A few days later she found a message from Gabe in her e-mail in box. He had tracked down her e-mail address, using an Internet service that maintained a searchable database of Web users. He said he'd found her interesting and he wanted to chat with her via e-mail, if that was all right.

It seemed kind of weird. The guy was way older than she was. In his late thirties, maybe forty. Ancient! On the other hand, there was no harm in answering his e-mail. And at least he wasn't some loser, like the high school guys who were usually interested in her.

So she had begun a correspondence with Gabe. Topics of discussion were general at first. She talked about the boys at school who tried to impress her with their money or their cars. He talked about the pimps and dealers on the street who devoted their lives to the acquisition of material goods. They agreed that such superficial concerns only warped a person's perspective. What mattered was not what a person owned, but who that person was. Most people didn't understand this. They were shallow. She and Gabe connected on a deeper level.

After a month he asked if she would meet him for coffee at the Starbucks near her school. She said yes. And she still didn't tell her mom. Gabe was about as old as her father, after all. Her mom was conventional enough to care about stuff like that. Anyway, it was just coffee.

Then it was a kiss on a side street by Gabe's parked car, then a hectic half hour in the backseat when he stroked her breasts with his long, gentle fingers. A month ago it was a car ride to a studio apartment in the Wilshire district, near the tar pits, where he had unfolded the sofa to make a bed, and she had given herself to him.

It was her first time, and she wasn't sure she'd been very good at it, but in the weeks since, she had learned. She had let him teach her what men liked.

They never spoke of the future. She didn't know if there was a future for them. She was satisfied just to give him what he needed

Footsteps downstairs. "Meg?"

Her mom had come home.

Quickly Meg straightened the bedsheets and threw on her clothes. She met her mother coming up the stairs. "'Hey."

"There you are. You have dinner yet?"

"Uh, no, not yet." She wondered what had happened to the beer bottle Gabe had taken from the fridge. Was it still in the kitchen? Would her mom see it?

"It's nearly seven o'clock. You have to be at Jamie's in a half hour, remember?"

"Right. Sorry. I'll fix dinner now."

"No, I'll do it."

Meg didn't want her mom going into the kitchen. "Let me. You look tired."

"You noticed." Robin blew a stray hair away from her face. "Okay. The Chinese food is on the top shelf of the fridge."

"You want me to make some for you?"

"No, I already ate."

"Four-course meal at a five-star restaurant?"

"Burger at a coffee shop."

"Even better."

Meg hurried down the stairs, into the kitchen. A quick search proved that the beer bottle wasn't there. Gabe must have taken it when he left. He was in law enforcement. He knew better than to leave evidence at a scene.

But in the trash she found the bottle cap, clearly visible on top of a pile of discarded paper napkins. It was always the little things that got people caught.

She buried the bottle cap deeper in the garbage, then set to work microwaving dinner. Her hands, she noticed, were shaking. She felt like a criminal, which was wrong, really wrong. She had done nothing to be ashamed of. What was between her and Gabe amp; it was good; it was right. She was protecting Robin, that's all, because Robin couldn't handle it. Robin wouldn't understand.

No one would understand.

"I'll pick you up at ten," Robin said as she cleaned up after Meg's hurried dinner.

Meg showed her the pouty face she used when she was being treated unfairly. "I can get a ride from Jamie's sister. She's got her license now."

"Very reassuring. I'll be there at ten."

"You know, it's bad enough being dropped off by your mother. But being picked up by her"

"Just think of me as your personal chauffeur. So why a party on a Monday night?"

"It's not a party. It's a study group for lit class."

"Sounds very academic."

"You know me, the junior scholar."

"Any boys participating in this educational effort?"

"Boys? Yuck. Seriously, no Y-chromosome types are allowed. It's a strictly double-X affair."

"You might want to rephrase that."

"What I'm saying is, it's a girl fest. Who knows, there might even be pillow fights."

"So you, uh, you're still not seeing anybody?"

"I guess you'd know if I were."

"It wouldn't kill you to be sociable with some of the boys in your class."

"I'm not interested in them. They're all so immature. They're just, you know, kids."

You're a kid, too, Robin thought, but she said nothing.

"Hey," Meg added with a glance at the clock, "we'd better take off, or I'll be late."

"I just need to close the windows so I can set the alarm."

"Why bother? It's a five-minute ride. Ten-minute round trip."

"Ten minutes is long enough for someone to break in." Someone like Brand.

Meg shook her head. "Wow. You weren't like this in Santa Barbara. You spend way too much time around criminals. It's making you crazy."

"Thanks for the diagnosis."

They set the alarm, locked up, and descended to the condo building's underground garage. Meg stopped short when she saw the Saab. "Oh, my God. Were you in an accident?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"I forgot." This excuse, lame was it was, happened to be true. With everything else that had taken place today, the damage to the car had slipped her mind.

"You forgot? What happened to it?"

"Vandals," Robin lied. "They broke the windows while I was at work."

"You mean they did this in the parking lot behind your building?"

"Afraid so."

Meg pondered the damage before reaching a decision. "I can't be seen in this car. It's a wreck."

"Think of it as retro."

"Mom, seriously amp;"

Robin wanted to ask Meg if she was really that worried about what her friends would think, but of course she knew the answer. Friends were your whole world when you were in high school.

"I'll park behind a tree," she said. "They'll never even see me."

"You swear?"

"Cross my heart and hope to never eat pizza again."

Tentatively Meg got into the car, treating it as if it were a giant bear trap poised to spring shut. Robin slid behind the wheel.

"You're going to get this fixed, right?" Meg pressed.

"No, I was planning to leave it this way. Gives the car some character, don't you think?"

Meg stared at her, aghast, then relaxed a little. "Oh, you're joking."

Robin started the engine. "What gave it away?"

"You must've been pissed when you saw the damage."

"Don't say pissed."

"Ticked off. Riled. Irked."

"That's better."

They pulled onto the street, heading north to Wilshire. The sun was lowering. Sunset was at seven-forty-five, twenty minutes from now.

"When did you start going all Miss Manners on me?" Meg asked.

"I've always been Miss Manners. Miss Manners is my alter ego."

"Right."

"Have you ever seen me eat with the wrong fork?"

"I've seen you eat takeout straight from the container with a plastic spork. I don't picture Miss Manners doing that."

"She does it. Just not in public." Robin turned right on Wilshire, blending into a smooth stream of traffic.

"So amp; did you see Justin Gray today?" Meg asked.

Robin frowned. The question had come out of nowhere. "Why ask about him?"

"Just curious."

"He's coming tomorrow. You know that. Tuesdays and Thursdays."