I did not respond.

I was thinking about what Wesley had said. A political connection. Or an assailant who went through a lot of dry runs. Assuming that the couple had not chosen to disappear, then I did not see how the outcome could be anything but tragic.

Abby put the car in gear.

It wasn't until we were on the Interstate and she was setting the cruise control that she spoke again. "You think they're dead, don't you?"

"Are you asking for a quote?"

"No, Kay. I'm not asking for a quote. You want to know the truth? Right now I don't give a damn about this story. I just want to know what the hell's going on."

"Because you're worried about yourself."

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Yes. If I thought my phones were tapped, that I was being tailed, I would be worried, Abby. And speaking of worried, it's late. You're exhausted. It's ridiculous for you to drive back to Washington tonight."

She glanced over at me.

"I've got plenty of room. You can head out first thing in the morning."

"Only if you've got an extra toothbrush, something 1 can sleep in, and don't mind if I pillage your bar."

Leaning back in the seat, I shut my eyes and muttered, "You can get drunk, if you want. In fact, I might just join you."

When we walked into my house at midnight, the telephone started ringing, and I answered it before my machine could.

"Kay? " At first, the voice did not register because I was not expecting it. Then my heart began to pound.

"Hello, Mark," I said.

"I'm sorry to call so late - " I could not keep the tension out of my voice as I interrupted. "I have company. I'm sure you remember my mentioning my friend Abby Turnbull, with the Post? She's here staying the night. We've been having a wonderful time catching up."

Mark did not respond. After a pause, he said, "Maybe it would be easier for you to call me, when it suits."

When I hung up, Abby was staring at me, startled by my obvious distress.

"Who in God's name was that, Kay?"

My first months at Georgetown I was so overwhelmed by law school and feelings of alienation that I kept my own counsel and distance from others. I was already an M.D., a middle-class Italian from Miami with very little exposure to the finer things in life. Suddenly I found myself cast among the brilliant and beautiful, and though I am not ashamed of my heritage, I felt socially common.

Mark James was one of the privileged, a tall, graceful figure, self-assured and self-contained. I was aware of him long before I knew his name. We first met in the law library between dimly lit shelves of books, and I will never forget his intense green eyes as we began to discus some tort I cannot recall. We ended up drinking coffee in a bar and talking until early in the morning. After that we saw each other almost every day. For a year we did not sleep, it seemed, for even when we slept together our lovemaking did not permit many, hours of rest. No matter how much we got of each other it was never enough, and foolishly, typically, I was convinced we would be together forever. I refused to accept the chill of disappointment that settled over the our relationship during our second year. When I graduated wearing someone else's engagement ring, I had convinced myself that I had gotten over Mark, until he mysteriously reappeared not so long ago.

"Maybe Tony was a safe harbor," Abby considered, referring to my ex-husband as we drank Cognac in my kitchen.

"Tony was practical," I replied. "Or so it seemed at first."

"Makes sense. I've done it before in my own pathetic love life."

She reached for her snifter. "I'll have so passionate fling, and God knows there have been few and they never last long. But when it ends, I'm like a wounded soldier limping home. I wind up in the arms of some guy with the charisma of a slug who promises to take care of me.

"That's the fairy tale."

"Right out of Grimm's," she agreed, bitterly. "They say they'll take care of you, but what they mean is they want you to be there fixing dinner and washing their shorts."

"You've just described Tony to a T," I said.

"What ever happened to him?"

"I haven't talked to him in too many years to count."

"People at least ought to be friends."

"He didn't want to be friends," I said.

"Do you still think about him?"

"You can't live six years with somebody and not think about him. That doesn't mean I want to be with Tony. But a part of me will always care about him, hope he's doing well."

"Were you in love with him when you got married?"

"I thought I was."

"Maybe so," Abby said. "But it sounds to me as if you never stopped loving Mark."

I refilled our glasses. Both of us were going to feel like hell in the morning.

"I find it incredible that you got together again after so many years," she went on. "And no matter what's happened, I suspect Mark has never stopped loving you, either."

When he came back into my life, it was as if we had lived in foreign countries during our years apart, the languages of our pasts indecipherable to each other. We communicated openly only in the dark. He did tell me he had married and his wife had been killed in an automobile accident.

I later found out he had forsaken his law practice and signed on with the FBI. When we were together it was euphoric, the most wonderful day I had known since our first year at Georgetown. Of course, it did not last. History has a mean habit of repeating itself.

"I don't suppose it's his fault he was transferred to Denver," Abby was saying.

"He made a choice," I said. "And so did I" "You didn't want to go with him?"

"I'm the reason he requested the assignment, Abby. He wanted a separation."

"So he moves across the country? That's rather extreme."

"When people are angry, their behavior can be extreme. They can make big mistakes."

"And he's probably too stubborn to admit he made a mistake," she said.

"He's stubborn, I'm stubborn. Neither of us win any prizes for our skills in compromising. I have my career and he has his. He was in Quantico and I was here. That got old fast, and I had no intention of leaving Richmond and he had no intention of moving to Richmond. Then he started contemplating going back on the street, transferring to a field office somewhere or taking a position at Headquarters in D.C. On and on it went, until it seem that all we did was fight."

I paused, groping to explain: what would never be clear. "Maybe I'm just set in my "You can't be with someone and continue to live you always did, Kay."

How many times had Mark and I said that to each other? It got to where we rarely said anything new.

"Is maintaining your autonomy worth the price you're paying, the price both of you are paying?"

There were days when I was no longer so sure, but I did not tell Abby this.

She lit a cigarette and reached for the bottle of Cognac.

"Did the two of you ever try counseling?"

"No."

What I told her was not entirely true. Mark and I had never gone to counseling, but I had gone alone and was still seeing a psychiatrist, though infrequently now.

"Does he know Benton Wesley?"

Abby asked.

"Of course. Benton trained Mark in the Academy long before I came to Virginia," I replied. "They're very good friends."

"What's Mark working on-in Denver?"

"I have no idea. Some special assignment."

"Is he aware of the cases here? The couples?"

"I would assume so."

Pausing, I asked, "Why?"

"I don't know. But be careful what you say to Mark."

"Tonight was the first time he's called in months. Obviously, I say very tittle to him."

She got up and I led her to her room.

As I gave her a gown and showed her the bath, she went on, the effects of the Cognac becoming apparent, "He'll call again. Or you're going to call him. So be careful."