She ran.

Nolan saw the shadow looming up in his periphery, and he ducked away and slashed backward as he turned. Seeing the glint of the knife, he came down with a chop on the wrist above it, and it clattered away on the sidewalk. He no longer knew whether he was fighting the leader or the second guy, but it didn't matter. Close enough to smell him now, he lifted a knee into the man's groin and when he doubled over, followed it with a rabbit punch to the man's neck. Knowing that he'd killed him, as much by the way he fell as anything, he saw that there was still another knife in the equation. The other man swung a wide broadside at him and Nolan stepped back, let it pass harmlessly in front of him, then stepped inside and delivered a flat-hand uppercut to the base of man's nose, driving the cartilage back into the brain. The body straightened for an instant before crumpling back to the street.

Looking back at the first man whose knee he'd shattered, Nolan realized that while he was no longer a threat, he was a witness. And witnesses, Nolan firmly believed, were bad luck. A brief scan of his surroundings confirmed that there were no others-none of the homeless were huddling in doorways on this block. The man was still down, moving on the ground, pushing himself in a crablike fashion back and away from the fight. It took Nolan only a few steps, a couple of seconds, to get back next to him.

"Dude," he said. He was breathing hard, but his voice was almost apologetic, devoid of any emotion. "This was a bad idea. You got to stop this shit. Your leg okay? Can you get up? You ought to get that looked at. Here, let me help you."

The young man hesitated for a minute, but then took Nolan's outstretched hand and allowed himself to begin to be lifted. But as soon as he had the leverage he needed, Nolan reached his other hand around the man's neck, found his chin, and gave it a vicious snap back and sideways. Letting this last body fall back to the sidewalk, Nolan looked down at the carnage he'd wreaked. Satisfied, he broke back up the street at a jog, jumped over the fallen leader, and in a couple of dozen steps was where Tara had started the car and already maneuvered it out from the curb, ready to make a getaway. He knocked on the car's trunk as he was going around the back of it and then opened the passenger door and jumped in, breathless. "Are you okay?" he asked her. "Can you drive?"

She was holding the wheel, shivering, and managed a nod.

"Hit it, then. Now!"

TARA DROVE IN SILENCE for about six blocks before she pulled over and stopped the car. "I don't think I can drive anymore," she said.

"I'll take it."

She looked over at him for the first time since he'd gotten in with her. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

"What happened to them?"

"I don't know. They got tangled up in each other and that must have slowed them down enough to give me a minute to come running."

After a minute, she said, "We could have been killed, couldn't we?"

"I don't know about that. I think maybe they were trying to feel us out, that's all. They didn't have guns. They probably would have just taken our money and other stuff if we would have let them."

She sat still and allowed the silence to gather there in the confined space. Then, letting out a staggered breath, she opened the car door and got out. Nolan took the cue and did the same on his side, waiting for her to get in the passenger seat before he closed the door behind her. Behind the wheel, he belted up and got back into traffic.

"God," she said after a while. "You're sure you're all right? I can't believe that just happened. It was so fast. Just suddenly they were there."

"Yeah. That's how it happens." He glanced across at her. "I shouldn't have parked there. I should have known better. I wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry. It wasn't your fault. In fact, if you hadn't been there…"

But he shook his head. "Then you wouldn't have been there. You would have parked at the valet station like any other thinking human being."

"Well, still…" She hugged her arms to herself. "God, I just can't stop shaking."

"It's okay," he said. "It's just adrenaline." He took his right hand off the wheel and held it out. "If it'll help," he said, "here's a hand you can hold."

It took her a moment to decide. She took in a breath and let it out, then reached over and put her hand in his, bringing both hands over the gear-shift and into her lap, then covering them with her other hand. "Thank you," she said. "That helps."

THERE WAS NO ARGUMENT about whether he should walk with her to her door. She opened it, flicked on the inside light, and turned back toward him, her face reflecting her turmoil. Breaking a weak, somehow apologetic smile, she started to raise her hand then let it fall. "I was going to say, 'Thank you, I had a good time,' but"-she met his eyes-"I'm a little confused right now. Is that all right?"

"That's fine," Nolan said.

"I'm going to read Evan's letters."

"As well you should."

"I don't want you to think I'm being ungrateful."

"Why would I think that?"

"Well, for saving my life and everything. For being a warrior."

That brought the trace of a smile. "I wondered if that had occurred to you. But you don't owe me anything, Tara, and certainly nothing for that." He gently chucked her chin with his index finger. "Don't you worry about me. I'm fine. You've just had a trauma you're going to need to process. It's okay. You're home now. Have a good night." And with that, he came forward, quickly kissed her cheek, and backed away. "Close the door," he said. "That's an order."

UNABLE TO SLEEP, she finally got to the letters.

They were from Evan's heart and soul. The way she remembered him came through loud and clear in every one-mostly chatty and irreverent, but then always there with the real stuff at the end. He missed her. He loved her and wanted them to try again when he got home.

When.

But it wasn't when, she knew. It was if. There was no certainty that he'd come back alive or in one piece. She couldn't shake the idea that even as she was reading his words, he might already be dead. She wasn't about to commit to him again and then have him die over there. There would be no commitment, she knew, until they were back together in person, until these philosophical issues had been resolved one way or the other. To give him hope before that would just be counterproductive and stupid.

Tara was reading in her bed with blankets over her, wearing pajamas and her warmest bathrobe against her continued shivering, even though it was a balmy night in Redwood City. Finally, she put down the latest letter-it was the fifth or sixth one she'd read-and closed her eyes, trying to picture the Evan she had known in her mind, trying to dredge up a feeling from the time when she'd thought they were the perfect couple, that they'd marry and have a family and a wonderful life together. It wasn't coming easy.

Part of her, perhaps most of her, still believed that she loved him, that he would come home from this war and they'd start over and work out all the issues. But he'd been gone now for several months and she'd spent the time putting him behind her. When he came back-if he came back-they'd see where they were. She thought that if she and Evan were in fact the perfect couple, if they were meant to be together, then nothing could keep them apart. But in the meanwhile she had her life and her principles. She wasn't going to remain in a relationship where those principles were compromised from the beginning.