'What can Wes do?'

'Wes is a lawyer. He can get through.'

'He's not anymore.'

'Sure he is. He knows the ropes. He can do it.'

'Will he?'

'Sure. I'm sure he will.'

'And then?'

Then at least I figure I've got a chance. I just didn't do this, Mel, you know.'

She reached across and laid a hand on his, pulled it away. She wasn't pushing anything. She was helping him. He didn't need complications. 'I do know. I'm just saying I think it's a big risk, that's all.'

He shrugged. 'At this point, everything's a risk. This whole thing's gotten so out of hand. And then, if I run… anyway, I don't want to run.'

'It would look like an admission that you'd done it?'

'Yeah, that, I guess. But more because it just feels wrong. I mean, I know the truth. I know what happened. I was there, Mel.

And that's got to come out. What really happened. It's not just me.'

'And you think Wes Farrell is the man who's going to get you in a position to clear yourself?'

'I think Wes Farrell's a pretty good human being for a lawyer.'

She couldn't help herself. 'A lawyer who drinks too much and has a pretty low view of life, including his own.'

Kevin almost snapped back but held himself. This wasn't the time to get into it with her. She was there for him now. What was more important than that? He took her right hand from the steering wheel and held it on the seat between them. She looked down at it, smiled and took his hand firmly.

'Not here,' Kevin said.

They had swung by Wes Farrell's place and the 'pretty good human being for a lawyer' still wasn't there. Melanie was of the opinion, and Kevin couldn't deny it outright, that he was out getting drunk someplace. He had tried joking her out of it – 'doesn't mean Wes isn't a nice person' – but Melanie wasn't much in the mood for jokes, and, truth be told and though it had been his own protective reaction to stressful situations for as long as he could remember, Kevin wasn't either.

Small wonder that he couldn't shake the feeling that the whole damn city was after him. The elderly lady in whose doorway he'd huddled had recognized him earlier. The cruising cops had also seemed to. Maybe the guy upstairs from the apartment he'd borrowed.

Isolated occurrences? Maybe. Maybe not. These things had happened to him. It wasn't as though somebody might know who he was. Somebody – random and disinterested – already had.

And now Melanie was turning them into the drive-thru lane – into a line of cars – front and back, get out of here – at a hamburger place off 19th Avenue.

'Not here!' he repeated. 'What are you doing?'

'We've got to eat,' she said. 'We're not going inside.'

'Inside isn't the point. We've got to-'

All at once it was too late to back out. Somebody had pulled in behind them. Now it was either sit in Melanie's car or get out and make a run for it. But a run for what? And what were the odds on going unrecognized out on the street? Were they better than this, where he was a sitting duck? Did he want to bet on it? Bet his life? Hers, too?

It was not yet dusk. There was no problem with visibility. He honestly didn't think he'd get two blocks.

Twisting his head from side to side he saw a seemingly endless procession of faces everywhere – in the car in front of him (the backseat folks turning around – Why?), behind them, crossing at the intersection, up and down the sidewalk – and all of them with eyes focused on him.

Casual glances or studied stares – they were all directed at him. Melanie had picked a popular place on a crowded street close to the dinner hour. It had to be only a matter of time before somebody recognized him.

He slumped down, far into the seat. Melanie rolled her window down. 'What do you want?' she asked.

'I want to get out of here, that's what I want.'

She glanced into her rearview mirror. 'Not possible,' she said. 'What's your second choice?'

Her window was still open. 'You know, Melanie, I'd like to, but I can't seem to get myself feeling too casual about all this-'

'I'm not casual,' she said. 'But we have got to eat and the fact is that nobody's looking at you, not here.'

'Everybody's looking at me!'

The driver behind them honked and Melanie waved a conciliatory hand out her window, then ordered two double cheeseburgers, fries, shakes. She pulled forward. 'I can understand how you'd feel that, Kevin, but I don't think it's true.'

They were still in the line, hemmed in, the cars edging forward slowly. It was going to take at least five minutes to go around the building and get to the service window. 'It's heartening you don't think that, Melanie, but if you're wrong, I'm dead.'

'I'm not wrong. You have to trust me-'

'I have to trust my instincts. They've gotten me this far.'

She looked over at him. 'For the record, Kevin, I've had something to do with getting you this far. I understand… you saw a man get lynched last night, for God's sake. Who wouldn't be scared? I'm scared, too. But I think I'm seeing things a little more clearly.'

He had to admit he was on the edge of panic and she seemed almost creepily calm. 'Maybe you're right but-'

'I'm only sure that right here is as safe for us as anywhere in the city, and you're the one who wants to stay here and make your stand, so I'd say the best advice is, get used to it.'

They inched forward. Honks behind them – people talking loud, laughing, yelling – off to the side out Melanie's window, but no one seemed to be moving toward them. Kevin looked down and put a hand to his forehead. 'How are we getting out of this?' he asked.

'It'll look better on a full stomach,' she said deadpan.

Melanie had been right. She had played a major role in getting them to where they were right now… no one had recognized him, the drive-thru burger joint had been an inspired choice, and, right or wrong, things did look better on a full stomach. He took in this woman sitting across from him and was washed with an intense gratitude.

Most importantly, she had believed him, believed in him.

He had always suspected there was more to her – much more – than he'd seen when they'd been 'dating,' but something about their chemistry, or his own guilty conscience, or both, had made it all, finally, futile. The relationship wasn't going to work, not under the ground rules they'd tacitly established, so he'd decided he had to move on.

But now his dire situation had shifted the balance between them. They were partners, equals; And this realization suddenly made him feel like a cheat. He'd been unfair to Melanie by not being up front with her when they'd been going out, by not telling her that before they had gotten together he had slept – once, one night only – with her friend Cindy Taylor. Now he felt he at least owed Melanie the truth – both about him and her supposed 'best friend.' She hadn't just 'come on to him,' as he had said.

So he told her.

And now Melanie, who had weathered his flight and panic attack with stoic calm, now Melanie had balanced her half-full milkshake cup on the steering wheel and was, quietly, crying.

The early-evening sun peeked through the low cloud layer, highlighting the red in her dark hair, the glistening wetness on her cheeks. 'I don't believe it,' she said. 'Cindy?'

'I thought I ought to tell you.'

'I don't know why… why didn't you feel you should tell me before, when we were… I mean when I thought we were together.'

'We were together, Melanie.'

She almost laughed. 'Sure. God, what a fool I was. You must have both been laughing at me the whole time.'

'No. It wasn't like Cindy and I were an item. It was one night, before you and I got together.'