The trust fund was all set up, a massive insurance annuity that would continue paying every possible expense both Maria and Ricardo could possibly incur for the rest of their lives. Though Blake was certain that Maria didn't yet understand the full extent of her affluence, he was also certain that she would never abuse it. Indeed, after his initial shock at the instructions Jerry Harris had issued on his first day at work, Blake had come to believe that Ted Thornton was correct in his policy, for without the aid ofTarrenTech, Maria Ramirez would have had no resources at all. And now Maria had a trust fund and nothing to worry about in the future except the welfare of her son.

If her son lived.

But when he'd gotten to theHarrises ', Jerry made no mention of the Ramirez family, or anything else pertaining to business. Instead, he seemed more interested in how the Tanners were adjusting to Silverdale. And now, finally, in answer to Blake's question, Jerry mixed them each a third drink and got to the point.

"I've been thinking about Mark," he said.

Blake's brows arched questioningly.

"I've been wondering if you've had a chance to look over what we're doing at Rocky Mountain High," Jerry went on, "the sports center."

Blake shrugged noncommittally. "Other than the fact that we fund a lot of it, I don't know that much about it yet."

"It's sort of an experimental camp," Jerry told him. "Martin Ames has some interesting ideas about athletic training, and we've been letting him put them into practice." He grinned, his eyes sparkling. "And since you've been going to the football games, you can see how well it's working out. In fact," he went on, "it's exceeding all our expectations."

Blake sat forward in his chair. "What's the deal?" he asked. "What's he doing?"

"Synthetic vitamins," Jerry replied. "He's been finding a lot of links between physical development and certain vitamin complexes, and for the last few years he's been developing a series of new compounds that are helping us compensate for a lot of genetic deficiencies." He paused a moment. "Such as Robb's asthma, for instance."

The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment before their import sank into Blake. "You mean it wasn't just the change of climate and good, clean mountain air that cleared it up," he said.

Jerry shook his head. "I wish it had been that simple. But it wasn't. Ames found all kinds of things wrong with Robb. It wasn't just the asthma-he was having some problems with his bones that might have been precancerous conditions, and ever since he was a baby, he'd been a little slow to develop. Ames's theory was that it was all linked to the way Robb's body handled certain vitamins." He smiled. "And, as I'm sure you've noticed, all that's been taken care of."

The implication was clear, and Blake didn't need Jerry to spell it out for him. "But it's a sports center," he said, "and you know how Mark feels about sports."

Now it was Jerry Harris who looked surprised. "Isn't that you and Mark I see out on the field every Sunday afternoon? Looks to me like he might be changing."

Blake shrugged with careful indifference, unwilling to expose even to Jerry Harris his hopes that perhaps Mark would, after all, follow in his own footsteps. "He's a bit small for the team here, don't you think? I mean, all our guys are so big, they'd run right over Mark."

"Exactly," Jerry replied, setting his glass down. "And I know it's really none of my business, but I've been talking to Marty Ames about Mark-the rheumatic fever and all that. I even went so far as to get Mark's medical records sent to him."

Blake frowned. "Aside from the fact that I thought medical records were supposed to be confidential, why would you want to do that?"

"Because I wanted to get Marty's opinion before I talked to you. I didn't want to get your hopes up, then not have it amount to anything."

Blake put his own drink aside. "All right," he said. "So, just for the sake of discussion, what did he say?"

Jerry Harris's eyes met his. "He thinks he can help Mark. He doesn't think Mark's problems from the rheumatic fever have to be permanent, and he thinks he can bring Mark's growth rate back up to normal."

Blake's face took on a quizzical expression. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely," Jerry replied. "He's come up with a variant of the same vitamin complex Robb was treated with, and he's ninety percent certain it will be effective with Mark."

Blake gazed at his friend. None of what he was saying made sense. If there really was such a complex, he and Sharon would have heard of it by now. Unless…

"Are you telling me you want me to let somebody use an experimental drug on Mark?" he asked.

Harris shook his head as if he'd been expecting the question. "It's hardly experimental," he said. "And it has nothing to do with drugs, either. It's just a new way of combining certain vitamins, allowing the body to achieve its full potential. All the vitamins do is act as a sort of trigger, releasing hormones that are already present, but not fully functional." Reading the doubt in Blake's eyes, he went on: "Do you really think I'd let Ames give my own son a compound I didn't have full faith in? He's my son, Blake, not a guinea pig."

"Well, I don't know," Blake replied. "But it's certainly something to think about. And I'd like to see all the material on it." He grinned a little self-consciously. "I'm no doctor, but after all Mark's problems, I can tell you I know more about growth problems than the average layman."

"Just like Elaine and I knew everything there was to know about asthma," Harris agreed. "You'll have all the material on your desk Monday morning. Plus, you might want to go out and talk to Ames about Mark. Just listen to him, then make up your own mind."

A few minutes later the talk turned to other things, but Blake barely listened, for his mind kept going back over what Harris had told him.

And he remembered the sounds he'd heard emanating from Mark's room every morning for the last few weeks.

The sound of Mark's labored breathing as he struggled with his push-ups and sit-ups, and the soft grunts that broke from the boy's throat as he worked with Blake's own set of weights.

If there were really a way to help him…

Maybe he wouldn't wait until Monday. Maybe he'd go to the office tomorrow and take a look at Ames's material.

It was a little after ten-thirty when Linda and Mark left the little café next to the drugstore and started home. They still had plenty of time for Mark to walk Linda to theHarrises ' without missing his eleven o'clock curfew, but they walked quickly. A breeze had come up, and Mark turned his collar up as the chill of the night made his cheeks tingle.

"I still don't think Jeff's mad at you," he heard Linda say as she tucked her hand into his jacket pocket and meshed her fingers with his own. "He didn't say anything, did he?"

"He didn't have time," Mark told her, not for the first time. "He was running. But I'm telling you, the look on his face almost scared the hell out of me. Wait till Monday, when I develop the film. You'll see."

They turned the corner off Colorado Street. There, the night seemed darker, with only a few pools of yellow light dotting the sidewalk ahead. Instinctively, Jeff glanced around, then felt foolish. This was Silverdale, he told himself as they walked on, not San Francisco, or even San Marcos. But after they'd walked nearly two blocks, a figure stepped out from behind a bush up ahead.

Linda and Mark stopped, startled but not yet frightened.

The figure took a step toward them.

"H-Hello?" Mark asked.

The looming figure said nothing, but as it came closer, both Linda and Mark suddenly knew who it was.

Jeff?" Linda asked. "Is that you?"

Still there was no reply, then the figure stepped into one of the pools of light beneath a streetlamp and Linda and Mark could see Jeff's face clearly.