"Physical and emotional," Alicia said. She could feel her anger rising; it sprang to life every time she thought about Kanessa's mother. "Anita Jackson hasn't bothered to stop by and see her once. She's had eight children. God knows where half of them are."

"Eight," Matthews said. "Christ."

"And she's pregnant again."

"Aw, no."

"Yep. You know, if you'd asked me about mandatory sterilization when I was a student, or even a resident, I probably would have taken your head off. But now… now…"

She let the thought trail off. She didn't like to go where it led. She'd followed it once into a realm of fantasies where the Anita Jacksons of the city were kidnapped, anesthetized, had their tubes tied, then returned to the streets, leaving them free to do whatever they wanted to themselves, but unable to harm any more unborn children.

"Yeah, well," he sighed. "Then, I guess you know Kanessa's not going to be able to back you up. It's going to come down to your word against Floyd Stevens's."

"Fine."

He stared at her, and it made Alicia uncomfortable. Almost as if he was studying her.

"You're a tough one."

"Where those kids are concerned? You betcha."

"Well, you'd better be. Stevens's lawyer—a guy named Barry Fineman, who you'll be hearing from soon, I'm sure—was mouthing off after the bail hearing. I heard him telling his client how he's going to demand criminal charges of assault and battery against you, then bring a civil suit for pain and suffering from the injuries you inflicted. He was also talking about going to the hospital board and having you removed from your position because—and these are his words—'her violent and unstable personality is a danger to everyone around her.'"

Alicia felt her gut tighten as she sagged back against the door. "Oh, great."

Just what she needed—more legal expenses. And a threat to her job as well. This was scary. What was happening to her life?

"But he said he'd offer to drop everything if you withdraw your child molestation charges against Stevens."

Alicia stiffened as anger shot through her spine. "Never. I want this creep on record as a pedophile so he'll never be allowed near kids again."

Matthews's smile was tight and grim, but his approving nod bolstered her.

"Good for you. But I hope you know you've got a bumpy road ahead of you on this."

Alicia knew. And she wondered if she'd make it to the end.

"Can I ask you something?" she said. "What's your interest in this?"

"Oh, a couple of things," he said, and she noticed that his cheeks reddened as he answered. "I worked Vice for a while, and these kiddie hawks were always the toughest to nail. They tend to have money and can afford good lawyers, their victims make poor witnesses, and they seem to be upright citizens, which makes it—"

"I know all that," Alicia said quickly, swallowing back the queasy feeling in her gut. "But why this particular case?"

His cheeks reddened further. "Because I like the work you're doing with those kids at the Center." A smile, almost embarrassed. "And I like the way you took after Stevens. That took guts."

Not guts, Alicia thought. I was more nutsy than gutsy.

"And finally," he continued, "I wanted to give you a heads-up on what to expect from Stevens's lawyer. So you'd be ready for him."

"Thanks," she said. "I appreciate that." And she meant it.

"And I want to let you know that you're not alone in this. The system chews up the wrong people sometimes. Even when you're right, the Barry Finemans of the world can use the courts to punish you instead of their clients. But you've got an ally. I'm going to do a little research on Floyd Stevens and see what I can come up with."

"Will that help?"

He shrugged. "You never know. Sometimes—"

The phone rang. Probably the Center.

"Excuse me," she said, and stepped past Matthews into the main room. But it wasn't Raymond's voice she heard when she lifted the handset.

"Alicia? Jack. We've got to talk."

Jack! She glanced guiltily at the detective cooling his heels in the foyer. She couldn't exactly discuss arson now.

She lowered her voice. "Um, I can't talk right now."

"Well, I wouldn't want to discuss this on the phone anyway."

"I'm not going back to that horrible Julio's again."

"I was thinking your place."

Two visitors in one day? That might be a record. She found Jack a little frightening. Would it be reckless to be alone with him here?

"Gee, I don't know."

"You going to be around?"

"Yes, but—"

"Good. Your place, then."

She gave in. "Okay, but how about… later?"

"Sure. After lunch. What's your address?"

She gave it to him, hoping she hadn't made a big mistake, then hung up and returned to the foyer.

"I've got some appointments to keep," she said, thrusting out her hand. "But I do want to thank you again, Detective Matthews. This is all very kind of you."

"Call me Will," he said, taking her hand and holding it.

Alicia pulled away and opened the door. "Okay… Will."

She felt terribly awkward, shooing him out like this, but she had a sudden, overwhelming urge to be alone.

"You'll be hearing from me," he said as he stepped outside.

"With good news, I hope."

She made a stab at a smile as she closed the door. Then let it fade as she pressed her forehead against its rough surface. Suddenly she felt exhausted.

Criminal charges… a civil suit… complaint to the hospital board. What else could go wrong?

And this visit from a police detective—what was that all about? He could have called and told her all this. Why go to all the trouble to come over and tell her in person? , Alicia groaned. "I hope he's not interested in me."

But the more she thought about it, the more she was sure that was it. Detective Matthews's personal interest in this case was just that… personal.

"Forget about it, Will," she muttered. "You don't know what you're getting into."

2.

Jack bounded up the stairs and knocked on the sturdy oak door—or more precisely, on the countless coats of paint that blunted the details of the door's carved surface. Four A was spelled out in brass at eye level, and he wondered why the "A?" This was the only apartment on the floor.

He'd pushed to meet her here because he wanted to get more of a handle on the enigmatic Dr. Alicia Clayton—treater of children with AIDS, buster of child-molester skulls, and would-be burner of ancestral homes.

The door swung in and Alicia stood there, staring at him—a little tentatively, he thought—with those steely eyes. Her black hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, giving her an almost girlish look. She was wearing dirty gardener's gloves.

"You're not breathing hard," she said.

"Well, I admit you're attractive, but I don't think—"

She smiled. "No-no. I mean, the walk up the steps. Most people are winded by the time they get here."

Winded? Why?

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Me too. Really winded. Can I come in and rest?"

She hesitated.

"I won't bite," he said. "Promise."

"Sorry," she said, and stepped aside to let him in. "It's just that you can't be too careful, you know?"

As she closed the door behind them, Jack popped the Semmerling out of his sleeve and held it out to her. She gasped when she saw the tiny pistol.

"Take it," he said. "It's loaded. The world's smallest four-shot .45. Keep it handy while I'm here."

She stared at it as if it were alive and going to bite her. "That's okay. Really."

"Sure?"

When she nodded, he tucked it into a pocket. He didn't know who was more relieved right then: Alicia, because he'd offered her the weapon, or himself, because she hadn't taken it. He didn't feature anyone else messing with his Semmerling.