Rudy was frowning by this time. "What are we going to dor?" Victor shrugged. "Depends how highly your teacher values her principles."

Rudy's expression went blank and Victor sighed. Got his looks from his side but unfortunately Rudy's brains came straight from Nora. God help the boy if he ever lost football, because he sure as hell wasn't going anywhere on the force of his intellect.

"Whaddya mean, Dad?"

"Let's be direct, Rudy. I heard her tires got slashed yesterday."

Rudy sat up straighter in the chair. "Now I had nothin' to do with that," he said quickly. "The boys, they did it all on their own. Kinda like a show of support."

"Of course. That's the 'kinda' thing that may make her change her mind-and your grade."

Rudy's eyes went narrow. "You mean, it's cool?"

"It's cool, Rudy. She's a teacher, for God's sake. How much can she realistically afford to replace? Tell your friends to keep it up, and you stay as far away from them as possible. Tell them to just keep it discreet." He leaned back in his chair with a frown. "You do understand discreet?"

Rudy gracefully rose to his feet, white teeth flashing against his tanned face in a bold grin. "It means don't get caught."

"Exactly." Victor watched his son amble toward the door, the picture of a cocky boy with the world by the tail. "Rudy?"

Rudy paused at the door, his hand on the knob. "What now?" he asked, his expression a familiar mix of teenaged sarcasm and boredom.

"Don't mention this to your mother or Josh." Nora was so unpredictable, it was hard to tell how she'd react to such a plan. Josh, well, he was predictable all right. Predictably slow-witted. Left on his own, Josh would probably lead police right to Rudy and his friends with the tire-slicing knife still in their hands. No one could believe Rudy and Josh were brothers. That they were fraternal twins was a detail Rudy would never even have to bother to deny should it ever come up. It never would, if Victor had anything to do about it. Josh had the misfortune to take his brains and his looks and his athletic capability from Nora's side of the family. Josh had once shown promise as having some measure of intelligence, but even that seemed to evaporate at the onset of puberty. Now he had trouble remembering his own name most days. It was better to keep him away from anything of any importance whatsoever.

r

Rudy rolled his eyes in disgust. "Like I'd let that retard anywhere near me. I don't think so." But when he pulled open the door, Josh stumbled in, red-faced and stuttering an apology.

Victor tightened his fists on top of his desk. Well, fuck. He might as well have had Nora in the room, too, because Josh would go straight to her when this conversation was over. Unless Josh somehow became locked in the root cellar… for the rest of his life. The idea unfortunately was only a fantasy-a recurring fantasy with immeasurable appeal. "Well, Josh? What do you want?"

Josh straightened and tried for dignity. And of course failed. "It's wrong," he said, haltingly. "She's a nice lady, Dr. Marshall."

Rudy snorted. "So nice she's ruining my chances to be recruited by that college scout."

To Victor's surprise, Josh met his eyes with a full stare. "Rudy failed. He should have to follow the rules like everybody else." Then grunted in pain when Rudy shoved him up against the door frame, one strong hand around Josh's throat, lifting Josh an inch off the ground.

"I don't follow the same rules, turd," Rudy ground out. "Remember that, if you can."

Josh gasped for air and Victor said mildly, "Let him go, Rudy."

Rudy abruptly stepped back, threw Josh a baleful glare, then stalked from the room. Josh sagged back against the door frame, huffing and puffing.

"Don't be stupid, Josh," Victor said softly and went back to his ledgers.

Saturday, October I, 9:30 P.M.

Steven closed the door to Interview Two behind him and came to a stop next to ADA Liz Johnson who looked like she'd been thoroughly enjoying herself. "Sorry I had to drag you all the way down here for nothing, Liz," he said and she grinned.

"Don't be sorry. Watching you finesse the sorry piece of shit Gerald Porter was worth my gas money. I think the real fireworks will happen when the Porters get young Gerald home tonight."

Steven leaned against the glass, on the other side of which Mr. Porter was ominously promising the sorry piece of shit Gerald that he'd pay for his sins.

"Too bad the only thing we can really get him for is carrying an illegal ID," he said glumly. "The bar where I found him conveniently hadn't noticed their sixteen-year-old patron was carrying the ID of a forty-five-year-old Hispanic man."

Liz patted his shoulder as she had on countless occasions before. "Well, Mrs. Porter seems to have been a mite put off by the fact Gerald dumped Samantha because she wouldn't sleep with him. I think he'll be sufficiently punished."

"But I wanted a murder suspect," Steven grumbled. "Not a candidate for asshole of the year."

"You'll get one, honey. Come on, I'll buy you a beer."

Steven smiled and pecked her cheek. "You're a good woman, Liz. Why hasn't some man snatched you up?"

Liz shrugged into her jacket. "Well for starters, I don't have a fairy god-aunt like Helen to handpick me a man. And for finishers, I work too damn much."

Steven sighed. "Let's make that two beers."

Saturday, October I, 10:30 P.M.

"Good boy." Jenna slipped the leash off Jim's collar and patted him on the head, grateful she could finally sit down. Her ankle throbbed, her head ached, and her stomach burned. Damn memorial dinners with sloppy joes from a can. She eased her body into the sofa and sighed as her tense muscles relaxed. A hot tub would be better, but that would mean getting up.

The phone jingled and Jenna glared at it. II it was Allison… But on the off chance it was only a telemarketer trying to put himself through college she made her voice pleasant.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Jen, how did it go?" It was Casey and she was yelling over the din of a noisy band.

"Okay, I guess. My bottle of Turns is all gone."

Casey chuckled. "Poor baby. So what feast did Allison serve tonight?"

Jenna winced, her stomach remembering all too well. "Sloppy joes. It's a family tradition."

Casey made a rude noise. "That family is weird, Jen. They're like the Munsters and Charlie's the only normal one, like… what was her name again? The blond one?"

Jenna smiled, accustomed to Casey's quicksilver topic shifts. "Marilyn."

"Oh, yeah. Well, now that Allison's dinner is done, why don't you come down to Jazzie's? The band is gieat."

"Can't. My foot is killing me."

"What happened to your foot?" Casey shouted above the din.

Knowing Casey would hear about her tires soon enough, Jenna told her the story, as briefly as possible, again keeping the threatening note to herself. Casey would have a conniption over that. "Steven brought me home and that was all there was to it," she finished.

"Steven?" Casey asked and Jenna felt her face heat. "Who's Steven?"

"Nobody," Jenna said, but it was too late. Casey would never let it go. "He's Brad's father."

"Hmm."

"What does that mean, hmm?" Jenna gritted, her jaw clenching.

"It means nothing."

"It was nothing," Jenna insisted, but the denial sounded pathetic even to her own ears.

"Just like your Steven is nobody," Casey added, her tone one of patronizing amusement.

Your Steven. Too bad the name conjured the face. Too bad it was such a very nice face. "Go back to your band, Casey," Jenna growled.

Casey laughed out loud. "Whatever you say, Jen. I'll be by tonight after my date and you can tell me all about it."