot me a wounded look. “Et tu, Alex?”
      I grinned. “Sorry, but no way did you buy that tie.”
      He chuckled. “Yeah, his tie, but the rest is mine!”
      “Okay, I believe you.”
      “So, really, tell me about your new love interest.”
      “Not much to tell, really. She’s wearing me out.”
      “Oh?” One bushy eyebrow raised.
      “Possible nymphomania.” As I said it, I remembered thinking of her as a nymph first time I saw her.
      “Hoo-ha! No offense, pal, but she sounded twelve on the phone.”
      “Well, she’s older than twelve!” I pouted. “Nineteen, at least.”
      He snickered.
      “Do you know if there’s an age requirement to write porn? Professionally, I mean?”
      He blinked at me. “She writes porn?”
      I blushed.
      “Lucky bastard. Any samples?”
      My turn to blink. Did I dare show him?
      “Oh, come on!”
      Crap. I got up and brought him the magazine and manuscript. After handing him both, I instantly regretted it and had an urge to grab back the MS – he’d know it was about me. I held myself in check, pointed out which story was hers in the magazine and squirmed in my seat while he read.
      “Crimony, Alex, can I borrow this magazine?”
      “No!” A bit too quick and a bit too loud. I blushed yet again and waved my hand, said, “Yeah, why not?”
      He smirked while he switched to the MS. At the final page, he let out a low whistle. “I can see why you’re worn out.
      “Is it that obvious?”
      “What? That Alberto is you? Did it really happen like that?”
      I squirmed. “Well, basically, yeah.”
      “You old dog, you.” He winked at me and I squirmed some more, which made him chuckle.
      He finished the cereal and abstained from upending the bowl for the milk – protecting Rick’s tie, no doubt. “Gotta go, Alex, but seriously – enjoy it while you can.” He slipped on his coat and started for the door, stepped back. “Almost forgot.” With a wicked grin, he reached for the magazine, rolled it up and shoved it in his coat pocket. “Research.”
      I laughed, slapped his shoulder and told him to get the hell out.
      Once I was alone again, I started thinking about things I didn’t want to think about. Robin had left me – again. After so many years together, my life felt somewhat empty without her. I can’t say I could blame her for leaving, though. I’d made it easy for her – blatantly shutting her out as I put myself in peril, acting like a jerk when she took off with the Kill Famine Tour. The whole situation had made me do a little introspection and I’d finally been able to admit that I’m a danger junkie and that’s all there is to it. Maybe that’s why I enjoyed being with Karen. Was she dangerous?
      Milo told me to enjoy it while it lasts – even he knew whatever the hell I had with Karen was temporary and he was letting me know he was okay with it. Good ol’ Uncle Milo. I grinned. He really cared for Robin too, and hated to see us separated. Could we ever get back together again? Did I even want to? I didn’t like being kept in this emotional limbo – maybe she’d come back to me, maybe she’d find someone new, maybe she’d want to stay friends … it was maddening. She’d even taken my dog! Spike is an ugly little French Bulldog whom I adopted, but he’d bonded with Robin and that was that.
      I didn’t like the way this line of thought was going, so I pulled on a pair of shorts, a tank top and an old pair of Nikes and went for a run. I pushed myself a little harder than I’d originally planned. When I got back, my calves were burning with excess lactic acid and Karen’s moped was parked near the front door. I found her out back lounging by the koi pond, her bare feet dangling in the water and the brightly colored fish nibbling at her toes.
      When she noticed me standing nearby, she stretched out on the ground on her back and said, “Pleeeease ravish me.”
      I laughed, shook my head and walked into the house. She trailed behind me. On my way to the shower, I said over my shoulder, “Be back in a bit, don’t read any files while I’m gone.”
      She wasn’t interested in reading, though. I was lathering up my hair when she climbed into the shower with me. Once again, I had a fleeting thought that this relationship was going to kill me, but it was gone quickly. When the water turned cold, we tumbled out laughing. Would this find it’s way into a story too? Eh, may Alberto carry on forever.

The phone rang while we were toweling off and I answered it myself this time.
      “You okay, Alex?” Milo asked. “You sound breathless.”
      “Yeah, I’m okay – just had a run.” It was sort of the truth.
      “Ugh, I avoid excess exercise whenever I can. Anyway, I called because I’m on my way to interview some family members and thought you might want to come along.”
      “Uh …” I did want to go, but what about Karen? “Hang on a sec.”
      “Sure.”
      I looked to Karen and asked, “Did you have plans for us today?”
      She shrugged, swiveled her hips. “Not really, just wanted to say hey.”
      I probably blushed as I got back with Milo. “Yeah, I’d like to go – you don’t still have that clown car, do you?”
      He laughed. “No, but we can take your Caddy anyway. Meet me at the station in a half hour?”
      “Okay.” As I hung up, I turned to Karen who was still shaking her hips provocatively. “Uh-uh,” I wagged my finger at her. “I have somewhere to be, so you need to get some clothes on and stop tempting me.”
      She pouted prettily and we both laughed. After getting dressed, I loaded her bike in the trunk of the Seville and drove her home. She kept me on her doorstep with deep-throated kisses long enough to make me ten minutes late picking up Milo.
      He was standing on the sidewalk looking stern when I pulled up. I tried to look contrite, but I don’t think I pulled it off. His harsh frown only lasted a minute or so anyway, before he grinned knowingly and made me blush.
      “Okay, where to? Korea Town?” I asked.
      “No, Rampart Division is handling that alright for now. We’re gonna go see Dr. Simon Bushart, ex hubby of Brandy Cooper: one third of victim family number three.” He gave me an address in Bel Air not all that far from my own humble abode that brought us to a palatial sized estate with security gates. Another world. I announced our presence via the voice box at the gate and was allowed in to find a surprisingly modest little ranch style home made of sandstone.
      Milo must have registered my astonishment because he said, “Quaint, isn’t it? Surprised me too when I first came here.”
      The front door was opened as we approached and a tall, distinguished looking man peered out. Milo had told me Bushart taught anthropology at the U and I knew he had several best selling books to his name. Evidently, he made anthropology palatable for the layman – good for him. I don’t know why, but I had expected someone older and more … geeky. He was slim, but well muscled with longish graying dark hair brushed straight back from a studious brow, deep set dark eyes behind wire framed glasses perched on a roman nose that looked like it had been broken a time or two but that only gave him more character. A well trimmed mustache failed to hide well formed lips that were now drawn back in an uncertain smile revealing straight white teeth. Wearing an open necked white cotton shirt tucked into naturally faded jeans over worn leather boots, he reminded me of Indiana Jones.
      “Lieutenant,” he said, holding a large calloused hand out to Milo. His voice was rich and deep – bet the co-eds flocked to his classes in droves. “Is there something new about Brandy?”
      “Yes, sir, doing some follow-up. May we come in?”
      “Of course.” He held the door open and gestured us in. He glanced my way as we went past, but didn’t ask about me. “Can I get you gentleman anything? Coffee? Tea? Sprite?”
      “No thank you, sir,” Milo said.
      When Bushart turned to me, I said, “I wouldn’t mind some ice water, actually, sir.”
      “Certainly, make yourselves comfortable.” He gestured towards a spacious, airy room and left to fetch my water.
      The den was paneled in blond teak, with a deep piled chocolate brown carpet. There was a display cabinet along one wall full of South American statuary and pottery – an occasional Asian jade piece breaking up the rhythm. Another wall sported built-in bookshelves full of leather bound volumes in various languages. The front wall was taken up by a huge picture window with shear curtains blocking out the harshest of the sun light and the back wall was covered in African tribal masks of varying sizes. In the middle of the room was a brown leather sofa, matching loveseat, glass topped coffee table and overstuffed EZ chair the color of overripe eggplant.
      When Bushart returned with an unopened bottle and a tall glass full of ice, Milo and I were both resting easy on the sofa. I thanked him and poured the water as he sat down across from us, leaning forward at the edge of the chair.
      “Have you discovered why that maniac … did what he did, Lieutenant?”
      “No, sir, that’s just it. You see, it’s not possible for Mr. Nesbit to have carried out the murders.”
      “I don’t understand.”
      “He had a work-related injury, sir – couldn’t wield a knife.”
      “But he had the murder weapon in his hand.”
      “Yes, sir.”
      He blinked at Milo, blinked at me, back to Milo again. “So … who killed them, Lieutenant?”
      “I’m afraid we have no idea, sir. We were hoping you might be able to help us. Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt them?”
      “Me?” He sat back with a sigh, pondered. “Well, certainly there’s no one who would want to harm Brandy or Sasha. Craig Cooper was an ass – ruthless businessman, but I wouldn’t think him capable of pissing off someone that badly.”
      He watched Milo a moment, who remained impassive. Then he turned to me. I sipped my water and tried to look innocent. He sighed again and crossed his leg. “Okay, ask, detective.”
      I noticed it wasn’t Lieutenant anymore.
      “Where were you the night your ex-wife was killed, sir?”
      “Campus. I was setting up a display at the Fowler Museum. I can give you the names of three assistants and the director who were there with me if you’d like.”
      “Please, sir.”
      He rose smoothly and walked out, returned a moment later shaking his head and writing in a spiral notebook. “I understand you’re only doing your job, but I hope you don’t waste too much time on this line of enquiry.” He finished writing and tore the page out, handed it to Milo, who took it, glanced at it and folded it up.
      “The sooner we can eliminate you as a possible suspect, the better, sir. Was the divorce amicable, Doctor?”
      Bushart smirked and sat back again. “Amicable? I suppose you could call it amicable. I was in Peru when she wired me the divorce papers. By the time I returned home, she was already living with that ass Cooper, so there wasn’t much point in arguing.
      “Guess I should be grateful, actually. She didn’t want much of anything from me other than my only child and now … Shit.” He snapped his body up and walked out again, returned with a bottle of Single Malt Scotch and one glass, proceeded to pour a good three fingers and down it in one gulp before pouring another.
      “You gentleman don’t mind if I get blind stinking drunk now, do you?”
      “I’m sorry for your loss, Doctor Bushart,” Milo said. “I’ll do my best to close this case.”
      “You do that, Lieutenant.” He downed a second tumbler full and poured again. “You can show yourselves out, can’t you?”
      “Of course, sir.”
      I’d only finished half my water. I set the glass down gently on the table top and followed Milo out.
      When the front door closed behind us, my friend sighed heavily and slumped his shoulders. “Sometimes this job really sucks,” he said.
      When we were in the car, I asked where we were headed next and he told me to head for the University campus. We were half way there before he asked, “So, any insights?”
      “He’s grieving.”
      “Got that right.”
      “I don’t think he did it.”
      “Me either.”
      “Should we bother with the alibi?”
      “May as well go through the motions.”
      He stared out the window in sullen silence the rest of the way.

CHAPTER FOUR

Dr. Bushart’s alibi checked out, so we were now heading for Walnut Park. “Sheriff’s territory, isn’t it?” I asked.
      “Yeah, Ron Banks had the case.”
      “Oh? Is he still going with Petra?”
      “Actually, no – went back to his wife.”
      “Really?” I chewed my bottom lip in thought a moment. “Sorry to hear that. Well, no, I guess that’s good for his kids, but … well, hell, they were a cute couple, weren’t they?”
      “Guess nothing lasts.”
      The way he said it made me glance over at him in alarm. Was there something wrong in his relationship with Rick? Or was he just alluding to me and Robin? He was staring expressionless out the windshield. Should I ask? I furrowed my brow and turned back to the road, decided not to enquire – not yet.
      The scene of the crime was a decent little hotel – not five-star, but probably the best one in the area. We walked around outside looking at the area where the supposed killer had been found and then we went in to talk with the clerk. Waste of time, as Mr. Sherman no longer worked there – quit just shortly after discovering the bloody mess – shook him up pretty badly and I sympathized.
      Outside again, we stood in the mid-afternoon sun a moment. It was hotter here than up in the hills and I swiped a hand across my forehead.
      “This was the only one to have occurred at a hotel,” Milo said.
      “Yeah, interesting deviation, huh?”
      “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
      “What? That maybe someone wanted the Leveretts dead and killed the other families to hide a motive?”
      “Hmm.”
      “No, hadn’t thought of that.”
      He glanced at me sideways, grinned crookedly a moment and slipped on a pair of dark sun glasses I’d never seen before. “Let’s go pay a visit to Mr. Leverett’s dear sweet younger brother.”
      Back in the car, Milo gave me the address for The Sheridan Estates – a high-priced nursing home for terminally ill millionaires. Hugh Leverett had evidently been a successful business man up around Chicago. When they were killed, Hugh, his young bride Jocelyn and their two year old son Eugene had been in LA to visit with his father. The senior Eugene Leverett had made a cool million from the real estate boom of the 70’s and had invested wisely. I knew he had a real estate company and I thought maybe he was into breeding thoroughbreds too, but wasn’t sure. His portfolio had to be worth several million at least and now he was dying from a particularly nasty bone cancer. Hugh’s younger brother Jasper spent most afternoons at his father’s bedside and that’s where we were heading now.

      I’d never been to The Sheridan Estates before and would probably never have a reason to go there again. It was a huge gated compound full of small stucco bungalows surrounding a five story private hospital. The guard out front frowned at my Seville. It may have been a Caddy, but it was an old Caddy and he obviously felt it didn’t belong past his gates. He didn’t voice his disapproval, though, and when Milo flashed his badge, he waved us through.
      I grunted in irritation and as I searched for a parking space, Milo muttered a low bark that was part chuckle and part cough. “Was it something I said?” he asked.
      “He was dissin’ my wheels, man,” I told him with a scowl.
      “Want me to break out the thumb screws?”
      I laughed. “Wonder what he drives.”
      “Probably a moped.”
      I laughed again and pulled into a handicapped space up front. He frowned as he got out and reached back for his wallet. Pulling out a folded LAPD placard, he spread it out and placed it on my dash. “I don’t mind paying a towing fee,” he told me. “But I sure as hell don’t relish a long walk home.”
      Inside the hospital was sparkling and shiny and new. I happened to know that local emergencies were not accepted here under any circumstances. I’d once counseled a woman who’s husband had been denied admittance and had died en route to the VA Hospital across town. She’d lost the lawsuit despite my testimony – another sad failure to add to my growing list.
      When Milo asked the pretty receptionist at the front desk about Eugene Leverett, she pleasantly asked, “Are you family, sir?”
      “No.” Out came the badge, but she wasn’t impressed.
      “I’m sorry, officer, but only family and authorized personnel are allowed to visit Mr. Leverett.”
      He drew himself up to full height and leaned forward menacingly. “I’m sorry, miss,” he said in an even tone – she wore no name tag.
      “But I’m afraid the legal right to sanctuary does not apply here. I don’t need a warrant and it is perfectly within my authority to search each and every room of this building and each and every little shack outside until I find who I’m looking for and if you or your so-called security try to stop me, I am perfectly willing and able to arrest the whole lot of you for obstruction of justice. Now, you will call me Lieutenant and you will tell me where I can find Mr. Leverett and while you’re at it, you’ll get someone down here to escort me to Mr. Leverett’s room. Have I made myself clear?”
      Wow. This man was my best friend and I was intimidated, but not so much as a flutter of the eyes from Miss Cool.
      “I’m sorry, off – Lieutenant, but … hang on.”
      She turned and walked through an unmarked door behind her and returned almost instantly with a squirrelly little guy with coke-bottle glasses.
      “Is there a problem?” he asked.
      A quiver ran the length of Milo’s jaw and his body was tensed for action, but his voice was still even. “No problem, sir. I’m just trying to find Eugene Leverett’s room.”
      “Are you family, sir?”
      I almost thought Milo would lean across and throttle the guy, but he pulled out his badge again and stuck it under the new-comer’s nose.
      “Certainly, Lieutenant,” the guy said amiably. “This way.”
      We were led outside. Leverett must have been in a bungalow. Milo never looked back at the receptionist, but I did and she was completely unperturbed. I was impressed. There was still some tension along Milo’s jaw, but his gait was relaxed and when we reached our destination, he told our escort to accompany us inside as he knocked once and entered.
      The bungalow was set up like a small apartment, but was furnished like a sterile hospital suite. The door opened into a small living room with sofa, end table and large-screen TV that was not turned on. There was a kitchenette full of shiny chrome appliances and a bathroom with a door from the living room and another from the only bedroom. The bedroom contained a large hospital bed, surrounded by monitoring equipment, oxygen tanks, defibrillator. A small TV was bolted to the wall, but was not turned on.
      A tiny shriveled little man was almost lost in the middle of the bed – I didn’t know they made hospital beds so large, maybe it was specially ordered? Next to the bed was a chair on which Jasper Leverett had been sitting, but he was standing now and frowning at us. “What is it?” he asked.
      “Jasper Leverett?” Milo flashed the badge again. Normally, he hesitates to flaunt it, but these people had obviously pushed his buttons. “I’d like to have a word with you, sir.”
      Jasper Leverett looked about 40, but I knew he was only 27. About my height, he had a bit of a belly hanging over his belt. It was an expensive belt, though. His navy blue, thousand dollar suit drooped off his rounded shoulders and his hand tooled Italian leather loafers were scuffed. He had a round face, hawk nose, cleft chin and his thin blond hair was combed over a considerable bald spot. His eyes were a sharp blue – alert, angry, intelligent. I felt an instant dislike for the man.
      “What?” He asked. “What is this about?”
      “It’s about the murder of your brother and his family, Mr. Leverett.”
      “Now? It’s been two months. The crazy bastard was found at the scene, bloody knife and all – the Sheriff’s office handled it, what does LAPD have to do with it?”
      “Please, sir. This gentleman here can stay with your father while we’re in the other room.”
      “Are you serious?”
      Milo didn’t feel that required an answer. Leverett sighed, cursed under his breath and handed a book to the guy in the coke-bottle glasses. “He likes to be read to, page 45.”
      “Yes, sir.”
      Leverett followed us out into the living room. “So, what the hell is this all about, detectives?”
      I was used to being mistaken for a detective and felt no urge to correct him. Besides, I was still playing it mum.
      “We have reason to believe your brother was murdered by someone else who tried to make it look like Mr. Jenks was responsible.”
      He blinked at Milo a few times, his lips slightly curled, waiting for the punch line. Finally, he spoke. “What the hell are you talking about?”
      “This someone else may have killed again in Brentwood, sir.”
      “What?” His eyes jumped to me and back again and a little perspiration beaded up on his brow – nervous?
      “Any idea who might have wanted to harm your brother and his family, sir?”
      He looked up as if Milo were insane, glanced towards me in search of rescue. He took out a handkerchief, wiped his sweaty brow, sat down hard on the sofa. “So, you’re saying maybe it wasn’t some random thing? You think someone actually wanted Hugh dead?”
      “It’s beginning to look that way, sir.”
      “Well, I can’t imagine who. I mean, I don’t know much about his life up in Chicago, but I can’t imagine anyone wanting him dead – he was always an easy-going guy, ya know?”
      “Who inherited upon his death, sir?”
      “Well, it would … I don’t even know if he had a will – no one over in Chicago has said anything about that. I suppose, if there’s no will saying otherwise, his estate would fall to me or father as next of kin.”
      “What about Jocelyn’s family?”
      He chewed the inside of his cheek a moment. “I don’t think she had any family. Maybe a mother in a home somewhere, I seem to recall something about that.”
      “Do you have a name, sir?”
      “No. No, I don’t.”
      “Where were you on the night of your brother’s murder?”
      “What?” His eyes flashed. “You can’t possibly be serious. Why the hell would I want to … how could I possibly … ? Oh, my God.” He slumped and suddenly seemed as tiny and shriveled as his father in the next room. “I was at the stables.”
      Milo lifted an eyebrow. “You care for the horses yourself, sir?”
      “Yes, well, no. I mean, I enjoy visiting with them – the animals – helps me wind down from a rough day at the office. I don’t ride or anything, but I brush and talk to them, bring a few apples with me – they seem genuinely pleased to see me when I’m there.”
      No one else ever pleased to see him? Were we supposed to feel sorry for him now?
      Milo was still scribbling in his little pad when he threw out a few more dates and asked what Leverett had been doing on those evenings.
      His eyes narrowed dangerously now and he sat taller – no longer tiny and shriveled. “What the hell are you implying, detective?” he wanted to know.
      Milo looked up innocently “Not implying anything, sir – just asking a routine question. Is there some problem?”
      “A problem?” Leverett rolled his eyes and shook his head, sighed. “I spend most evenings at the stable. I couldn’t say for sure off hand, but those dates don’t stand out as having something special planned, so I was probably at the stable.”
      “Anyone see you there, sir?”
      He threw his arms up in defeat. “Just the horses!”
      “I see.” Milo scribbled something else and then looked up again. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Leverett. I’m sorry to have pulled you away from your father and I’ll let you get back to him now, sir. I may be in touch again, though.”
      “Oh, joy.” He rose and went back to the bedroom without another word to us. Mr. Coke-bottle came out – no one wore name tags at this place – and silently walked out of the bungalow. We were no longer worth dealing with, evidently.

I waved happily at the guard on the way out. Then, not waiting for Milo to ask, I said, “I like him for it.”
      “Was it the shifty eyes, sweaty face or crap alibi?”
      “His suit.”
      Milo laughed and the tension that had been clenching his jaw the whole time finally eased. “I’d be interested to know Jasper’s financial situation and whether or not brother Hugh had a will. Carving up your own nephew, though – man, I really get to meet the dregs of society, don’t I?”
      “Might be interesting to see what Daddy’s will says too.”
      He turned to me a moment and then cursed. “If Daddy was leaving everything to his first born, that would be several million reasons for Junior to take up a new hobby called murder.”
      “Anywhere else you wanna go?”
      “No. Thanks, Alex, but I need to do some serious phone work. Just drop me off at the station, will ya?”
      “No problem.” I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. “Did you, uh, really have the authority to arrest them all?” I asked.
      He barked a laugh. “Probably – I did tell the Sheriff’s department where I was going and what I was doing. If it had actually come down to it, though, I probably would have called the deputies in before doing anything – just to play it safe.”
      “That receptionist really yanked your chain, Milo. And I thought for a minute you would smack that squirrelly guy.”
      “I almost did smack that squirrelly guy, but only because Momma Sturgis taught me never to hit a woman.”
      I didn’t mention his failure to intimidate the woman, but he must have known what I was thinking because he mumbled, “Must be losing it.”
      “One brain-dead clerk does not mean you’re losing it, Milo. You scared the crap out of me.”
      He grinned. “That’s not saying much.”
      “Oh, thank you.”
      He chuckled and leaned back, closed his eyes. By the time I reached the station, he was snoring quietly. I hated to wake him – considered driving around a while, but I knew he was anxious to make those phone calls, so I nudged him and he snapped awake, yawned, stretched.
      “You’ve been working too hard, Milo,” I told him.
      He yawned again. “Actually, knocked off early last night, got to bed by 10.”
      “So, why …?”
      He graced me with a wolfish grin. “Rick was frisky,” he said. “Kept me up all damned night.” As he opened the door, he said something that sounded like “Cuffed me to the bed,” but I couldn’t be sure and he got out and closed the door again before I could ask him to clarify. He waved once before disappearing through the station house doors.
      I grinned. Surely I’d misheard, but damned if the scene didn’t skip through my head. It was a mental image I could very well have done without. I snickered all the way to the U, but pulled myself together as I entered the library. Time for a little snooping on the Leverett family.

According to Fortune 500, Eugene Leverett was worth a cool 38 million. He not only owned a lucrative real estate company, but his assets included a construction company and brokerage house as well. And he did indeed own a thoroughbred stable – one of his horses had won the Kentucky Derby a few years back and I found a photo of the old man in a Horseman’s Monthly magazine. Before his illness, he’d been a robust man – ruddy complexion, barrel chest, head full of white hair, a friendly and sincere smile. From all accounts, he was a genuinely nice guy – no one had anything bad to say about him at all. He regularly donated big bucks to various charities, including an organization that trained guide dogs for the blind. Seems his wife, the boys’ mother, had been blind. She died giving birth to Jasper.
      I wondered if that tainted the old man’s view of the boy. I’d seen it before – a grieving father blames the new baby for his wife’s death. It didn’t even have to be conscious – a child can sense that sort of inherent hostility.
      I moved on to Hugh. He’d been a big name in real estate and experimental aircraft up in Chicago. He liked to fly his own prototype aircraft and I found a photo of him in an Aerospace magazine that was a couple years old. He’d been about the same height as Jasper, but muscular and athletic looking. In the photo, he was wearing a tight flight suit and holding the helmet under his left arm. He had wind swept ginger hair and a bushy mustache, a devil-may-care smile that said I’m invincible folks, don’t try this at home! Mirror-lensed aviator glasses hid his eyes. In a newer magazine, I found a photo of him and his wife Jocelyn with their newborn baby. His eyes were a more piercing blue than his baby brother’s. Evidently, he’d quit test flights when Little Eugene was born – being the responsible dad.
      I suddenly felt very sad. The case had been a mental exercise for me, but now it was becoming personal. The thought of this happy-go-lucky couple and their sweet innocent little boy being bound, terrorized, hacked to pieces by a cold and calculating monster enraged me. And the monster my mind conjured up looked an awful lot like Jasper Leverett.
      I didn’t find much about Jasper. He helped run his father’s businesses, had his name listed on the board of directors, but had never been featured in any articles I could find. The low man on the Leverett totem pole. Maybe he thought it was time to move up.
      I’d been at it for hours and the sun was going down. My stomach growled at me and I realized I hadn’t really eaten anything all day. I considered calling Karen, but then I thought better of it – I needed to pace myself. I decided to grab some Chinese take-out and have a quiet evening at home. Grabbing the take-out was no problem, but the quiet evening home was not to be.

CHAPTER FIVE

As I approached the old bridle path that leads to my house, a bicycle appeared out of nowhere and I slammed on my brakes, tapped the rear tire. When I got out of the car, the rider was cursing a blue streak on the ground.
      “Son of a bitch! Don’t you fuckin’ watch where you’re going? You could have fuckin’ killed me! I could have been fuckin’ road pizza!”
      He went on like that for a while and I crossed my arms and watched as he stood, brushed himself off, lifted his bike and declared it totaled, cussing me out the whole time. He was a young guy in his early twenties with shaggy blond hair and freaky red eyes that were either a trick of the light or designer contacts. He was wearing black jeans and a long black duster coat, black driving gloves, black boots – practically invisible in the dark.
      When he ran out of breath, he stood with hands on hips and glared at me, panting. “Well?!” he yelled.
      “Well what?”
      “You gonna fuckin’ drive me home, asshole?”
      “Where’s home?”
      He crossed his arms now and glared some more. “Tejunga.” He’d spat it out like a challenge.
      Well, it was a bit of a challenge, wasn’t it? Tejunga was all the way up near the national forest. Still, I had ruined his bike, so the least I could do was bring him home. In retrospect, maybe I should have wondered about the coat and gloves on such a warm night and about the guy’s plans to ride his bike all the way up to Tejunga in the dark, but I guess I wasn’t thinking straight, because I put the bike in the trunk of the Seville and invited him in next to me.
      He didn’t say much on the drive – only spoke to give me directions, kept slapping his knees in time to some imaginary tune. I wondered briefly if perhaps he was high. When we arrived, he hopped out before I’d come to a complete stop. I put the car in park and slid out myself. We were in front of a secluded cabin. There were two security lights, but both were out of commission and it was hard to make out any details.
      I opened the trunk and took his bike out for him. “Sorry about the bike,” I told him. “I’ll pay to have it fixed.”
      His back was to me as he tossed the bike aside – a little carelessly, I thought. I was reaching for my wallet when he turned back and the moonlight reflected off something metallic in his right hand.
      “Hey,” was all I had time to say before he fired. I saw the muzzle flash and felt a searing pain in my side before I heard the explosion. I found myself on my knees but don’t remember falling. I glanced down at my left hand clutching tightly at my side and watched fascinated as the blood seeped out between my fingers.
      The kid grabbed my hair and yanked my head up, shoved the warm barrel of his gun down my throat and I thought, What the hell? This is how it ends? My head blown off out in the middle of nowhere? Would my body be found? Would Milo catch this little bastard? And if so, would he arrest him or just kill him outright? But he wasn’t pulling the trigger, was he? My left hand was still gripping my side, but the gun in my mouth was forcing me back and I was now leaning back on my right hand, gagging and drooling, my teeth clamped down on hard metal.
      I was breathing hard, feeling light-headed, trembling like crazy. What was he doing? I tried not to cross my eyes at the gun, stared at him instead. He had taken something out of his coat pocket. A hint of metal – a syringe? A goddamned syringe? What the hell was he going to inject me with? I really started to panic now, forced the bile back down my throat, tried to shift position, but what could I do?
      He shoved the gun harder and I choked on it. “Don’t move, Dr. Delaware, or I’ll blow your fucking head off,” he said.
      I had never told him my name. This was no random thing – this bastard was after me personally. But why? He didn’t look familiar at all – couldn’t have been a former patient. I squealed around the gun barrel as he drove the needle into my neck and when he pulled it out, he pulled the gun away too. I slumped and slapped my right hand over the injection site. I was on the verge of hyperventilating with fear, but I managed to ask, “Why?”
      “Why not?”
      “What’dyougimme?”
      “Relax, Doc, you’ll start to enjoy it in a minute.”
      “What …?” But it was already hitting me. First thing I noticed was my body going numb and then the world began spinning out of control. Sight and sound took on a strobe effect. The guy was speaking, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I think I tried to stand, but I retched violently instead. Nothing in my stomach, so I heaved dry a while before falling over to my side. I felt like I was floating away – like I imagine death would feel like. I watched detached and only vaguely felt him grip my hair again and pour the liquid contents of a small bottle down my throat. What the hell was he giving me now? And why?
      I don’t know how much time had passed, but my world was a swirling cloud of color when I sensed a gun being shoved into my hand. I was still on the ground – cold and hard – and, oddly enough, I could make out the guy’s boots amid the visual chaos spinning through my brain. I tried to curse him out, but I don’t think I actually made a sound. The weirdness had now been joined by the pounding of my blood in my ears and I felt my body convulse in agony. A small part of my brain knew I was in pain, but nothing meant anything to me anymore.
      I was drifting in and out of reality. I vaguely recall being on my stomach with hands cuffed behind my back, feeling numb. At some point, I was strapped to a gurney in a hospital setting – lights and sounds stabbing into my brain, driving me towards madness. I remember a car, being curled up on a cement floor, lying on my back on a hard bench unable to move. In general, my world had become a churning mass of mutating colors and a deafening white noise. Whatever that guy had given me, I was on a really bad trip and I was terrified I wouldn’t make it back.

CHAPTER SIX

Milo was in bed snoring when the phone rang. Rick Silverman, ever the vigilant doctor on call, grabbed the receiver before Milo had even registered the sound. But then he was being poked in the ribs and Rick was saying, “Is for you.”
      When Milo took the phone, Rick turned over and went back to sleep. Must be nice to be able to do that. “Yeah, Sturgis,” he mumbled.
      “Hey, Lieutenant, sorry to wake you, but I thought you’d like to know right away.”
      “Who’s this?”
      “Peter Decker, Foothill Division? We’ve met a time or two.”
      “Yeah, what’s up?”
      “It’s your friend Alex Delaware.”
      Milo snapped up straight as tendrils of fear wrapped around his heart and squeezed. “What about him?”
      “Well, he’s been arrested and he’s in pretty bad shape.”
      “What?”
      “Yeah, look, it’s kind of a long story, you wanna hear it on the phone? Or you wanna come up here? Cause, I gotta tell you, I think he could really use a friend right now. And if you know any lawyers, you might wanna get one to tag along with you.”
      He was gripping the receiver so tightly, his knuckles had gone white, but he fought like hell to keep his voice even. “What was he arrested for and why is he in bad shape?”
      A heavy sigh. “Okay, he was arrested for multiple counts of murder …”
      “What?!” His outburst made Rick sit up and take notice.
      “He was found with the murder weapon in hand, Lieutenant, but he also suffered a minor GSW …”
      “WHAT?!” Rick was wide awake now.
      “We didn’t shoot him – found him that way. Looks like maybe he shot himself. He’s not seriously wounded, but I’m afraid he’s stoned out of his mind.”
      “Okay, who the hell are you talking about, because you’re sure as hell not talking about Alex Delaware.”
      “He had ID, Lieutenant. Plus fingerprints confirm his identity. But, look, we’re still conducting preliminary tests, okay? I don’t seriously believe he killed these people, but fact is, he was found at the scene, with the smoking gun and is currently in no condition to tell us what went down. It’s a mess, Lieutenant, and I’m only making this call as a courtesy.”
      “Yeah, yeah, I appreciate it. I’ll be right there.” He handed Rick the phone and leapt out of bed, started pulling on clothes.
      “What is it?” Rick asked. “Something happen to Alex?”
      “Jesus Christ, Rick, he was shot, doped up and left for dead and now he’s been arrested for murder.”
      Rick stared dumfounded for only a moment before leaping out of bed himself. “I’m coming with you.”
      Milo was tempted to argue, but Alex may need a doctor and fact was, the detective could really use a little comfort about now. Rick’s car was blocking Milo’s unmarked in the driveway, plus it was faster, so there was no question of taking it. Rick tossed him his keys without prompting and climbed into the passenger seat of the Porsche, little black bag in hand. Milo was grateful for Rick’s silent support. The ER surgeon could sometimes be controlling, but murder was Milo’s forte and it was Alex on the line.
      Damn! Milo was soaked in a cold sweat. He ran a hand over his brow and tried to breathe evenly. He’s the one who got the Psychologist involved in criminal investigations in the first place and now the man was a victim of their latest case! Doped up and left for dead with the murder weapon – too cute to be a coincidence. But they should have had some 26 days before the next killing – why now? He must have really rattled Leverett’s cage. Damn it! He never should have brought Alex along!
      He felt a pressure on his knee and glanced over at Rick. Even dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, the man looked freshly pressed – black slacks, blue open-necked oxford shirt with sleeves turned back a couple turns, every white hair in place – how did he do it?
      “Try to relax, Milo.”
      He realized his entire body was tensed and when he relaxed, the ache set in. He sighed heavily, ran a hand across his face. “It’s my fault, Rick.”
      “That’s crap and you know it. Alex is a big boy – makes his own decisions. And from what I’ve seen, he sure as hell doesn’t need any coaxing from you or anyone else to walk right into harm’s way.”
      Another sigh. “He really freaks me out sometimes, but I got him involved in this case.”
      “You don’t know yet if it has anything to do with your case – and before you say it, none of those other incidents involved a gun.”
      He glanced over a moment, surprised that Rick had actually been listening when he told him about the current case. “Hmm, the gun is new.” His knuckles were white again and he had to consciously ease up on the wheel. “That’s not a good thing, though – Decker said Alex had been shot.”
      “If he’s at the station and not the hospital, then it can’t have been very bad.”
      Nothing but a low growl in response. Milo could only hope.

He made good time, whipped the sleek little car into a parking space at the Foothill Division Police Station, sat a moment gripping the steering wheel. He thought Decker had been transferred when he’d made Lieutenant, so why was he back at Foothills? Temporary reassignment? Did it matter? Did he care? His jaws were clenched and a dull ache throbbed up into his temples.
      “Please, Milo,” Rick said. “Try to relax. You’re gonna give yourself a coronary.”
      After a few deep breaths, Milo turned, leaned over to kiss Rick deeply, flashed a big smile, and then got out of the car.
      Rick slid out as well. “Think people will talk?” he asked. “The two of us showing up together? I don’t want to make life more difficult for you.”
      “It’s not like it’s a secret, Rick.” He braced his back and stretched. “If people wanna talk, then fuck em.” Another deep breath and he was heading for the entrance.
     
      When they entered the detective squad room, Milo was ready to grab someone by the scruff and demand satisfaction, but Lieutenant Peter Decker was right there to intercept him.
      “Don’t assault my detectives, Lieutenant,” he said with a tight grin. “My office, both of you.”
      Milo was used to using his height and bulk as an advantage – it could be intimidating. It didn’t work with Decker, though, because the man was bigger than Milo – a little bit taller and a little bit wider, without an ounce of flab. Somehow it made Milo angry. Fear and anger – not a good combination.
      Decker motioned for them to sit, but didn’t sit himself. Instead he leaned a butt cheek on the corner of his desk so he could look down at them, crossed his arms and chewed on his mustache a moment. The message was clear: he wasn’t going to take any crap from either of them. Milo tightened his jaw, ignored the pulse thudding in his ears.
      “I know you’re frustrated, so I’m gonna lay it out for you. Delaware was found at the scene of a multiple 187 up near Angeles National Forest. Three people – two men, one woman – tied up and shot at close range in a little cabin over in Tejunga. Your pal was outside with a gun in his hand, blood all over the place, completely spaced out – we haven’t been able to get much out of him, although he seems to be somewhat coherent right now, one of my guys is currently questioning him.”
      Milo made a move, but Decker waved him back down. “We haven’t confirmed the gun in his hand as the murder weapon yet, but it is the same caliber and it had been fired. Parafin test confirms powder residue on Delaware’s hand, but not enough to indicate he actually fired the weapon, so we’re not looking at him seriously as the shooter.
      “The wound he suffered was a through-n-through to the lower left side – more of a graze, really – few stitches – no complications expected. He lost quite a bit of blood though and tox screen came back positive for a goddamned pharmacy of psychedelic substances.” He reached behind him and picked up a piece of paper, read. “Including something called Ketamine, Lysergic Acid, Methedrine, Rohypnol – I mean, what the hell? Who would combine that kind of shit?”
      “No one,” Milo said. “Least of all Alex Delaware.”
      “A combination like that can be very dangerous,” Rick said, sitting up at the edge of his seat. “He could suffer seizures, lapse into a coma …”
      “We think he may have had a seizure in the squad car on the way to the hospital, but he’s sure as hell not comatose, that’s for damned sure. He’s been screaming like a banshee. Anyway, what else?” He ran a large hand through his graying red hair. “No powder burns around his GSW, so he didn’t shoot himself. It was hard to examine him with him squirming so much, but the doctor thinks he found a tiny puncture wound on his neck – injection site, presumably. It’s in a position that would be almost impossible for him to have injected himself.
      “So, yeah, it sounds a lot like that case you’ve been working, Sturgis, except it’s not. The victims were not a family – far as we can tell, they were partying – bit of a sexual orgy goin’ on. Plus, they were shot, not stabbed, so what the hell? Some kind of freaky copy-cat? I haven’t heard any publicity about this case, so how would a copy-cat even know about it?”
      Milo ran his hands over his face a few times and sighed heavily. “I don’t know, Decker, okay? I feel like I’ve just walked into a blender. Can I see Dr. Delaware now? Please?”
      Decker sighed. His dark eyes held a weariness that belied his body language. Probably running on adrenalin and bad coffee, Milo figured. “Yeah, come on.”
      He led them to interrogation room two, where they watched from the observation room as Detective Steve Spalding questioned Dr. Alex Delaware. Spalding was as broad as he was tall, had Popeye arms and no neck. His head was shaved, but he had a baby face – couldn’t have been out of his twenties yet, had a soft voice. Milo had never seen him before, as if he knew every D on the force.
      Alex looked like hell. He was wearing the same clothing he’d worn earlier, but they were unrecognizable. The khaki trousers were blood soaked, grass stained, muddy, and you’d never guess the shirt had once been white. He wore no tie and his shirt tails were out – the first three buttons were open, revealing wisps of chest hair, the sleeves rolled up over his elbows. His curly dark hair was limp with sweat and his normally serene blue/grey eyes were hot and dangerous looking. Add the dark five-o’clock shadow and the man looked positively wild. Milo felt a surge of gratitude for whoever it was who’d arrested him – if he’d come across a perp with a gun who looked like that, he’d have shot first and asked questions later.
      “Damn,” Rick muttered, and Milo put his arm around him, held him close. If Decker noticed or cared, he didn’t let on and Milo was grateful for that too.

Alex was sitting slumped over in the chair, both feet flat on the floor, both palms flat on the table, shaking his head back and forth like one of those bobble-head dolls. Even from a distance, Milo could see the man’s pupils were dilated and a slight tremor rippled through his body every few seconds. Spalding was leaning back in the chair across from him, arms crossed, speaking softly.
      “So, why did you kill them, Alex?”
      “Didn’t kill anyone.” Milo winced at the sound of his slurred voice. “Shot full of somethin’ – Ketamine and some-such shit.”
      “How do you know it was Ketamine, Alex?”
      Alex snapped his head back like he’d been struck. “How? I … Was a Psych major at UCLA in the 70’s, man, that’s how.”
      Spalding stared silently.
      “Hell, Timothy Leary was my goddamned thesis advisor!”
      “Who’s that, sir?”
      Head snap again. “What?” Raising his voice. “How old are you?” Not waiting for an answer. “How old are you, man? You’re a baby! A goddamned baby, man!”
      “So, who did shoot them, Alex?”
      Alex ran both hands through his hair and said, “Christ, I wish the walls would stop melting!”
      Spalding rose and leaned both hands on the table top. “WHO?!” he yelled, his voice no longer the least bit gentle.
      Alec rose too, leaned right into Spalding’s face. “You sanctimonious, punctilious, didactic, pernicious bastard!” No slurring of those words – Milo wondered if Spalding even knew what they meant. “Are you stupid as well as ugly?!”
      Spalding barely moved – one hand shot forward palm first and Alex flew back, caught the side of the bolted down chair and hit the floor, rolled onto his back. Milo made a move, but Decker placed a powerful hand on his shoulder. Milo was ready to kick ass at this point, but Decker was staring through the glass, tension clenching his jaw and Milo decided to wait a moment. Alex started laughing. A chuckle at first, but it grew in intensity until it became hysterical.
      “Shit,” Decker mumbled, and he opened the door, walked in. Milo and Rick followed close behind.
      “Not supposed to hit prisoners!” Alex said. “Police brutality!”
      Spalding looked like maybe he was ready to come round and kick Alex, but Decker shot him a warning look and Spalding didn’t move. Milo and Rick knelt down either side of Alex.
      “Police brutality!” he yelled again.
      Placing a hand on Alex’s shoulder, Milo softly said, “Shut up, Alex.”
      “Hey, Milo!” Big grin. “Can’t shut up.”
      “Alex …”
      “I’m high, Rick. Hey, Rick.” Laughter. He reached up and grabbed Milo’s shirt front in one tight fist, pulled the big man down lower. “Really, really high, Milo. Can’t shut up. Think I would be egging him on if I could shut up? He’s freakin’ HUGE!” He released Milo’s shirt, held his own stomach, pulled his knees up and rolled from side to side. “Freakin’ huge, ugly moron.”
      “Rick, can’t you give him something?”
      “Like what, Milo? Do we really want to add to the list of pharmacological crap flowing through his veins right now?
      “Oh, God.” Alex rolled over and tried to vomit, but he had nothing to bring up, heaved dry, a cold sweat breaking out along his whole body. Then he started thrashing around like maybe he was trying to scramble away from something.
      “Decker,” Rick said in a way that spoke volumes in one word.
      To Spalding, Decker said, “Get the hell out of here and call an ambulance. Now!”
      “Yessir.”
      “Obviously, he hasn’t recovered from his dosing.”
      Milo wrapped his arms around the agitated man and held on tight. Rick placed a hand on his lover’s shoulder and said quietly, “Milo, I think we have to consider the possibility that he may never recover.”
      “Shut up, Rick.” Voice tightly controlled.
      “A large enough dose with so many different substances mixed together …”
      “Rick …”
      “Okay.” He held Milo while Milo held Alex and they waited for the ambulance.

Alex suffered a minor seizure and was unconscious when the EMTs arrived. As he was being loaded onto the gurney, Milo and Rick discussed who would ride with Alex and who would follow in the Porsche. Milo wanted to be with Alex, but in the end, he decided it would be best for Rick to go in case a doctor was needed.
      They hugged before separating and Milo watched the ambulance pull away. Then he turned to Decker standing nearby. “I appreciate it, Decker, I really do,” he said.
      “I’m sorry about all this, Sturgis. He really did seem to be coming down – he sounded perfectly rational an hour ago.
      Milo nodded. “Would I be stepping on toes if I asked for a copy of the file on this?”
      “I’ll fax it to you.”
      “Thanks again.”
      “Hey, this guy – he was nowhere near as careful as the other one. We found nothing but smudged prints in your friend’s car – guy was wearing gloves, but we did find traces of blood and fibers on the passenger seat. Lots of prints inside the cabin and on a bike we found outside – might find something there. Also, the gun was wiped clean, but we lifted a perfect index print off the magazine. We’ll get him, Sturgis.”
      Milo nodded, felt numb.
      “Anyone look good for the other killings?”
      Another nod. “Yeah, actually. Alex was helping me out with that today. Guy by the name of Jasper Leverett.”
      “Brother of one of the victims?”
      Milo raised an eyebrow and nodded – impressed that Decker would be familiar enough with the case to know that. He figured everything he’d heard about Decker being a damned good cop was probably true.
      “You know,” he said. “Whoever was first on the scene – I really appreciate the restraint shown in making the arrest. Frankly, if I’d come across a wild man like that – armed, covered in blood – I would have been tempted to shoot first. Pass along my thanks, huh? Maybe a written commendation of some sort.”
      Decker grinned. “Will do, Lieutenant.”
      “Thanks again, Lieutenant.”
      They shook hands and Milo climbed into the Porsche.
      “Nice wheels,” Decker said.
      Milo leaned out the open window and said, “Being a kept man has it’s perks.” He added a big smile and Decker laughed, waved as Milo pulled out.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rick sat quietly next to Alex’s prone form in the ambulance. He had explained to the EMT about the drug overdose and the convulsions and the technician had strapped the man down, inserted an IV for fluids. Just before they arrived at County General, Alex woke up screaming and nothing Rick did could calm him down. Don’t let Milo be there already, he prayed.
      But there was the Porsche. Damn Milo and his lead foot. He knew the big guy would get all freaky when he heard Alex screaming like this. And Milo was right there as the doors opened.
      “Jesus Christ,” he said.
      Rick jumped down and placed a hand firmly against Milo’s chest – shoved him back out of the way. “He’s alright, Milo.” He was drawing on years of practice to pour on his best bedside manner – trying to keep Milo calm. “I know it sounds bad, but it’s just the images flashing through his mind. He’ll be alright.” Unless he doesn’t recover … He knew one dose of something like LSD alone could push some people over the edge for good. A high concentration of a mixture like Alex had been given – hell he was surprised the man was still alive. Which had probably been the whole point. He couldn’t say any of this to Milo – not right now, anyway. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to. “Let them do their job.”
      Milo didn’t argue. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, running a hand over his face and through his hair over and over. Rick had never seen him quite like this – with real fear shining brightly in those emerald eyes. The only other time he’d ever seen fear in Milo’s eyes was a few months before when the Porsche had been stolen and Milo had felt Rick was being threatened – he’d insisted Rick move into a hotel for a while. The fear then had been tempered with anger, though – Rick hadn’t actually been hurt, after all.
      They followed the gurney inside, but Alex was taken to a secured area of the Psych Ward and visitors were not allowed. Rick used his credentials to get in and speak with the doctor on call and with the nurses and orderlies. He explained what had happened and mentioned the seizures and didn’t come back out until he was satisfied that they understood and that Alex would be watched around the clock to be sure he didn’t have a grand mal or choke on his own vomit.
      When he did emerge, Milo was still pacing, but he seemed more calm. Rick knew that when it came to Milo, though, appearances could be deceiving.
      “Is he still screaming, Rick?”
      He thought about lying, but Milo knew him so damned well, he’d never get away with that. “Yes, Milo, but he’s safe and he’ll be okay.”
      Milo gave him one of those looks that said he’d seen it all a dozen times and he knew bullshit when he heard it. “Unless he’s not, right? Unless he doesn’t come out of it at all and he’s left a screaming lunatic the rest of his life.”
      Rick suddenly felt very tired. “All we can do is wait.”
      “I know.”
      “C’mon, I’ll buy you a lousy cup of hospital coffee.”
      One sip and Milo grinned. “It is pretty damned lousy, isn’t it?”
      They were sitting in a doctor’s lounge, since the cafeteria was closed. Rick shrugged. “Vending machine coffee always tastes like sludge.”
      A moment of silence and both their hands stretched across the table of their own volition, fingers entwining. “So, what are his chances, Rick?”
      “Hard to say, Milo. I had a look at that tox screen and he was really loaded up. He’s tough, though – in good shape – hopefully, he’ll snap out of it in a day or so.”
      “Hopefully.”
      “If I told you any different, I’d be lying.”
      “I know, Rick. I appreciate it.”
      “We should go home, get some rest.”
      “I wanna bring the Seville back to Alex’s place first. Decker called while you were inside and they’ve finished with it. Do you mind?”
      He smiled, shook his head. “Let’s do it.”
      They tossed the lousy coffee into the trash on the way out.
      Rick followed the big Caddy down to the Glen and up the little bridle path that led to Alex’s house. Milo seemed to know the way instinctually and Rick felt a pang of irrational jealousy. Alex was a close part of Milo’s other life – a life with which Rick rarely had contact. When he did catch a glimpse, it was not pleasant. Perhaps it was better to keep their work lives separate. Lord knows, Rick spent his share of nights up to his hips in blood and guts and Milo sure as hell didn’t need to hear about that. By the time Milo got involved in a situation, Rick’s services weren’t needed and the things he and Alex must have seen over the years – enough to make your blood curdle.
      He pulled up behind and waited, watched the big guy sit and deliberate a moment. He knew this had to be killing Milo. The detective was always about action and he had to be feeling helpless right now. The dome light came on as Milo opened the door to exit. He stepped out, stood in the feeble light to stretch. But he stopped mid stretch and suddenly had his gun in his hand. It was so quick, Rick hadn’t seen him draw it – hadn’t even known he was carrying. Rick tensed at the wheel as Milo waved a hand – an indication for him to stay where he was. Not a problem. Damn, but he’d never seen Milo actually draw his gun before. The big man moved swiftly in a low crouch and flattened himself against the wall of the house, crept around back. Rick realized he wasn’t breathing, had to relax his hands on the wheel and take a deep breath, but the sound of a gunshot forced a small yelp from his throat and he was frozen in place.
      Should he run back there and maybe distract Milo and endanger them both? Should he dig out his cell and phone for backup or whatever they called it? Should he back the hell out of there and move out of range? Before he could make a decision, the hulking figure of Milo emerged from the side of the house carrying a smaller figure who was kicking and squealing – all legs and hair.
      Rick’s eyes got wide and he was sure he looked like an idiot – good thing it was dark. He got his legs working and slid out of the Porsche. “What the hell, Milo?” He didn’t know why he was whispering, but somehow, he felt better not drawing too much attention to himself. “What’s going on?”
      “Milo?” The smaller figure could speak as well as squeal and she had a smooth voice devoid of fear. “Did he say Milo? Why didn’t you say you were Milo. Alex’s detective friend, right?” She kicked some more. “Put me down, dammit. I’m Karen – we spoke on the phone.”
      Milo got to the car and set the woman down onto her feet. She barely reached Rick’s chin. What was it with Alex and tiny women? The big man huffed a few times and then said, “Found this little thing creeping round back.”
      “Wasn’t creeping – I was feeding the fish and waiting for Alex to get home. Where is he?”
      “She says she’s Karen Ellis.”
      “That’s his car – where’s Alex? Ohmygodishedead? Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, is he dead?” She stood between them looking frantically from one face to the other, her eyes huge in the moonlight. “You’re a homicide detective and you’re here with Alex’s car, but he’s not here, he must be dead. Ohmygod.”
      “He’s not dead,” Rick finally said to put her out of her misery.
      She slumped and said, “Whew, then un-cuff me, dammit, you didn’t have to cuff me, ya know, I wasn’t gonna hurt you.”
      “Coulda fooled me, miss,” Milo said. “Charging at me like a damned bull. What the hell did you think you were doing?”
      “Protecting myself.”
      “Did a good job too, didn’t you?”
      “Hey, would it have been better for me to just lay down and let you rape me?”
      “I’m not gonna rape you!”
      “Well, how was I to know that? Some big dark shadow coming towards me with a gun – I didn’t know!”
      “If you had shut the hell up long enough for me to speak, I would have told you who I was.”
      “Well, shit, what’s done is done, will you un-cuff me, pleeeeease?”
      “You gonna jump me again?”
      Rick thought he could just see a slight grin tugging at the corners of the big guy’s lips and realized he was enjoying this – all of it – the momentary danger and now the slick banter.
      “No, I’m not gonna jump you.” As Milo reached over to unlock the cuffs, she added coyly, “Unless, ya know, you want me to.”
      Milo drew back and looked down at her. She smiled sweetly up at him.
      “Big, strong guy like you – bet you’re great in the sack.”
      Milo turned and looked at Rick as if to say, I’m not encouraging this, and Rick just crossed his arms and smirked.
      She turned towards Rick and said, “Hey, two cops are better than one, right? Have a little party? Little three way party? Take you both at once … whattaya say?”
      Rick raised an eyebrow, genuinely shocked.
      “What the hell have you been smoking?” Milo asked.
      “Little pot, why?”
      She blinked up at him innocently and Milo shook his head. “Maybe we should bring her down to the station,” he said.
      Rick tried to scowl, but he didn’t think it was working. “Yeah, Loot, maybe we should.”
      Milo turned to him and smirked – turned a snicker into a grunt.
      “What for?” She chewed her bottom lip prettily.
      “Oh, I dunno – try trespassing, assaulting an officer, resisting arrest, attempted bribery, public intoxication, lewd and obnoxious behavior … and how about cheating on your boyfriend?”
      “Is that what you’re worried about? Look, Alex and I have an open relationship.” She rubbed the front of her lithe body against Milo and said, “Come on, un-cuff me and we can have some fun.”
      “Okay, turn around,” Milo spun her around and began to unlock the cuffs. “For starters, you should be ashamed of yourself.” He got the cuffs off and turned her back around, put on his stern policeman’s face. “Young thing like you coming on to an old guy like me.”
      Rick had to turn his head a moment to hide a smirk. Milo was only a few months older than Alex, but who was counting, right?
      She tried to speak, but Milo wouldn’t let her. “Nope, let me finish. I’m spoken for and unless you’ve got a penis between your legs, neither one of us is interested. Now, as to how great I am in the sack, you’d have to ask him.” Milo pointed a thumb towards Rick as he stepped away to search the grounds and the doors.
      Karen turned towards Rick, who still had his arms crossed. He nodded.
      “You’re gay?” she asked.
      He raised one eyebrow at her. “Yep.”
      “You two are lovers?”
      “Yep.”
      “They let lovers be partners together?”
      Rick had to think about that a moment before he understood what she was saying. “No, I’m not a cop.”
      “Oh?”
      “No, he’s a doctor,” Milo said, returning.
      “Oh, like Alex.”
      “Yeah, not really.” Why did the comparison irk him so much?
      “Hey, where is Alex?”
      “Alex isn’t feeling well and neither are you.” Milo sounded irritated. “Where do you live? We’re driving you home.”
      Rick couldn’t help but feel this tough cop side of Milo was kind of sexy – probably what attracted him in the first place. The girl passed out in the back seat and Rick hoped she wouldn’t throw up all over his upholstery. He found himself staring at Milo as the other man drove.
      Milo glanced over and said, “Come on, Rick, quit smirking.” He was smiling himself, though. “It’s not like I go looking for this sort of thing.”
      “Happen often, does it? Officer Stud?”
      Milo chuckled and Rick had to join in. “Where the hell did you get Loot from?”
      Rick laughed. “I don’t know, must have heard someone say it.”

When they arrived at the girl’s apartment, Rick went ahead with her purse and keys to unlock, while Milo carried the girl.
      “Would have to be on the third floor,” he huffed at the landing.
      “Told you not to eat that last piece of pie last night.”
      A low growl. Rick snickered. As he fiddled with the keys, a nose stuck out of a crack in the door across the hall and Milo snapped, “Yes?” and the door slammed shut again, followed by several dead bolts sliding home.
      “Why’d you have to scare ‘em like that?”
      “I’m a scary guy, it’s what I do.”
      “If they only knew.”
      “Shut up and get the door open, will ya? She may look like a feather weight, but she’s putting on pounds as we speak.”
      “Big strong guy like you …”
      Milo smiled, but he said, “I swear to God, Rick, if I keel over dead, you’ll be sorry.”
      “But I’m a doctor, I could fix you.”
      Rick got the door open and they entered. Milo made a bee line for the sofa, lay her down gently. “You’re all heart, Rick, you know that?”
      Rick laughed. Maybe this whole situation was a good release – got his mind off Alex for a while, anyway. He looked around the apartment, but the only thing to see were shelves full of porn. “Wow,” he said.
      “Yeah, wow,” Milo agreed from his position on a recliner nearby. His limbs were splayed as if he’d just fallen back onto it. Maybe he had. “You drive home – I’m beat.”
      “Should we … I dunno … undress her?”
      “You kidding me? She may wake up and suck us both in.”
      Rick grinned and pointed to Milo’s pockets. “New shoes?”
      “Hmm? Oh, hers – obviously.” He pulled a stiletto heeled sandal from each pocket and set them down by the chair. “Let’s go.” He rose and headed for the door.
      Rick found the bedroom and brought out a blanket which he draped over her before meeting Milo at the door. Milo was scribbling on a business card. “Leaving her our number so she can call when she sobers up – tell her about Alex.”
      “Good idea, Milo.”
      Out in the hall, the other door was open again and a furtive eye was peeking out at them.
      “It’s okay,” Rick said. “She’s fine.”
      Milo flashed his badge and the door slammed again, followed by the dead bolts. “See what I mean? I’m just scary.”
      Milo sank into the passenger seat of the Porsche and closed his eyes. Rick thought he’d fallen asleep, was half way home when Milo said, “She head butted me in the gut.”
      “What?”
      “Karen Ellis. Crazy little thing head butted me in the gut. That’s why the gun went off. I really should file the weapon fired paperwork tonight, but I am seriously tired, Rick.”
      “Weapon fired paperwork?”
      A grunt. “Every time an officer discharges his weapon, there’s paperwork involved.”
      “Tedious.” Silence. “Scared the crap out of me back there, Milo.”
      “Hmm?” Milo opened his eyes and turned his head. “What?”
      “Scared me, dammit.”
      “What did I …? You mean the gun going off? Scared me a bit too – could have killed that girl. Stupid girl.”
      “I thought maybe you’d been shot and I didn’t know if I should run back there or not.”
      “Hell no – never run towards gunfire.” Silence. “Anyway, sorry for scaring you. I heard something and when I got round back, I could smell the damned pot and before I even saw her, she was tackling me like a damned linebacker. Stupid girl.”
      “Well, she’s not that stupid – she can spot a tasty bit of manflesh in the dark.”
      “Oh, man, but that was weird. Can you believe she propositioned us both right there? Should I tell Alex about that?”
      “I dunno, Milo – friendship can be stretched only so far …”
      The little car slid smoothly into the driveway and they were home again. Milo reached over and took Rick’s hand in his. “Thanks, Rick. For everything. I probably would have fallen apart tonight if I didn’t have you to lean on.”
      “Highly unlikely, but I’m glad to help.”
      “I appreciate it.” He pulled Rick over into a deep kiss and then he was out of the car and heading for the front door.
      Rick watched the big guy in the headlights as he ambled up the front steps and fit his key in the door. Baggy jeans, loose sweatshirt, those damned desert boots – he watched him run a hand through unruly black hair and walk in. Domestic bliss. It had been a long and difficult night, but he smiled as he locked up the Porsche and followed his lover into the house they shared.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I was hurting. Everywhere. Like every nerve fiber in my body had been scraped with a nail file. I groaned loudly and tried to curl up into a ball, but I couldn’t move. Why couldn’t I move? It took a considerable amount of effort to lift my head, but when I did, I could see I was strapped to a cot in a padded room.
      What the hell? Why was I strapped down and why was I in a padded room? I’d sometimes wondered what it would be like – strapped down in a padded room. I didn’t like it. Nothing to do. I lay there counting the perforations in the acoustic tiles of the ceiling. It wasn’t easy because every few minutes, the ceiling melted into runny candle wax colors and messed up my count. I’d gotten to 4579 before someone entered.
      “Are we calm now?” What a condescending voice. He was a young guy dressed like an orderly so I figured he was an orderly. I tried very hard to ignore the morphing of his features into grotesque monster images – couldn’t possibly be real, right?
      I tried to tell him to go do something very rude, but my voice was gone. Screaming. I remembered now that there had been a lot of screaming and now my throat was raw. I winced at the pain and sighed heavily.
      “Need some water?”
      That sounded good. I nodded enthusiastically and he held a straw to my parched lips. Ice cold – best damned water I’d ever tasted and I drank it all in one go.
      “Well, guess you really were thirsty. You gonna behave yourself if I release you?”
      I nodded. What did he mean behave myself? Had I been violent? Why the hell was I here anyway? I really couldn’t remember much after dropping Milo off at the station. When I was free, I moaned and curled up fetally, nerve endings on fire, muscles protesting, a strange pain at my side I really couldn’t identify. I hugged myself tightly and fell asleep.

      When I awoke again, I was in Milo’s arms and he was carrying me up into my own house. Okay, watching his features morph was very disturbing. He must have misinterpreted my expression because he said, “Don’t worry, pal, I won’t drop you.” He lay me gently down on my bed and I tried to thank him, but my world turned into a rocky ocean of color and I don’t think I made a sound.
      Next I knew, Karen was lying next to me and running her fingers lightly across my skin. Along my jaw line, across my chest, down my belly – it felt fantastic – like nothing I’d ever felt before. I reached over and stroked her – she felt like satin – soft, smooth. No more morphing – she looked radiant. She leaned down and kissed me. She tasted wonderful. I was inundated with sensations the likes of which I’d never experienced before. I was rock hard and suddenly hungry – greedy for the feel of her – I couldn’t get enough. I think I was pretty aggressive – hoped I wasn’t hurting her, but she wrapped her legs around me and wouldn’t let me up even if I’d wanted to stop.

Milo was leaning back in his chair with his feet up on his desk – not an easy position considering the confines of his office and the length of his legs. He was looking over the stack of printouts Sean Binchy had just handed him. The young Detective-I seemed happiest doing scut work, although it was hard to tell because the punk-rocker turned born-again Christian was always pleasant and easy-going.
      The Leverett family financial situation unquestionably gave Jasper a motive for murder. The stable hands at the Leverett Stud Farm said there was always someone on duty there around the clock and visitors were logged in. They confirmed that Jasper had definitely not been to visit with the horses on the nights of the murders, so he had no alibi. Plus, a batch of PCP was missing from their veterinary office – evidently they still use it on animals. Spaced out horses – what next? Seems Jasper spent six months in a mental institution five years ago, but was considered harmless so long as he took his meds. Pharmacy records showed his prescriptions had gone unfilled for almost a year, but maybe he took them to a new pharmacy. Riiiiight. A neighbor revealed that Jasper was quite a knife enthusiast – had a very fine collection and knew all kinds of throwing tricks – used to entertain at parties. Must have been fun parties.
      “Binchy,” Milo said. “I think you’ve gathered enough for a warrant.”
      Binchy beamed.
      “Coming along?”
      “Sure thing, Loot.”
      Milo grinned. Had Rick ever met Binchy? The kid was the only one who ever called him Loot.

Judge Cranston was in a very good mood. Seems his daughter had just had a baby and the Judge didn’t even want to hear Milo’s evidenciary justification. He signed the warrant outright and handed both detectives a cigar.
      Out on the sidewalk, Milo frowned as he lit up.
      “What’s the matter, sir?” Binchy asked. “We got the warrant.”
      He puffed a few times before answering. “Seems a shame to waste a freebie like that on a shoe-in warrant. Next time we’re on shaky ground, he’ll have a bug up his butt and refuse to sign anything.”
      “How were we to know his granddaughter was gonna be born today?”
      Milo glanced over at him, talked around the stogie between his teeth. “You gonna smoke that?”
      “No, sir, I don’t smoke.”
      “Give it to me, then.” He snatched it and stashed it in his jacket pocket. “Now, let’s go find Jasper’s knife collection, huh?”
      “Sure thing, Loot.”
      Milo thought Binchy was a good plodder, but the kid lacked initiative. The real test, of course, was how he’d react in a crisis. He was about to find out.

Jasper Leverett lived in a modest two story home in Sherman Oaks. There was no answer to the bell, so Milo knocked loudly. Still no answer. The uniforms from the Van Nuys District Station wanted to ram the door open, but Milo waved them down with, “A little finesse, guys, okay?” He picked the lock.
      Telling the uniforms to wait outside, Milo and Binchy entered together – guns drawn and cautiously at the ready.
      “Mr. Leverett?” Milo called. “LAPD! Lieutenant Sturgis, sir, we have a warrant.” They methodically searched for occupancy – making sure the coast was clear before getting down to business.
      They’d cleared the ground floor and the uniforms started their rummaging. Upstairs, Binchy waited at the landing as Milo headed down the corridor. First door on the right revealed a closet full of linens. Across from that was an empty bedroom. Next door on the left opened to a bathroom. Milo entered and searched behind the shower curtain – the theme from Psycho echoing in his brain. The stupid things you think of …
      He came back out to the hall, shook his head at Binchy and took a step towards the slightly ajar door of the second bedroom. That’s as far as he got before a flash of metal sailed across the hall. Milo felt a tearing pain shoot up his right arm as his hand spasmed and his gun dropped to the floor. He fell back against the wall with a curse and looked down to find a small, narrow throwing knife embedded in his forearm.
      He heard Binchy yell, “Freeze! Police!” and watched the kid take three long strides towards him before another flash of metal caught Milo in the side. He gasped and sank to the floor now as Binchy stepped in front of him, dropped to one knee, and fired three rounds through the bedroom door. There was a thud and the kid wasted no time busting through the door.
      Shit, this hurt! Milo took several deep breaths and assessed his situation. He was on his knees, left side against the wall – the plaster felt cool to his face – very pleasant. The wall was splattered with blood. His blood. This couldn’t be good. His right arm wasn’t working properly and it took a moment to figure out why. The knife sticking out of it, dummy. He reached around with his left hand to feel for the other knife. Shit, it was completely buried in his flesh! He dug around and felt the tip of the handle, was tempted to yank it out, but he knew better than that. Remove it and bleed to death – leave the damned thing alone.
      Binchy was still in the other bedroom, but two uniforms were now kneeling next to him. One was radioing in – hopefully for an ambulance. The other one was speaking to him, but he couldn’t make out voices. The plaster of the wall no longer felt cool. He began to shiver – he was freezing! Was this shock? His body was shutting down – he must be bleeding badly. The room was spinning. He closed his eyes and fought the wave of nausea as it washed over him.
      When he opened them again, he was on a gurney, laying on his left side. When had the ambulance arrived? Had he passed out? Someone was talking to him again and he was answering, but it was very far away and he couldn’t make out the words.

Rick was taking a well-earned rest in the doctor’s lounge at Cedars-Sinai Hospital. As senior ER surgeon, he was responsible for overseeing all trauma cases and a school bus crash earlier in the day had provided a massive adrenalin rush. Thirty-eight kids: Twenty-five treated and released; six with clean breaks, no complications; and seven with massive internal injuries. One of them had died en-route and another had died on the table, but five were currently in stable condition and Rick wanted to feel proud of that. He couldn’t help dwelling on the two dead, though. Damn driver didn’t get a scratch.
      He stretched and yawned, contemplated curling up on the sofa for a nap, but Erma Simkins poked her head in the door and said, “Knife fight, Dr. Silverman, multiple lacerations – evidently a cop – on the way in.”
      Rick sighed. Erma was the best damned ER Nurse he’d ever worked with and he always tried to get her scheduled with him. Wasn’t fair, of course – she shouldn’t have to work 80 hour weeks just because he did. “Kay, thanks, Erma. Be right out.” Man, he was tired. He stretched and yawned again, knuckled his eyes. Knife fight – could be nasty. He stood, loosened his joints and headed back out to meet the newest life and death crisis.
      They were bringing him in now. Large, overweight guy on the gurney, laying on his side, bloody shirt cut away. Looked like stainless steel throwing knife? Not your usual gang-banger weapon. It was embedded deep in the palmaris longus muscle. Looked like another wound at the man’s right side. Very deep. Wow, another knife driven in completely – must have been thrown with considerable force. Bad location – possible liver laceration. He glanced up towards the man’s face and noticed thick black hair and fuzzy white sideburns.
      “Holy shit,” he said aloud. Frozen in place, color drained from his face.
      “You okay, Doctor?” One of the younger nurses, concern crinkling her eyes. He didn’t know her name – didn’t want to know.
      “Oh my God.” He gently turned the man’s head a bit so he could see the face. “Oh my God, it’s Milo.”
      “You know him, Doctor?”
      “Prep him for surgery.” There was a catch in his voice he didn’t want there. “O.R. two, STAT!”
      Erma put a hand on his arm. “You should let someone else operate, Doctor.”
      “I’m doing it.” Jaw set firmly in place.
      “Rick …”
      “I’m doing it, Erma – get scrubbed in.”
      “Yes, Doctor.”
      As he turned, he heard the young nurse say, “He knows him?”
      And Erma replied, “His lover, Shirley. C’mon.”
      He ducked into the lounge a moment, leaned against the door. He was in danger of hyperventilating, closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.
      “Something wrong, Doctor?”
      He snapped his eyes open. The lounge was not empty – one of the new interns. Damn, he couldn’t even recall the kid’s name, but he knew he was one of the more promising young cutters they had. “Scrub up – you can assist with a multiple knife wound in O.R. two.” He actually managed to say it calmly – no one would know he was dying inside. The way the kid looked at him, though – maybe he wasn’t as calm as he thought.
      “Right, Doc.” The kid made his exit and Rick slumped against the door again.
      Oh God, his worse nightmare come true. He always knew it could happen, but had tried not to dwell on it. He’d always told himself, if and when the time came, he would deal with it. Now that it was happening, could he deal with it? Deep breath. Okay, Silverman, get your head on straight and get your ass up there – you’re the best damned surgeon in this place and you have the best damned trauma team in the world, now go save him so you can chew him out afterwards. He held his hand out palm down – steady as a rock. With jaw set in determination, he turned and made his way up to O.R. two. Time to prove all those years of school were worth it.

CHAPTER NINE

I woke slowly and stretched languidly. The sunlight was streaming through the curtains and it looked like a wonderful day in Beverly Glen. I could hear Karen in the bathroom taking a shower and was tempted to join her, but I was too lazy. Decided to just lay there like a lump and watch dust motes dance in the light.
      She emerged wearing my ratty bath robe. Sure as hell looked better on her than it ever did on me.
      “Hey, lover,” she said.
      “Hey, babe.”
      “How do you feel?”
      “Great.” Except for a nagging little pain in my side, I really did feel great.
      She smiled down at me. “You were amazing last night, Alex.”
      I smiled back. “Was I?” What had I done?
      “Mm-Hmm.” She bent down and kissed me, ruffled my hair and stood again. “I’d love to go round again, but I have to go to a memorial service.” I raised an eyebrow and she added, “No one you know – just some friends of mine.”
      I watched her dress quickly in tight jeans and loose t-shirt. My t-shirt? She brushed her long wet hair and slipped into high-heeled sandals and she was ready to go. No muss, no fuss – a natural beauty. Another kiss – deeper this time. “See you later?”
      “Guess so.” Did I have anything planned for the day? What day was it anyway? As the sound of her little moped disappeared down the drive, I stretched again and slipped out of bed.
      That nagging pain in my side brought my hand down to find a bandage. What was this? I lifted a corner and took a look. Nasty looking wound: swollen, purple, bunch of stitches. When did that happen? How did that happen? I re-secured the bandage and took a look in the mirror. Looked like I hadn’t shaved in a couple days – what was up with that? I scraped off my beard and took a quick shower. My robe smelled faintly of soap and a floral perfume.
      I was starving like I hadn’t eaten in days. I fried some eggs and bacon, made some toast, poured some orange juice. Karen had made coffee so I poured a mug of that too. How did she manage to get such good coffee out of my old machine? The newspaper was on the table, so I opened it, noticed the date. Saturday. Saturday? Last I remembered, it was Wednesday and Milo and I had been checking out suspects.
      I concentrated. Or tried to, anyway. I had dropped Milo off at the station, and then I’d gone to the library for some research … what then? What happened to Thursday and Friday? And how did I get hurt? Time I had a little talk with Milo.
      There was a message on my machine, dated yesterday. I pushed the button and heard Rick Silverman’s voice – sounding fatigued and stressed.
      “Hey, Alex, Rick here. If you’re listening to this, then you must be lucid – try to stay that way, huh? Milo was wounded in a knife fight today – uh, Friday – but I just got out of surgery and he’s gonna be fine, okay? He’s at Cedars, of course – in recovery right now, but he should be brought to a room in a few hours, once his vitals have stabilized. He’ll be in room 411, okay? I’m sure he’d love to see you – he’s worried as hell about you, Alex. We both are. Right now, though, I’m gonna go home, get drunk and sleep for 12 hours. Be well, Alex.”
      Milo wounded? Surgery? What did he mean about me being lucid? Why couldn’t my life be simple? I threw on some clothes and headed for Cedars-Sinai Hospital to get some answers.

He didn’t want to wake up. Not yet. He was warm, comfortable – no worries. He knew that would vanish as soon as he woke up. Unfortunately, the pain kept nagging at him and he couldn’t put it off any longer. His eyelids fluttered open, but the fluorescent light nearly blinded him and he snapped them shut again, moaned. When he opened his eyes again, a cute freckled face filled his field of vision.
      “You’re awake.” Cute voice too. The face pulled back and Milo caught a glimpse of a full-figured body in a nursing uniform. “And just in time for Dr. Silverman’s hourly visit.” She had short orange hair and watery blue eyes and was fussing with his sheets, not really accomplishing much. “I’ve never known the doctor to take such a strong interest in a patient before – you must be pretty special.”
      Was he special? Milo grinned. He tried to shift his weight, but the pain shot through him like a … yeah, like a knife. Very original, Sturgis. Ah, well, he’d just woken up, so he had an excuse. He must have cringed at the pain because the nurse frowned down at him.
      “If you’re in pain?” she said. “You can push that little button there.” Pointing to a button on his IV stand. “Morphine, self administered. It’s limiting, so you can’t OD.”
      Milo glanced over at it. Why not? He tried to reach out with his right arm, but that was a mistake, so he used his left, pushed the little button. So, what was it supposed to … “Oh, wow,” he said out loud. A warm flush started at his head and ran down to his toes and when it had passed, the pain was a brief memory. “Oh, I could get used to this.”
      She smiled down at him. He smiled back. Was she flirting with him? Oh, don’t be stupid, Sturgis.
      “So, you’re finally awake.”
      Rick was standing in the doorway, stunning in blood-stained green scrubs and white coat. What the hell does a gorgeous guy like this see in an aging old warhorse like me? Don’t over-analyze, dammit, just enjoy. Milo gazed at him longingly. “I’m special.” He grinned.
      Rick raised an eyebrow and the nurse said, “I was just telling the detective here how much interest you’ve shown in him, doctor.” Big goofy smile. She had to be flirting!
      “Oh, yes, Lieutenant Sturgis is very special, Ms Arkwright.” He walked into the room and grinned.
      Milo held his hand out and beckoned. When Rick got close enough, he got a grip on the lapel of the coat and pulled the doctor down into a wet sloppy kiss. “Sorry for the morning breath,” he said. “But thanks for saving my life.”
      Rick smiled. “My pleasure, Milo.”
      “Um,” the nurse said. “If there’s nothing else …”
      “Thanks for showing me the little button,” Milo said.
      “Welcome.” She flashed a suddenly shy smile and hastened out the door.
      “Swear to God, Rick, I don’t encourage it.”
      Rick chuckled and broke free from his grasp. “She’s a cop groupie and we just broke her heart.” He pulled up a chair and sat. “How are you feeling?”
      “Not bad since I found the little button.”
      “You can’t get one at home.”
      “Aw shucks.”
      Silence.
      Rick had that look. “You’re gonna yell at me, aren’t you?”
      “Eventually.”
      “It’s an occupational hazard, Rick.”
      “Hmm.”
      “Did you really operate yourself?”
      “Yep.”
      “Thanks.”
      “Just my job, Milo.”
      “Glad they brought me here.”
      “You told them to.”
      “Did I?”
      “Demanded it.”
      “Really? I don’t remember saying anything.”
      “Real chatty at the scene, from what I hear.”
      “How’s Binchy?”
      “Sean is fine. We had a nice talk after surgery – he’s a good guy.”
      “Great reflexes too.” The kid had really come through for him. “And Leverett?”
      “The guy who knifed you? Dead. Sean shot him three times – died at the scene.”
      There was a knock at the door and Alex walked in, looking chipper in jeans and t-shirt. “Hey,” he said. “Got lost.” Concerned smile. “Cute nurse had to point the way. So, uh, what happened?”
      “You okay?” Both men spoke at once and Alex blinked at them.
      “I’m not the one in the hospital with tubes in my arm.”
      “Leverett got cranky and perforated me.”
      “Really? How bad?”
      “Bad enough,” Rick said.
      “Actually, I don’t even know yet how bad – so what’s the story, doc?”
      “Muscle damage in your arm that’ll take a long time to heal completely. The other knife chipped a rib and lacerated your liver.”
      “Ouch.” Milo winced. “How bad is that?”
      “You’re lucky. I removed the bone fragment and the liver happens to be the only organ that regenerates – you’ll be fine.”
      “Big scar?”
      Before Rick could answer, Alex spoke up with, “Speaking of scars, can anyone tell me what this is?” He pulled his shirt up and peeled back the bandage.
      “Gunshot wound.” Both men at once again. Milo grinned and thought, hey, live together long enough and everything starts synchronizing.
      “I was shot?”
      “You don’t remember?” Rick asked.
      “Well, no. Last thing I remember is dropping off Milo at the station and heading for the library. That was Wednesday and I seem to have lost two days.”
      “You were doped up too.”
      Alex stared at Milo for a long moment before asking, “What?”
      “You were shot, doped up and left for dead at the scene of a triple homicide where you were arrested and carted off to the Foothill Division station house.”
      Alex swayed a bit and Rick jumped up, helped the man into the chair.
      “Leverett?”
      Milo shook his head. “Murders were committed with a gun and you were injected with a potent psychedelic cocktail.”
      “Who … who was killed?”
      “A trio of young people engaged in a sexual orgy.”
      “Any idea who it was?”
      “Kind of hoping you could help with that, pal.”
      “I … I don’t remember.”
      “The drugs,” Rick said. “You may eventually recover the lost time, but I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting.”
      “If it wasn’t Leverett, then it was just a bit too much to be a coincidence, don’t you think? So similar to the case? And yet so different? What gives?”
      “Look, guys, I have rounds.” Rick leaned down and kissed Milo gently. “I’m glad you’re okay, Big Guy – the tongue-lashing will commence once we’re at home.”
      Milo laughed. Then grimaced at the ache in his side.
      “And I’m glad to see you up and around, Alex.” He shook the man’s hand. “We really were worried about you.”
      “Yeah, thanks.” Frowning.
      Once Rick was gone, Milo asked, “So, who’d you tell about the case?”
      “I didn’t tell anyone.”
      “Not even Miss Firecracker?”
      “Karen? Of course not. Oh, but …”
      “But?”
      “I did catch her reading the file once.”
      “Oh?”
      “I guess I’d left it out. While I was in with a patient, she got nosey.”
      Milo nodded gravely.
      “You can’t think she tried to kill me?”
      “Well, no – if she wanted you dead, she could just keep you in bed till your heart exploded.”
      “You say that in jest, but it could happen.”
      “Not jesting at all.” He wondered briefly about the wisdom of speaking up, but decided he owed it to the guy to be honest, so he added: “Incidentally, uh, not sure how to tell you this, but, um, your girlfriend came on to me.”
      Alex laughed.
      “I’m serious. She propositioned Rick and I both.”
      “Oh, I believe you, Milo. Man, wish I could have seen your face.”
      “You planning to keep this one?”
      “Oh, hell no. I’d be dead inside six months.”
      Milo grinned. “Yeah, but …”
      “What a way to go, huh?” Alex grinned too. “No, I’d rather stick around for a while, thank you very much.”
      Milo flinched and sighed.
      “Pain?”
      “Little. Push that button for me, would you?”
      “This one?” Alex pushed it and Milo sighed again.
      “Thanks. I’m gonna get some shut-eye, Alex. Why don’t you go home and try to remember who shot you.”
      “Yeah, okay. Take it easy, Milo.”
      “Hmm.” He drifted off to sweet oblivion with thoughts of a certain sexy doctor floating through his head.

Someone had shot me? You’d think I would remember a thing like that. When I left Milo, I tracked down Rick. “So, is he really okay?” I asked him.
      “Yeah, after six hours of surgery.”
      “Liver?”
      “That was the easy part. Took five grueling hours to stitch up the muscle in his arm – hopefully there’ll be no permanent damage.”
      Hopefully. I ran a hand through my hair. “Just what was I given, Rick?”
      “A mixture of Ketamine, LSD, Rohypnol, amphetamines …”
      “Sheesh, that’s a bit of overkill, isn’t it?”
      Rick shrugged. “You’re damned lucky, Alex. I was afraid you wouldn’t recover.”
      I winced. “How bad was I?”
      “Uh, pretty out of it. You taunted a very large detective and almost got pounded.”
      I was shocked. “Milo?”
      “No, course not. Some guy up at the Foothills Division. You were pretty mouthy.”
      “Hmm.” I blushed. Man, what had I said?
      “Incidentally, you never mentioned Timothy Leary being your thesis advisor.”
      Why would I? “Er, that would be because he wasn’t?”
      “That’s what you said at the station.”
      “And just how did that come up in conversation?”
      “You recognized your symptoms as being a Ketamine high and the detective wanted to know how you knew.”
      “And my explanation was Timothy Leary was my thesis advisor?”
      Rick nodded.
      I grinned. “No idea, Rick. I only met the guy once and that was at some symposium. Really strange guy.”
      He placed a hand on my shoulder and got really serious. “Alex, you do know there’s a chance you may have flashbacks.”
      I sighed, ran a hand through my hair. “I can’t believe I got through the 70’s unscathed and now this. How bad can it get?”
      He shrugged. “No telling. Just … I dunno, if you feel something weird coming on while you’re out on the road, pull over and wait it out, huh?”
      “Yeah, okay.” I sighed again. “See ya later.”
      “Take care, Alex.”
      “Yeah.”

If I feel something weird coming on, huh? Define weird. I couldn’t believe this. I was crazy for two days? Must have been some trip. Funny I had recognized a Ketamine high. Back in the day drugs like Ketamine, MDMA, PCP and LSD were touted as psychological breakthroughs. Back then, it was a given that Psychologists would try them before recommending them for patients. Supposed to open the mind, unlock it’s secrets. Yeah, all they did was make you crazy for a few hours. I’d never taken it, though – the children I treated didn’t need their minds opened, so how did I recognize it? I suppose a massive dose and the strange conflicting mixture could explain the prolonged high. And the memory loss as well.
      I had spaced out while thinking and arrived home with no recollection of the drive. Would that be something weird? I needed to clear my head and there’s nothing like torturing your body to clear your head. I changed into shorts and running shoes and pushed myself hard down the Glen. It was a beautiful day, but I couldn’t enjoy it.
      I staggered up the bridle path and collapsed round back by the koi pond, stared up at the cloudless sky a while. What could I do to help me remember? Was I better off not remembering? I guess I fell asleep because I awoke to find Karen fondling me.
      “Karen,” I said, a little irritated. “Not in front of the fish.”
      She giggled and climbed on top of me. Those poor fish were subjected to a disgraceful display of wanton abandon and I’ll probably have to treat them all for post traumatic stress. Still, more fodder for Alberto …

CHAPTER TEN

A couple days later, I was no closer to regaining those missing two days, but Milo had convinced Rick to let him out of the hospital – so long as certain conditions were met, of course. One of said conditions was that Milo not drive. He was taking Vicodin and the grip of his right hand was seriously weak, so I was bringing him home.
      “And no drinking,” Rick said.
      Milo nodded, rolled his eyes.
      “I mean it, Milo, not even beer.”
      A low growl meant Milo didn’t want to agree with that. Rick glared at me as if I would be able to do something about it if the big guy got it into his head to have a beer. I shrugged and glared back. Rick narrowed his eyes dangerously at me and I blinked innocently back. Rick sighed and slumped his shoulders in defeat.
      “Just be careful, huh?” They hugged and Milo grinned at him.
      “Hey,” I said. “Karen’s publisher is coming to town and she wanted to know if you guys would like to triple date on Friday night?”
      I caught Rick’s smirk briefly before he turned away and coughed discreetly.
      I grinned. “Milo told me about her antics and I don’t think she’ll repeat her offer.” Rick turned back and nodded. “Course, she might pump the two of you for bedroom details …”
      Rick blushed furiously and told us to get the hell out.

Milo looked fine if you ignored the bandage round his forearm and the slow deliberate movements. Once we were buckled in the Seville, I sighed and said, “So, shall we pick up a six pack?”
      Milo laughed, then grimaced and held his side, leaned back against the head rest. “Oh, Alex,” he said. “You are such a bad influence on me. You keep it up and Rick will forbid me to play with you anymore.”
      Silence.
      “So, Grolsch?”
      “You bet.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, laced his fingers across his expanding belly.
      I should have been ashamed of myself – enabling, but I picked up a six pack anyway.

Back at my place, we sat out on the deck and silently watched my unobstructed view. Milo always called it paradise and on a day like today, he’d get no argument from me. I told him he could only have one beer, but he nursed it for a while, only drank half.
      “Rather have juice?”
      “Nah. Wouldn’t mind some Coke, though.”
      “Diet?”
      “Whatever.”
      That meant no. I brought him a Coke and eased back into the silence.
      I was working on my third beer and was about to doze off when he spoke up. “Remember anything yet?”
      “Not really.” I sighed. “It’s pretty frustrating.”
      “Nothing at all?”
      “Well, I know I went to the library after dropping you off and it was dark by the time hunger drove me out. I remember hitting a guy on a bicycle.”
      “There was a dented bike at the … cabin.”
      He was going to say crime scene or murder site or something. I suppressed a shudder. “I vaguely recall a young guy with shaggy blond hair and freaky red eyes.”
      “Freaky red eyes? Like a vampire?”
      I shrugged. “Don’t ask me – freaky red eyes, that’s it. I still don’t remember going to any cabin or getting shot.”
      “I’ll tell the boys to be on the look out for a guy with freaky red eyes.”
      “Yeah, okay, I told you it was nothing.”
      He snickered. “Relax – just yankin’ your chain.” He drank some Coke. “She’s 25, by the way.”
      “Hmm?”
      “Your pixie, Karen. Checked her ID when I found her here the other night. So she’s old enough to drink and she smokes pot and I really don’t know if there’s an age requirement for writing porn. Sorry.”
      Well, at least I wasn’t robbing the cradle. “Smokes pot?”
      “I could smell it when I went round back and she readily admitted it to me anyway.”
      “Retro-hippy.” Was that a particularly bad thing? I thought about it, but couldn’t decide.
      “So, where we goin’ for dinner Friday? Someplace young and hip?”
      “Lord, I didn’t think to ask her. I hope it’s not some loud and obnoxious hot spot.”
      “Old fogy.”
      “Ha! Look who’s talking.”
      He smiled, finished the coke and said, “C’mon, bring me home, huh? Too much of this and I’ll go stark raving. Rick should be home soon and then the lecture will commence.”
      “He yells at you because he loves you, Milo.”
      “Yeah, yeah.” He was grinning, though, when he said it.
      As I helped him down to the car, I asked, “Does it hurt?”
      “Only when I breathe.”
      “Ah …”
      “Yeah, I know, don’t breathe.” He shook his head at me like I was a naughty child and I had to laugh.

I left Milo in Rick’s capable hands and returned home feeling somewhat desolate. After a cleaning spree that left the house spotless, I still felt desolate, so I crawled into bed and fell asleep instantly. And dreamt.
      I don’t remember much of what I dreamed, but it involved a giant bicycle, a gun and a soulless pair of freaky red eyes shining in the night. I woke with a strangled scream in my throat, sweat soaked sheets on the floor. I lay there staring at the ceiling until the thudding in my chest eased up a little and then I took a cold shower.
      It was five AM and there was no way I was going to get back to sleep now. I tried working some overdue court reports, but after typing the same phrase three times, I realized I just couldn’t concentrate. I tried watching TV, but couldn’t seem to get interested in infomercials. I thought about going for a run, but was feeling too lazy for that. By 8 AM I was going stir crazy. I broke down and called Karen.
      “Hmm?” I had obviously woken her up.
      I suddenly felt guilty and wished I hadn’t dialed. “Hey, Karen.” I sounded like a little boy.
      “Alex?” A yawn. “Whassup?”
      “Sorry to wake you, but I was going out of my mind alone and thought, you know, maybe we could talk a while.”
      “Sure thing, I’ll be right over.”
      “What? No, you don’t …”
      “Love you.” Click.
      What the hell had I done? It’s what I wanted when I called, though, wasn’t it? If I was honest with myself I’d have to admit I wanted to lose myself in her body. Was that wrong of me? Hell, Delaware, she’s half your age, of course it’s wrong. I called right back, but got no answer. Damn.
      Twenty minutes later, she fell into my arms and we spent the next two days in bed. This was not a healthy relationship. I would have to end it eventually. I kept telling myself that, but couldn’t seem to find the right time.

When Friday rolled around, we drove up to a little Italian place in Malibu called Angelo’s. After my house had been torched, while the new one was being built, I’d rented a cabin with Robin by the beach in Malibu and I loved the area. I’d never seen this restaurant before, so it had to be pretty darned new.
      Milo and Rick met us in the parking lot and Angelo himself escorted us to our table where Karen’s publisher and his lady friend were already seated. Karen made introductions, we all sat down and drinks were ordered. Rick was his usual impeccable self in a navy suit and royal blue shirt with a striped tie while Milo had made an effort in grey flannel trousers, green silk shirt and black blazer – no tie – Rick was the only one with a tie. Probably one of those 500 dollar jobs Milo liked to complain about. I was in khaki and pink with my professorial tweed sports coat and Karen wore a skimpy red thing that hugged her curves.
      The publisher was named Avery Haggerty and he was a young guy in his twenties with short brown hair and sharp brown eyes. His face was long and narrow, his fingers long, but thick and he wore black jeans and a yellow polo shirt. His friend was named Lucy – no last name – and was a naturally busty natural blond dressed in black. A string of white pearls shone brightly against her tanned neck. She was trying to act like a bubble brain, but her shrewd blue eyes destroyed the illusion. Haggerty a little insecure? Or was she hired for the evening?
      I couldn’t help staring at Haggerty and when the drinks arrived, he called me on it.
      “Something wrong, Alex?”
      “Hmm? No, nothing wrong, it’s just that you look familiar. Have we ever met before?”
      “Nope, don’t think so.” His lack of concern seemed forced.
      “He’s the one I went to see in Oakland,” Karen told me. I hadn’t accompanied her to that meeting.
      I nodded as if that explained anything, but it was gnawing at me. We made small talk until the food arrived and then conversation petered out as we ate. I was halfway through my veal parmesan before it hit me and I tried like hell to hide any reaction. Milo caught it, though. He made eye contact with me and flashed me a questioning glance. What could I say?
      “So, Avery,” I said, trying to sound laid-back. “You wear contacts?”
      “That’s a strange question, Alex, why do you ask?”
      “I’ve seen some very nice specialty contacts around. You know, the ones that make you look like you have cat’s eyes? Or ones that change your eye color? Like, maybe to … red …”
      His reaction was swift, but Milo’s was quicker. His left arm shot straight out across the table and his big fist connected solidly between Haggerty’s eyes. The young man had been about to rise and was half out of his chair, fingers gripping the butt of a small gun, but now his eyes crossed and he slumped back down. Milo casually stopped his forward momentum, pushed him back to keep his face out of his plate and deftly pocketed the little semi-automatic.
      The waiter came back, looking worried. “Everything alright, gentlemen? Ladies?”
      “Everything’s fine,” Milo said, a slight pallor the only indication that the movement had strained him at all. “Our friend here had a bit too much to drink. May we have the bill, please?”
      “Certainly.”
      Milo and I kept eating. Rick looked from one to the other of us, shrugged and resumed his meal as well. Karen shot daggers at me, then at Milo, Rick and Lucy in turn. Lucy smiled pleasantly at her and continued eating. Karen turned back to me and whispered, “What the hell was that?”
      “That was your publisher being a very bad boy, Karen. We’ll discuss it later.”
      She glared at Milo, who ignored her and asked Lucy, “Think he wants that?”
      Lucy shook her head and handed over Haggerty’s untouched piece of pie.
      “What have I told you about pie, Milo?” Rick had a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
      “But it’s apple.”
      Rick, Lucy and I snickered as Milo finished the wedge in three bites.
      Rick and I argued over the bill and he graciously let me pay, but insisted on leaving the big tip. Rick and I helped a moaning Haggerty outside where Milo cuffed him and stuffed him in the back seat of my Seville. When I raised my eyebrows at him, Milo said, “What? You want me to put him in Rick’s Porsche?”
      “How did you know?” I asked.
      “Know what?” Karen wanted to know. To me: “What the hell is going on?” To Milo: “Why did you punch out my publisher?” To Lucy: “Why did he have a gun?” When she got to Rick, he shrugged helplessly and she growled.
      “Hey, calm down.” I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Listen.” I waited till she was looking at me. “How much did Milo tell you about what happened to me the other day?”
      She sighed. “He said you were attacked and injured.”
      “Okay, I was – someone tried to kill me, Karen. I was having memory problems, but halfway through dinner, a few things came back into sharp focus.”
      “I saw the look on his face,” Milo added. “And knew something was about to happen.”
      “Did you know he had a gun?” Rick wanted to know.
      “I saw it.” Milo took it out of his pocket. It was a tiny little thing.
      “Looks like a pea shooter.”
      Milo smiled at me, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “It’s a Kel-Tec P-3, Alex. It’s a .38 and could have put a hole in you the size of a baseball.”
      My stomach felt queasy.
      “He was going to shoot you?”
      “He shot me the other night.”
      “Why?”
      Everyone turned to Lucy.
      “Hey, don’t y’all look at me. I’m just an escort. Never seen that guy before last night.” She crossed her arms and sighed. “So, does this mean I’m under arrest?”
      “Not by me,” Milo said. “I’m on medical leave.” He took out his cell phone and called a Lieutenant Peter Decker at the Foothills Division and then he called the Sheriffs Department. Snapping the cell closed, he said, “And now we wait.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the car.
      “But why would he try to kill you, Alex?”
      “Beats the hell out of me!” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Did you mention anything to him about the case file you read at my place?”
      “What?”
      “You heard me.” The hard edge to my voice surprised me.
      “I pitched him a story idea – I didn’t mention anything about the case – just the idea in vague terms. Why? Did he kill all those other people in that file?”
      I shook my head. “No, but you gave him the idea of how to kill me.”
      She blinked at me a few times. Her lower lip started quivering. Then she burst into tears and I felt like a real bastard. I took her into my arms and looked around feebly, but no one else had any ideas. Lucy looked bored, Rick looked confused and Milo looked pissed off. I sighed and pat her on the back as she soaked my shirt.
      A thought occurred to me. “Karen?” I said. “You went to a memorial service a few days ago.”
      She sniffled and nodded against my chest.
      “Who for?”
      She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and said, “Friends.”
      Milo looked interested.
      “Who?” I asked again, handing her my handkerchief.
      “No one you know, Alex.” She blew her nose. “Some friends from Oakland. They were partying at a little cabin down here and some nutcase killed them.” She looked up at me in earnest. “I was supposed to be there too, but Avery insisted that I rewrite a story that …”
      Her eyes became huge round saucers and she glanced over towards the groggy publisher shaking his head in my car. “Oh my God,” she said. “He killed Stan, Carl and Linda?”
      I shrugged, figuring he probably had, but clueless as to why.
      Suddenly her face was contorted in rage. “Why the fuck would he do that?”
      “No idea.”
      Several squad cars arrived with lights flashing, but no sirens. Several Sheriff’s Deputies and two detectives from the Foothills Division approached. The Deputies I’d never seen before, but the two detectives looked vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t place them. One was bigger than Milo with gingery hair and the other was shorter, but broader – almost square – with a shaved head.
      Milo huddled with the other law enforcement officers for a while, speaking animatedly and then the Deputies got back in their car and drove off. Milo returned with the detectives and made introductions. Lieutenant Peter Decker was the tall gingery guy and he shook my hand with, “Good evening, Doctor – pleasure to meet you in a less strenuous environment.”
      “What?” What could be more strenuous than a guy trying to kill me?
      Detective-II Steve Spalding was the square guy and when he shook my hand, he said, “Sorry.”
      “What?” I was puzzled – had we met some time? Milo would explain later who they were. For now, though, I just had to settle with confusion.
      Decker did most of the talking. “The Deputies have graciously allowed us to handle this guy – if he is our murderer, our case takes precedence anyway. If he’s not our killer, then they’ll take over on the assault charges. Though, if that gun of his is registered, he could charge you with assault, Sturgis.”
      Milo didn’t seem worried. “I am reasonably certain you’ll match his prints to the one found on the murder weapon.”
      “So, uh, what’s the motive?”
      “Good question.” I glared down at Karen and she started sobbing again. Way to go, Delaware – brow-beating little girls now.

Haggerty refused a lawyer and Milo and I were with Lieutenant Decker, watching the interrogation from the observation room. I call it an interrogation, but he wasn’t talking. At all. Wouldn’t open his mouth. Detective Spalding was being very patient, but how long could that last?
      “You said the guy had shaggy blond hair,” Milo said to me.
      I shrugged. “He wore red contacts, so guess he wore a wig too.”
      Decker nodded. “There were synthetic blond hairs found in your car, Doctor. As well as blood.” He must have been scratched up when I hit his bike. “Sturgis here seems pretty confident that the blood and fingerprints will match up.”
      “I’m sure they will.”
      Finally, the man spoke. “I’ll talk to the shrink.” And that’s all he would say.
      Decker looked over at me. I shrugged and said, “I’m game.”
      “No way are you going in there alone, Alex.”
      Milo being over-protective. I was about to protest when Decker said, “I agree – he’s already tried to kill you twice.” He looked to Milo. “You or me?”
      Milo raised an eyebrow. “You don’t mind?”
      Decker shrugged. “I figure you can take him.”
      A wolf grin from my friend and Decker opened the door, called Spalding out. “We’re gonna let the Doc here speak with him – see if he can get anything out of the guy.”
      “Good luck,” Spalding said.
      I sat across from Haggerty and Milo positioned himself close by. The publisher eyed the big police detective and said, “Don’t want him here.”
      “Tough shit,” I told him. “You wanna talk to me, you talk with him here.”
      He scowled, but then he shrugged and mumbled, “Whatever.” He had his hands cuffed in front of him, but I could feel the hostility rolling off him in waves.
      Silence.
      “So?” I prompted.
      “So, what the fuck do you want with my Karen, asshole?”
      “Your Karen?”
      “That’s right. I found her first, she’s mine.”
      “She’s yours.”
      “Isn’t that what I just said? What the hell does she see in an old fuck like you anyway?”
      I could so easily have answered that, but refrained – kept silent instead.
      “All those damned stories she wrote about you – disgusting.”
      Silence.
      “Why the hell are you still alive, anyway?”
      I shrugged. “Robust constitution.”
      “Asshole.”
      Silence
      “Why the three at the cabin?”
      “Why not?”
      That’s what he had said to me after injecting me. I remembered that now. I also remembered the terror in my gut and I was a little pissed about it.
      “She write stories about them too?”
      Silence.
      “Avery?”
      “Yeah! Okay? Bitch partied with those assholes and wrote all about it.”
      “And that bothered you.”
      “Bothered me? Hell yeah, it bothered me! She’s MINE!” He’d made a move like he was about to rise, but Milo made a move too and Haggerty thought better of it, settled back in his seat.
      “Did you ever bother to tell Karen how you felt?”
      “She knows.”
      Silence.
      “Bitch.”
      “She ever write stories about you?”
      Silence.
      “Avery?”
      He lunged for me with a shriek, but Milo grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and held him back. He screamed a litany of foul curses at me as I calmly got up and walked out. Decker and Spalding went in and cuffed his hands behind him and took him away, still screaming at me.
      “Such hatred,” Milo said. “Amazing.” He was breathing a little heavy and holding his side – he should not have been exerting himself like this. I’d probably catch hell from Rick later.
      “A seriously disturbed young man, Milo.”
      “You think he’ll go for a dimcap?”
      I was certain his attorney would try for a diminished capacity plea, but I doubted he’d get it and I said as much to Milo.

Lucy Howard and Rick had been questioned and released – they’d gone home. Karen was still considered a person of interest, but she was waiting for us when we came out. She ran into my arms and clung tight. My ardor had been greatly reduced, but I couldn’t deny paternal feelings. Paternal feelings – great father figure I was. I shuddered, felt somehow dirty.
      She looked up at me with wet eyes. “Did he say why?”
      I looked to Milo. I was certainly not bound by any confidentiality, but did the police want it kept quiet?
      “Decker didn’t say it was a secret,” he said. “No reason for it to be.”
      I brought her to a bench and sat down with her. “Evidently,” I told her. “He was obsessed with you.”
      “What does that mean?”
      “You wrote stories about your three friends?”
      She nodded.
      “He didn’t like that – he wanted you for himself.”
      “He wanted me for himself? He never … He killed them because I wrote stories about them?”
      “That’s what he said.”
      “And I wrote stories about you.”
      I nodded.
      “Oh my God, I wrote stories about …” She sighed. “I was going to say lots of people, but that makes me sound like a slut. Oh, who am I kidding? I am a slut.” She slumped and held her head in her hands.
      I placed a finger under her chin and raised her face. “Self loathing is unattractive,” I told her. A weak grin was her response to that. “Were any of your other story subjects killed?”
      She blinked. “I didn’t reveal a lot of names.” Her eyes got big. “There was one guy in Oakland. He used drugs, which is why I couldn’t stay with him.” She glanced up at Milo and blushed. “I mean, a little pot once in a while is one thing, but he was into stronger stuff. Anyway, I wasn’t surprised when he died from an overdose. Could Avery have been responsible for that?”
      Considering what he’d done to me, I thought it highly likely.
      Milo took out his note pad – did he carry that everywhere? “Give me his name and date of death and I’ll check it out. Anyone else you’ve written stories about too.” I noticed he was having trouble holding the pen and felt sympathy for Rick. He’d be hard to live with until his arm healed and he could go back to work.
      I was wondering how to break it off with her when Karen piped up with, “Alex, I’m really sorry for all this, but I can’t stay. I mean, I know I have to be available for the trial or whatever, but I’m gonna go back with my parents for a while until I can get things straight. Sorry, Alex. You’re really great. Really, really great. Don’t be mad at me?”
      I raised an eyebrow, put on my best crestfallen face. “No, Karen, I’m not mad. You have to do what’s best for you. I understand.”
      She kissed me hard and said, “You’re so sweet,” before standing.
      “Need a ride home?”
      “No, one of the officers is going to drive me home. Thanks again, Alex.”
      I watched her walk away and actually felt a little sorry to see her go. I also found myself wondering how many stories she’d write about the officer bringing her home. Milo’s hand landed heavily on my shoulder. “Buck up, little man,” he said. “It never would have worked out anyway.”
      “Little man?”
      “Hey, I’m not making any judgments.” He walked out and I followed, feeling like I could sleep for a week.