I heard a muffled shout through the door that sounded like my name. I made a run for the front door and stood to one side.

“Who is it?” I shouted.

“It’s Pete Baird. Are you okay?”

I opened the door. He was standing there red-faced, with gun drawn. “Irene, are you all right?”

I nodded, standing back to let him in.

“Jesus Christ, lady, you really make my goddamn job tough, you know it? Do you have a fucking death wish or something? What the hell possessed you to come over here?”

“I might ask the same of you,” I said, trying to slip the nail file inconspicuously into the pocket of my robe.

“What brings me over here? A good thing you’ve got friends, or you woulda been a stiff about a week ago, you know that? Your friend Lydia called Frank. Told him your great plan for coming over here. He got in touch with me just before I was leaving the office. Now, Miss Reporter, I’ve answered your questions, so you want to tell me what in God’s name you’re doing here?”

“It’s my home,” I said, trying to regain my composure.

“Oh, for Chrissakes.”

Five minutes ago I was too scared to step outside my bathroom, or I would have been miffed at Lydia. As it was, I was damn glad Pete was here. “Look,” I said, “it probably was a dumb idea, but my clothes are here, and I didn’t want someone I don’t know very well finding out about Lydia’s house.”

“Well, that might make a little bit of sense, but you should have had somebody come over here with you.”

“You’re right, I admit it. I just don’t want to have someone hold my hand all the time. I’m not used to all this protection. I feel like I’m being a damned nuisance to everybody. I want to be able to take care of myself.”

“I’ll tell you what’s a nuisance. Not getting an answer when I’m pounding on your front door, but seeing your car outside. I was about one minute away from calling for backup.”

“Sorry, I was in the shower. I didn’t realize it was the door at first, and I guess I was kind of spooked-I wasn’t expecting anyone yet.”

“You’re aging me rapidly, Irene. If you don’t mind, I’ll wait here until your new boyfriend shows up.”

“I’ll ignore that last remark. I appreciate your coming by to watch over me. I’ll feel better knowing you’re here.”

“Well, what do you know? The Queen of the Amazons will let me stay. If Frank wasn’t such a good friend-”

“If a Mr. St. Germain comes to the door while I’m getting ready, would you be so good as to not try to scare him off? It’s really none of your business if I’m going somewhere with somebody besides your pal Frank.”

I went back to get dressed. The process was much faster without the fear slowing me down; another kind of fear, the fear of Pete’s giving Guy a lot of bull, made me speed up. I managed to get dressed and put my hair up on top of my head in what I thought of as some kind of semi-prissy fashion.

Guy knocked on the door just as I was coming down the hallway, a little wobbly in the heels. Pete motioned me to stay back and carefully answered the door himself. Guy stood there in a tux, an absolute hunk. He seemed a little surprised to see Pete, and I saw him looking first at the window, then at the chair, and hesitating.

“Come on in, Guy,” I called out from behind Pete. “This is Detective Pete Baird of the Las Piernas Police Department.” They shook hands.

“Glad to meet you,” Guy said with a smile. “You look very nice tonight, Irene. The blue in the dress looks good with your eyes.”

“You from France?” Pete asked in a not-quite-nasty tone.

“Montreal, Canada.”

“Hey, wait, I know you-Guy St. Germain-you play with the Sabres?”

“At one time, yes.”

“Hell, I didn’t recognize you without all the equipment on. I’m an old Sabres fan. Come on in.”

Before I knew it, another hockey discussion began. I should have remembered that Pete came from upstate New York. Almost all those boys from cold country knew something about hockey. They sat on the couch, and Pete was chattering away.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, apparently to myself.

As I started down the hallway to the bedroom, I felt a cool breeze. It made me stand stock-still. The back door was open.

PETE!” I shouted. He was by my side in an instant, Guy right behind him. “I locked that back door,” I said, fear grabbing hold of me.

“Stay here with her,” he said to Guy.

Guy moved me away from the door of the hallway. Pete cautiously made his way outside. We waited while he looked around the backyard and alley and along the sides of the house. He came back shaking his head.

“You sure you locked it?” he asked, inspecting the doorjamb.

“Positive. I was scared, being here by myself. Oh, God, just before you knocked, I thought I heard someone in the house.”

“Let me use your phone. Where is it?”

I led the two of them into the kitchen. Pete called in to the department.

“Boyd? Yeah, Pete Baird. Tell the captain our boy might be back in the area. Yeah, there’s a possibility he was over at the Kelly house just now. Yeah, I’m in the house with her. She’s okay.” He looked up at me. “No, it’s a long story. Anyway, I stopped by to check on her. Back door was open, she says she locked it before I came by. No, I hadn’t been in that part of the house. Yeah, well, tell him anyway. Thanks.”

“They don’t believe me?”

“Irene, when you’ve been a reporter as long as Boyd has been a cop, you won’t believe an angel of God. But you’ll investigate whatever he tells you anyway. You ready to get out of this place?”

“Yes, we need to get going.” They both witnessed the routine of locking up this time, never leaving me alone, one or the other double-checking each window and door.

We walked out front. Guy was driving a sporty blue Mercedes 560 SL convertible. He opened the passenger door and helped me into the car-I tried not to be too clumsy about it.

As we drove off, I saw Pete following us. I knew it wasn’t because he was a hockey groupie.

Guy looked up into the rearview mirror, and noticed it too. “Is this Mr. Baird a friend?”

“More like a friend of a friend. I’ve been working with Pete and another detective on the case you’ve read about in the paper. They’re convinced-and at this point, I am too-that someone would like to see me out of the way. I’m probably a pretty scary person to go out with right now.”

He laughed. “You’re not so scary. And with your friend following us everywhere, I feel quite safe, even if we lack a little privacy. Does it bother you to be ‘shadowed’ so? I could probably lose him if it does.”

“He’d find us sooner or later and he’d just be mad about it, so if you don’t mind, we’d better let him keep an eye on us. He’s a good friend of the man I’ve been working with on this case-the man who was injured in the car chase. I think Pete feels honor-bound to protect me while his friend recovers.”

“Well, there is nothing wrong with loyalty. All right, we will not make his job more difficult.”

We drove along toward the beach, where the gold and pink hues of the sunset colored the sky above darkened water.

“So,” he said, “how did you become a reporter?”

“Went to college during the days when Woodward and Bernstein were covering Watergate. The school was flooded with journalism majors. I guess I was bitten by the same bug. Found out I really liked it. And how does a hockey player become a banker?” I suddenly remembered Frank asking this same question.

“It’s not as strange as it seems. My family was in banking in Montreal. I wanted to play professional hockey right after high school, but my parents begged me to go to college, and so I majored in business while going to school on an athletic scholarship. My parents were right. All players someday have a life outside of hockey. But nothing will ever compare to the thrill of being in the NHL. If I could have, I would have played until I fell over dead on the ice. I wouldn’t trade my hockey years for any amount of money.”