"They annoyed me," Matt said.

"Why did they annoy you?"

"They thought I had kidnapped an innocent maiden."

"You don't know any innocent maidens. There may not be an innocent maiden over the age of eleven in Philadelphia. Kidnapped? What the hell are you talking about, Matt? Try starting at the beginning."

"This is really the first time you're hearing this?" Matt asked.

Matthews held up his hands in a gesture of innocence.

"Somewhat reluctantly, I will take you at your word," Matt said, and told him of his encounter with Special Agents Leibowitz and Jernigan.

"We don't have any agents by those names in our of fice, Matt," Matthews said when Matt had finished. "Are you sure they were FBI agents? Not Treasury, or Secret Ser-"

"They had FBI credentials," Matt shut him off. "Which they shoved close enough under my nose for me to take a good look."

"I don't understand this at all," Matthews said. "And your lady friend was not kidnapped at all?"

"How do you get 'kidnapped at all'? Wouldn't that be like being a little pregnant?"

Matthews chuckled.

"Have you told anyone else about this?" he asked. "Wohl, for example?"

"Not a soul. And especially not Wohl. That would have triggered his 'we must be kind to the FBI' speech."

"I have no idea-"

"Let's get a table and eat," Matt said. "I'm starved. And when I'm finished, I have another couple of hours' work at the Roundhouse, which means I better not have another drink, even if the FBI is paying for it."

"What are you doing?"

"Is that you or the FBI asking?"

"Me."

"Checking some personnel records. It doesn't make me feel like Sherlock Holmes, but it's a dirty job that someone has to do."

Matthews chuckled.

"May I tell Mr. Davis that you have taken his kind offer of employment under consideration?"

"I don't give a damn what you tell him," Matt said. "Let's eat."

Cynthia Longwood took a long time to wake up, and when she did, she had no idea at all where she was. The room was dark.

She became aware first that she was wearing one of those awful hospital gowns that tie down the back and let your fanny hang out. And then, quickly, she realized that she was in a narrow hospital bed with chrome rails to keep you from falling out; and put that together to understand that she was in a hospital room.

She sat up-her muscles seemed stiff and she didn't seem to have much strength-and saw the glow of a cigarette. Someone was in the room with her.

Who? A nurse?

Cynthia let herself fall back on the bed.

The last thing she remembered clearly was being in her own room in Bala Cynwyd. Dr. Seaburg had been there.

Mother called him when I couldn't stop crying.

And he gave me something, a pill. A pill. A pill and then a shot. And told me it would let me sleep.

And then I was in a car, and going downtown…

They must have brought me here.

Dr. Seaburg was here, too. He had some other doctor with him. A nice old man.

My God, what did he give me? I can't seem to think, and I feel like I just swam across the Atlantic Ocean!

"Are you supposed to be doing that?" Cynthia challenged.

"Doing what?" a female voice near the cigarette glow asked.

"Smoking in here?"

"I didn't think anyone would notice. I'll put it out."

"No!" Cynthia said. "I don't mind. I could use one myself."

A body appeared at the bedside. A female body. Extending a lit cigarette.

"Will you settle for a puff on this?" she asked. "I don't want you falling asleep again with a lit cigarette."

Cynthia had trouble finding the hand holding the cigarette. But finally she got the cigarette to her lips and took a puff.

"You're right," the woman said. "I shouldn't be smoking in here. But it's been a long day, and I'm a nice girl, and I figured, what the hell?"

Cynthia chuckled and took another puff on the cigarette, and in its glow saw that the woman was young, and wore a simple cotton blouse and a skirt, with a sweater over her shoulders.

"Would you like something to drink?" the young woman asked. "There's water and 7-Up."

"Oh, yes, please, 7-Up," Cynthia said.

"Would it bother you if I put the lights on?" the young woman said. "I don't want to spill 7-Up all over you."

"Go ahead," Cynthia said. "Who are you?"

"My name is Amy Payne."

"You're a nurse?"

"No."

"I was wondering where your uniform was," Cynthia said.

The lights came on, painfully bright. It took what seemed to be a long time for her eyes to adjust to them.

When she finally had everything in focus, she saw that Amy-attractive, but no real beauty-was extending a paper cup to her.

Cynthia quickly drank it all, and held out the cup for a refill.

"If you promise not to gulp it down the way you did that one," Amy Payne said. "I don't want you to toss your cookies."

Cynthia chuckled. She liked this woman.

"Funny, that sounded like a nurse talking," she said. "But okay. I promise."

"Not to gulp? Girl Scout's honor?"

"I said I promised," Cynthia said, and added: "Actually, I was a Girl Scout."

"So was I. I hated it."

"Me, too," Cynthia said.

Amy gave her another glass of 7-Up. Cynthia took a sip.

"If you're not a nurse, what are you doing in here?" she asked.

"Actually, I'm a doctor."

"You're putting me on."

"Girl Scout's honor," Amy said.

"I'll be damned."

"Your doctor, if you'd like. Both Dr. Seaburg and Dr. Stein think that might be a good idea."

"Dr. Stein?"

"Little fat fellow. Looks like Santa Claus with a shave. Talks funny."

Cynthia giggled when the description called up the mental image of the doctor who had been with Dr. Seaburg.

"Why do Drs. Seaburg and Stein think it would be a good idea if you were my doctor?"

"I don't know about you, but I always have trouble talking about some things-the female reproductive apparatus, for example, or sex, generally-with a man. With another woman, provided she's not old enough to be my grandmother, it's much easier."

"What makes you think I would want to talk to you? About sex or anything else?"

"I don't know if you would want to or not," Amy said.

"You're a shrink, right?"

"Right. A pretty good one, as a matter of fact."

"You don't look like a shrink."

"Dr. Stein looks like what most people think of when they hear the word 'shrink,' " Amy said. "Wise and kind, et cetera. Would you rather talk to him?"

"I don't really want to talk to anybody."

"You're going to have to talk to somebody, and I think you know that," Amy said. "Maybe I could help. Your call."

"I really don't want to talk to Dr. Seaburg, or the other one."

"Can I take that as a 'yes'? Do you want to give it a shot, see if I can help?"

"God, I don't know. I'm so damned confused."

"When you're damned confused is usually a pretty good time to talk to a shrink," Amy said.

"Let me think about it," Cynthia said.

"Counteroffer," Amy said. "Give me a temporary appointment as your physician until, say, half past eight in the morning."

"Why?"

"Under those circumstances, I can prescribe medicine and offer advice."

"If you were my physician, what medicine would you prescribe?"

"None. No more sedatives. I don't like the side effects-what they gave you really makes you feel like a medicine ball at the end of a long game-and I don't think it's indicated."

"You just have been appointed my temporary physician, " Cynthia said. "What's the advice?"

"Two things. First, when they come in here in the morning and ask you how you want your eggs, say 'poached' or 'soft-boiled.' What they do to fried and scrambled eggs around here is obscene."

Cynthia giggled.

"And second?"

"Try to trust me. Whatever's wrong, whatever happened, we can deal with it."