Hardcastle had just peeked into the den on his way to the front porch for the morning paper. Some bodyguard, he thought, seeing McCormick sprawled across one of the armchairs, which had been turned to face the door.

But he hadn�t even reached the doorknob when he heard the shouted, �Hold it!�, and felt McCormick behind him in the hallway. By the time he whirled around, the kid had already lowered the shotgun and was looking annoyed.

�What the hell are ya doin�, Judge? Sneakin� around like that could get you shot.�

�I wasn�t sneaking; I just wanted my paper. You�re the one that fell asleep on guard duty.� Hardcastle had fired the response back hotly, giving little credence to the inner voice that was pointing out that the kid was pretty damn alert, and it seemed unlikely anyone would�ve gotten past him.

You mean, unlikely anyone would�ve gotten to you, the voice insisted, as Hardcastle watched the young man shake his head and turn silently to place the shotgun in its proper place. He muttered an attempt at peace-making before things got too heated.

�But I didn�t mean to scare you.�

��S all right,� McCormick muttered back. He glanced at his watch: seven-fifty. �I�ve got things to do today, anyway, and you already let me sleep in. I�ll start the coffee before I jump in the shower.� He headed toward the kitchen without waiting for a reply.

�What kinda things?� Hardcastle questioned, padding along behind.

Mark shrugged. �Chores, errands. The kind of stuff that always keeps Tonto busy.�

The judge watched silently as McCormick measured coffee into the filter and filled the pot with water. But by the time the young man flipped the switch on the machine, it was clear he didn�t intend to offer further information.

�Do I usually let you by with those kind of half-assed answers?�

McCormick chuckled as he turned to face Hardcastle. �Well, no,� he admitted. He held up his hand to stop the argument. �But you do usually know when not to push.�

�And I suppose you�re tellin� me this is one of those times?� Hardcastle growled.

�You got it, Kemosabe.� He turned to put the coffee can back in the cupboard.

�It would probably be dangerous for you, too,� Hardcastle said quietly, after a few seconds.

McCormick twisted to look behind him. �What?�

�Working without backup, I mean,� the judge continued. �If it�s dangerous for me, then-� He broke off as he saw the smile creeping across McCormick�s face.

�Don�t worry, Judge; that�s not what this is about. I�m not working without you. But thanks.�

Without really knowing why, Hardcastle decided immediately that an outright falsehood would probably not be McCormick�s style. �Okay then, good. In that case, I think I�ll take a shower myself while the coffee brews, then I�ll read the paper.�

�It�s a plan,� McCormick answered, the smile still lingering. �And I�ll start the breakfast in just a bit.� He tossed a mock salute toward the judge, and disappeared out the back door.

�There�s nothin� like sausage gravy and biscuits,� Hardcastle mumbled around his food as he ate the last bite on his plate.

McCormick grinned. �You always say that. The first time Sarah brought it in for breakfast, I though she�d lost her mind. It�s not the kind of thing you eat back in Jersey, but it grows on you. I never have gotten the hang of Sarah�s biscuit recipe, though, but these from the can aren�t bad.�

�Not bad at all,� the judge agreed, �and it is kind of a southern thing, I guess.� He glanced up at the kid. �Thanks.�

McCormick shook his head slightly. �Can I let you in on a little secret, Judge?� He waited for the nod, then went on. �You hardly ever thank me for stuff, and you sure as hell don�t thank me for cookin� breakfast.�

�Well, why not?� Hardcastle demanded. �It�s the polite thing to do, isn�t it?�

�Yeah, but . . . � Mark hesitated. �I don�t know. It�s just not you. I mean, no offense, but you�re not exactly a �polite� kinda guy, certainly not with me. Can�t you just be yourself?�

�No offense to you, either, but �myself� doesn�t know you from Adam. And besides, last night you said I was being a pain in the- �

�Okay, okay,� McCormick interrupted, �forget I said anything. I�m not trying to start an argument here.� He took a breath. �I�m glad you enjoyed your breakfast. Why don�t you finally read your paper while I do the dishes?�

�I could help,� the judge offered, �or is that being too �polite�?�

With a slight laugh, McCormick picked up the plates and moved them over to the sink. �Normally we would trade off,� he explained, �I cook, you clean, then we�d swap. But for right now,� he added quickly, before Hardcastle could rise from his seat, �I�ll take care of the kitchen duty. When you go see Neely on Monday, I�d like to be able to honestly report that you�ve had a very easy-going week.�

�Then we�ll leave out the part about being shot at,� Hardcastle said blandly, as he picked up his paper.

�Good idea,� Mark grinned, and began scraping the dishes.

After a few minutes, Hardcastle looked up. �You could put those in the machine, you know.�

McCormick just shrugged without turning around. �There aren�t that many; it won�t take long.�

They lapsed back into a silence that was only broken with rustling paper and sloshing water until Hardcastle said, surprised, �Someone parachuted into Shea stadium during the World Series?�

McCormick did turn then, a look of concern on his face. �Yeah, some guy, said he was a big Mets fan.� He paused. �Are you doing okay with the news? I hadn�t really thought about-�

�How I wouldn�t have the slightest idea what was going on?� Hardcastle interrupted. �Yeah. It�s been interesting. You know, it said Andrei Sakharov just got released from exile. He was making waves over in Russia that even I remember, but they hadn�t exiled him. I guess he turned into a real troublemaker.

�But anyway, what about this guy and Shea stadium?�

McCormick grinned. Forget world politics; let�s talk baseball. �What about him? He jumped in, delayed the game a bit, things went on. Some say he cost Boston the series, turned the tide. He was arrested for it.�

�As well he shoulda been,� Hardcastle blustered. �Interrupting the World Series. What an ass.�

�At the time, you said he had gumption.�

�And it says here all they�re doing is fining him and giving him community service,� the judge slapped at the paper, and went on as if Mark hadn�t spoken. �They oughta throw away the key.�

�Well, you said that, too,� McCormick admitted ruefully as he turned back to the sink, leaving Hardcastle to grumble over the state of the world.

He was still grumbling when Mark dried and put away the last fork, rinsed the sink, and slipped his watch back onto his wrist.

�I�ve gotta go out for a while, Judge.� He glanced at his watch again. �In just a few minutes. I won�t be gone long, only a couple of hours or so.�

Hardcastle looked up quizzically. �You�re going alone?�

McCormick nodded. �I told you, I�m not working. It�s errands.�

�You�re gonna trust me here alone?�

McCormick glanced away, a slightly guilty expression on his face. He busied himself with rearranging the hand towel.

Hardcastle sighed. �Frank�s on his way, huh? Jeez, I don�t need a round the clock babysitter, ya know.�

�He had to bring a team out anyway,� McCormick reminded him, �after last night.�

�Convenient timing.�

McCormick crossed back to the table and plopped down into his chair. He looked across the table intently. �I�m not gonna apologize for this, Judge,� he said firmly. �I mean, I am sorry you don�t like it, and I�m sorrier than hell that it�s necessary, but it is necessary. I told you last night: somebody is trying to kill you. I don�t intend to let that happen. Be mad about it if you want, but there�s nothing you can do to change it.�

Hardcastle stared for several long seconds, then finally asked, �And do I usually let you get away with that much attitude?�

McCormick grinned slightly as he pulled himself up from the chair. �You�ve learned to live with it.�

McCormick stepped out onto the porch as soon as the sedan pulled to a stop.

�How�s things?� Harper called as he climbed out of his car.

�Okay,� McCormick answered with a shrug. �I don�t think they�re gonna find much,� he said, jerking his thumb toward a second car pulling up the drive. �I took a quick look around out there this morning, and there�s not much to see. The casing�s there, though.�

Harper just shook his head. �I�ll assume you didn�t touch anything in the crime scene?�

�Of course not. Anyway, Hardcastle�s down in the basement putting his files back in some kind of order. We didn�t find anything useful there. And I�ve called a guy to come replace the kitchen window. I don�t know if he�ll be here before I get back or not.�

�What�s his mood like today?�

Another shrug. �He�s a little pissed that we won�t leave him home without a �babysitter�, but he�ll get over it.�

�Did you tell him where you�re going?�

�Ah, no. I thought I�d let that be a surprise.�

�He doesn�t really like surprises all that much, you know.�

One last shrug, accompanied by a small grin. �Then I guess I�ll just hope he remembers you told him to be nice.�

Harper just laughed as he watched the kid climb into the Coyote, then gave quick directions to his lab team before going into the house.

McCormick fidgeted as he stood at the airport gate, thinking about just how much Milton Hardcastle didn�t like surprises. And you just told him to quit being so nice, he thought regretfully. Might shoulda waited a bit on that.

But still. Surely this would be a good surprise. And even Milton Hardcastle must like good surprises.

He hadn�t really managed to find much comfort in his inner musings before he heard the PA announce the arrival of the plane. Too late to worry about it now, he thought, as he stood slightly straighter. After another few minutes, the passengers began disembarking, and he watched carefully for a familiar figure.

Finally, he spotted her: a slender, gray-haired figure, walking alone, and carrying a single floral satchel. He hadn�t anticipated the way his heart would suddenly feel lighter at her arrival, and he rushed past the ticket counter to sweep her into his arms and spin her around joyfully.

�Young man! Put me down this instant.�

McCormick complied immediately, but he couldn�t erase the huge grin from his face. �Sarah. I am so glad to see you.�

�So it would seem,� the older woman replied in her most serious tone, but her grin was almost a match for Mark�s.

�Here, let me take that,� McCormick continued, reaching for her bag.

She handed him the bag, then reached up to lay her hand gently on his cheek.

�Are you all right, Mark?� she asked, abandoning all pretense at anger. �You sounded so worried when you called.�

�I�m much better now,� Mark answered honestly. �Come on; I�ll fill you in as we drive.�

Sarah managed to hold her questions until Mark had pulled down the passenger side door on the Coyote and then climbed in behind the steering wheel. Then she spoke softly.

�You said there was an accident? But that he�s all right?�

McCormick nodded as he pulled from the parking lot. �Yeah. He was banged up a little, but not much.� He glanced in the rearview mirror to change lanes. �But that�s not really the problem, Sarah.�

And Sarah Wickes, who had learned several years earlier the secret to overcoming Mark McCormick�s hesitations, turned her head and let her blue eyes pin him with a gaze that finally forced him to glance back at her.

�Tell me what happened,� she said simply, and her tone allowed no further delay.

�He�s lost his memory,� McCormick blurted, as he tried to determine the best way to convey all that had transpired.

�He what?�

�Not all of his memory,� the young man continued quickly, �just the last fifteen years, or so.� He took a breath. �When he woke up in the hospital after the accident, he thought it was 1971. He was asking for Nancy. And Tommy.� He thought that should probably get the point across.

Sarah didn�t turn her gaze away, but she contemplated the information for long, long seconds before she finally spoke. �He doesn�t remember you.�

It wasn�t a question, and McCormick had known the woman would grasp the idea immediately. �No, he doesn�t.� He flipped on the blinker and accelerated onto the highway.

�What do the doctors say?�

�They don�t know what�s wrong,� Mark answered with a small shrug. �He�s got an appointment on Monday with the neurologist he saw in the hospital, but they�ve already said all the tests were normal enough. It�s been almost a week, and nothing has really changed. I think they�re probably just gonna try and pawn him off on a shrink.�

�But you don�t think that�s what he needs?�

�Of course not!� He took another deep breath. �Sarah, I�m not even sure he needs the neurologist. I don�t think this is some kind of injury from the accident, and I don�t think it�s something that just happened to him. I think someone did this to him on purpose.� He didn�t look over at the older woman, but simply drove, waiting for the protests to begin.

It took a couple of miles before Sarah replied. �Have you told anyone else?�

McCormick felt the gratitude wash over him, and he knew in that instant that he would gladly put up with any amount of anger from Hardcastle just to have this woman here now.

�I�ve talked to Frank Harper; he�s mostly on board with the idea. He became a lot more convinced last night after someone took a shot at us out at the estate.� He heard the small gasp from the passenger seat and grimaced slightly. �Sorry. I forgot I hadn�t gotten to that part yet.�

But when he glanced over, McCormick saw that Sarah was just shaking her head slowly, with a long-suffering look of understanding on her face.

�Some things never change,� she sighed.

�No,� Mark agreed with a slight grin, �I guess they don�t. Anyway, Frank�s helping me keep an eye on the judge, and next week, after the doctor�s appointment, we�ll try and do a little investigating. That hasn�t really changed, either.�

�So what can I do?�

�Honestly, Sarah, I just thought it might be nice for him to see another familiar face. It�s been a little weird for him, having a stranger living in his home. And he was asking about you the other day. And,� he admitted, �I thought it might be nice for me to see a friendly face for a day or two.�

�He�s being incorrigible, is he?� Sarah asked knowingly.

�It�s been hard on him,� McCormick answered sadly.

�Hard on you both,� Sarah corrected.

The young man kept his eyes glued to the road, and there was a pause before the whispered response that he breathed out like a confession. �Yeah.�

Sarah patted his knee. �It�s okay, Mark. Things are going to be okay.� And then she turned the conversation to happier topics, and they caught up on the other things in their lives.

By the time they were cruising into Malibu, Mark had not only recounted the entire last week�s events, but he�d told her all about his latest semester in school and the latest girl he�d been dating, and he�d heard all about the latest news of Sarah�s sister, and a gaggle full of great-nieces and nephews. He felt better than he had in days. But then his tone became serious again.

�There�s one other thing I need to tell you, Sarah.�

�You�re taking that Tammy girl to the holiday ball instead of me?� she joked.

McCormick grinned. �Never. But listen, the judge doesn�t know you�re coming. I wanted it to be a surprise.�

�You mean, you didn�t want him getting mad at you again for interfering in his life,� she interpreted.

�Well, okay. There was that, too.�

�You�re both incorrigible,� the woman accused with a small grin.

And McCormick just laughed as he drove under the Gull�s Way arch. �Welcome home, Sarah; welcome home.�

Mark helped Sarah from the Coyote, grabbed her bag, and escorted her up the steps and into the house.

�Judge?� he called from the entryway. �Are you up here?�

�In the den, Mark,� came the answering shout.

Sarah looked at him quizzically. �Mark?�

McCormick grimaced. �That�s Frank�s fault. I told you it�s been kinda weird around here.�

�Are you talkin� to yourself out there?� Hardcastle called.

�Ah, no, sorry.� McCormick dropped the bag by the door and flashed a grin at the older woman. �Here we go.� He stepped into the doorway. Hardcastle and Harper were seated in the armchairs, the television on, but the volume very low. �There�s someone who wants to see you, Judge.�

Both men turned to face the voice. Hardcastle looked curious, but Mark would�ve sworn Harper was preparing for defensive maneuvers. McCormick took a single step to the side and held his hand out to escort their guest inside. And he held his breath.

For a split second, there was an expression of shocked delight in Hardcastle�s eyes as he looked at his long-time friend and previous housekeeper. But then his eyes hardened and he turned back to McCormick. There was no mistaking the anger and accusation in those eyes, and McCormick felt his heart sink. But Hardcastle quickly brought himself under control and turned back to the woman.

�Sarah,� he greeted with a very real smile as he rose from his chair, �it�s good to see you.�

She stepped into the room and met him halfway. �You too, Your Honor.� She smiled as he folded her into a quick embrace, then released her. �How are you?�

�I�m good, Sarah, I�m good.� He glared behind her at the ex-con standing immobile in the door. �No matter what you might�ve heard.� But then he pushed the anger aside again, and the smile returned. �Come on in.� He led her further into the den. �You remember Frank Harper.�

�Of course,� Sarah smiled. �How have you been, Lieutenant?�

Harper was standing now, too. �I�m fine, Sarah,� he said genially. �How are you?�

They spent a few minutes exchanging more social pleasantries, and Sarah explained that she was visiting overnight. McCormick wisely stayed out of the mix, though Sarah had pointedly used the phrase �Judge Hardcastle and Mark� more than once.

Finally, the woman said that she�d like to excuse herself to go freshen up a bit.

�I�ll take your bag to your room, Sarah,� McCormick offered, turning to leave.

�Good idea,� Hardcastle agreed. �Then I�d like to talk to you a minute,� he added darkly.

McCormick swallowed hard, nodded his understanding, and slipped out the door. He heard both Sarah and Frank coming immediately to his defense, but he doubted it would do much good.

In Sarah�s bedroom, he placed the bag on the dresser, then turned to go back, determined to face whatever Hardcastle had to dish out, but then Sarah was in the doorway. She smiled at him gently.

�He is a little angry,� she warned.

�I know,� McCormick sighed, resigned. He brightened. �But you know what? It�s gonna be a good weekend. I�m really glad you�re here.� He kissed her cheek quickly as he passed by, then grinned. �Besides, he�s the only one with memory problems around here; I haven�t forgotten how to handle him.�

By the time McCormick returned to the den, Hardcastle was clearly trying to get rid of Harper-at least temporarily-and the lieutenant was just as clearly trying to stick around and run interference. He smiled in spite of his tension.

�Here�s the way I see it,� Mark began, as he stepped down into the room. �Frank has been here a lot this past week, and he might actually need to get home. Claudia�s probably beginning to forget what he looks like. If he needs to go, I�ll show him out, then I�ll come right back and you can yell at me to your heart�s content, Judge.

�On the other hand,� he continued before either man could interrupt, �I�m grilling steaks this afternoon for a nice, leisurely lunch, and he�s welcome to stay for that, if he�d like. He�s probably earned at least that much. And you, Hardcase, are welcome to yell at me in his presence. God knows, it wouldn�t be the first time, and I doubt seriously it�ll be the last.� He folded his arms across his chest and glared the challenge across the room. �So what�s it gonna be, gentlemen?�

For his part, Hardcastle just glared back silently, but Harper laughed out loud.

�What if I want the steak, but not the yelling?� the lieutenant inquired with a grin, seeming to understand instinctively that McCormick had this situation under control.

McCormick grinned back at him. �Then you get to go fire up the grill. Just put it on a low flame; it�ll heat slowly and be ready in a while. Plenty of time for me to get yelled at in private.�

�Okay, then,� Harper replied, moving toward the door, �that�s what I�ll do.� He paused as he passed by the younger man. �You�re sure?� he whispered.

Grinning his thanks, McCormick answered, just as quietly, �Yeah, I�m sure.�

And then Harper was gone, leaving the others alone in a thick silence.

�Since when do ex-cons get to be such good friends with cops?� Hardcastle finally demanded.

�Since donkey ex-judges bring them into their home and force them into hob-knobbing with people on the right side of the law,� McCormick shot back. �Whattsa matter? Jealous?�

Hardcastle snorted. �Don�t try to distract me.� He jerked his thumb toward one of the chairs. �Sit down.� Then he turned to sit behind his desk.

McCormick obeyed the instruction silently, simply waiting.

After several long seconds, the judge finally spoke again. �You had no right, inviting her here.� He spoke calmly, but the resentment would�ve been hard to miss.

�Actually,� McCormick contradicted, �I had every right. She�s not just your friend, you know, and this is my home, too.�

�Only because I say so,� Hardcastle snapped.

�Well . . . yeah.� McCormick refused to give into the fear trying to rear its head. �But you�ve been saying so a long time, and that does give me some rights. Besides, Judge, you were asking about her. I thought you�d be glad to see her.�

�I am glad to see her,� Hardcastle admitted after another minute. �But that doesn�t mean I think you should�ve invited her. I already told you I don�t need someone lookin� after me. And besides, maybe . . . � he trailed off, considering, then finally finished, �maybe I don�t want her seeing me like this.�

McCormick wasn�t sure which comment to address first, so he started with the easiest. �She�s not here to look after you, Judge,� he assured the older man. �Jeez, she�s gotta go home tomorrow afternoon; how much lookin� after do you think she could be doing? And as for the other thing-� He broke off, not sure yet exactly what he intended to say.

When the silence had stretched longer than seemed reasonable, Mark quit looking for the perfect words, and simply said what was in his heart.

�You need to listen to me, Judge. You don�t have anything to be ashamed of here. Whatever is going on, it certainly isn�t your fault, and no one thinks any less of you because of it. Sarah is here because she cares about you, not because she expects something from you. You have got to understand that we all just want to help. That doesn�t make you weak; it doesn�t make you less in any way. Hell, if you want to know the truth, I think it makes you pretty damn lucky. There are a lot of people who only want what�s best for you, Hardcastle. Maybe you could think about that for a minute, instead of- � He stopped himself again, suddenly believing that he was close to going too far.

But Hardcastle seemed to get the idea. �Instead of feeling sorry for myself?� he asked, just a touch of challenge in his tone.

�I didn�t say that,� McCormick said defensively.

�You were thinking it,� the judge accused.

The young man didn�t offer an outright denial. �Not on purpose.�

And then, unexpectedly, Hardcastle grinned. �So it was an accident?�

�Something like that,� McCormick replied hesitantly, not quite able to relax just yet.

And just as suddenly, the grin faded from the older face. �The thing is,� he said seriously, �this has all been very strange. You guys have told me a lot of stuff that just doesn�t seem real to me. Hell, I don�t want it to be real. You say you don�t think I�m crazy, but to tell you the truth, I�m starting to wonder. And then you go and bring Sarah back here, after you already told me she retired. What am I supposed to think?�

�Judge, I told you; it�s not because-�

He waved off McCormick�s attempt at interruption. �No, listen. I don�t care about that now. I want to ask you something.� He looked intently into the young blue eyes. �We�re supposed to be friends, right?�

�Uh, right.�

�And I can trust you?�

�Of course.�

�Because you don�t lie to me.�

�Because I would d- Right.�

�Then tell me now, Mark. Are you keeping something from me? Am I crazy?�

And finally, though his heart was breaking, McCormick did feel some of the tension leave his body. He mustered up a small smile as he looked back at his best friend.

�Judge, you might be the biggest donkey on the face of this earth, but you are not crazy. Honestly, I would tell you if there was a problem here. I mean, more of a problem than someone trying put you into a state of totally permanent memory loss. To tell you the truth, I�ve never really been very good at keeping things from you, anyway. And I�m pretty sure you would�ve tossed my butt right back in the can if I�d ever really tried.�

A grin slowly worked its way across Hardcastle�s face. �That does sound like an idea I would�ve approved of,� he concurred. Then he rose from his seat and motioned toward the door.

�C�mon. The yelling at is over, and someone promised to grill some steaks.�

The men had found Sarah on the patio with Frank, and the four of them had talked non-stop while the self-proclaimed King of the Grill had cooked potatoes, corn on the cob, and steaks to perfection. Sarah had slipped into the kitchen-over numerous and loud protests-long enough to throw together a tossed salad and mix up a gallon of iced tea.

Then the conversation had continued over the meal, with many of the topics centering on the past exploits of the local Lone Ranger and his faithful Tonto, and McCormick had been amused-and touched-to see both Frank and Sarah carefully avoiding some of his more questionable activities.

Finally, the table had been cleared and midday had turned to late afternoon, when Harper said, �I really should be heading home, Milt. But maybe we can talk a little business before I go.�

But it was McCormick who answered first. �Business? Have you been holding out on us, Frank?�

The detective grinned at the mild accusation in the tone. �Not really. I just thought I�d enjoy the afternoon first.�

�So what�ve you got?� Hardcastle asked impatiently.

�Not much, just an address to Symnetech. I knew we couldn�t do anything with it until Monday, anyway.� He flashed a quick, meaningful glance back at McCormick, who simply looked back innocently.

�At any rate,� the detective went on, �it�s over in Glendale.� He stuck his hand down in his pocket to retrieve a slightly crumpled sheet of paper. �128 Prospect Drive,� he read, watching Hardcastle closely. �Some kind of think-tank type of place, sucking up the best and the brightest from over at Caltech. Specializing in biotechnology, or something. Mean anything?�

The judge gave the information a long moment�s consideration before shaking his head. �No, nothing. Sorry.�

�What about you, Mark?� Harper asked, but the young man was already shaking his head, too.

�Nope. But I can check it out. Monday, I mean,� he added quickly.

�Yeah, Monday,� Harper repeated firmly.

�We�ll check it out Monday,� Hardcastle corrected, oblivious to the private conversation going on between the other two men.

�Exactly what I meant to say, Judge,� McCormick agreed lightly, flashing a grin back at Harper.

The lieutenant shook his head slightly as he rose from the table. �Okay, that�s pretty much what I figured. I�m gonna shove off outta here, then. Thanks for a great meal. You guys stay out of trouble.� He turned to the woman sitting silently at the head of the table. �Sarah, it was good to see you again.�

�You, too, Lieutenant,� she smiled back. She let her eyes meet his. �And I�ll make sure they behave.�

Harper just laughed as a very brief flicker of guilty concern crossed McCormick�s face, then he finished his good-byes and left.

The other three sat in a companionable silence for a while until Sarah said, �I saw you hung the lights, Your Honor. It�ll be good to see this place lit up again.�

Hardcastle looked back at her blankly, then between the two of them. �Don�t I always hang the lights?�

�Not since I�ve been here,� McCormick answered.

�Not in a very long time,� Sarah said gently. �But I�m glad you did now. But when are you getting your tree?� she went on. �Christmas is next week, you know.�

�Do I usually do that?� the judge responded.

�Always,� she told him.

Hardcastle looked back at McCormick. �Still?�

Mark nodded slowly. �We had planned to do it Friday,� he said softly, �after I finished my exams.�

Hardcastle sat silently for a moment. He looked at Sarah to find some direction. She offered him an encouraging smile.

�You could�ve said something,� he finally said.

�Like what?� McCormick asked with a small smile. ��I know you don�t remember me at all, Judge, but let�s go pick out a Christmas tree together.�? I�m sure that would�ve gone over real well. Besides, there�s been a lot going on.�

Sarah was nodding slightly now, so Hardcastle took that as a sign to proceed. �Well there�s nothing going on now,� he pointed out. He looked the question across the table.

�Judge, you don�t have- �

�I know I don�t have to,� Hardcastle interrupted. �I want to. Sarah�s right. Christmas is next week. We can�t be so wrapped up in all this�whatever is going on�that we don�t have some fun. Whatta ya say? Do they still have that lot down at the corner of Porto Marina?�

The sudden enthusiasm was infectious, and McCormick grinned. �We go there every year.�

The judge clapped his hands together. �Good. They always have the best trees.� He had pushed himself out of his chair and taken several steps toward the drive before he realized he was alone. He turned back to the table. �You comin�?�

Laughing, Mark jumped to his feet. �Sarah?�

The woman was smiling broadly, but she shook her head. �No. You two go ahead. I�ll help when you get back.�

McCormick leaned down to give her a hug as he moved toward the drive. �You�ve already helped,� he whispered in her ear, then rushed to follow the judge.

Just over an hour later, they pulled back into the drive at Gull�s Way, their final selection tied a bit precariously to the back of the Coyote.

�Told you we�d make it,� McCormick grinned over at his passenger.

�I never doubted it,� Hardcastle answered with a wink, and for just a moment, things felt so normal, McCormick thought his heart might break.

�So you wanna drill some holes in the thing while I bring the stuff down from the attic?� he asked, but the hesitation that flashed across Hardcastle�s face brought home with jarring certainty that things were not normal at all. �Or, we could, uh, do it the other way around, I guess. I mean, whatever you want, we-�

�What I want,� Hardcastle interrupted wearily. �I think we�ve pretty well established that what I want is pretty low on the totem pole these days.� He glanced toward the tree on the back of the car. �Starting with the idea that I�m putting up holiday decorations with-�

�A complete stranger?� McCormick interjected. �I know.� He pulled himself out of the seat and perched on the window opening. �It was a dumb idea; sorry.�

�No, that�s not what I meant.� Hardcastle looked up at the somber blue eyes. �I just meant that I want to remember. I had a whole life, ya know?�

McCormick nodded. �You have a life, Judge. No matter what, it�s still yours. I never meant to make you feel like what you want doesn�t matter.�

The judge nodded back, pulling himself onto his own window. He looked across the roof at the younger man. �I think what I want most right now is to be normal. To do what I would�ve done if this hadn�t happened. I think maybe that would help.� He paused again, looking around, than admitted slowly, �I�m just not sure I know exactly what that would be.�

�I can help you with that, Judge, if you�ll let me.� Mark spoke sincerely, offering a small smile. �And, in this particular case, you drill holes and I carry boxes. That�s normal.�

Hardcastle looked at him thoughtfully. �It just seems strange to me, that the ex-con I sent to prison is the best person to help me know what �normal� is.�

McCormick shrugged, willing the smile to stay in place. �I never said it wasn�t a little strange, Hardcase, but I can help.�

Hardcastle considered for just a moment, then asked, �Even if I get a little cranky about things every once in a while?�

And McCormick managed to laugh as he climbed completely from the car. �Hell, Judge, that�ll be the most normal thing in the world.�

As he made his way up the steps to the house, McCormick forced his spirits not to plummet. He�s still not sure about me, he thought, but he�s trying. He doesn�t like it, but he is trying. That was a start he thought he could live with.

He stepped inside and closed the front door behind him, intending to go immediately upstairs to the attic for the boxes of decorations. But the sounds-and the smells-coming from the direction of the kitchen distracted him, and he started down the hallway.

�Sarah,� he scolded playfully as he took in the scene that greeted him, �I didn�t ask you here to cook for us.�

�I�m not cooking,� Sarah clarified as Mark moved to the center island to look at what she was doing, �I�m baking. If there�s going to be tree-trimming, there should be cookies.�

�I like your logic,� McCormick grinned. He looked down at the baking sheets. �And you made shapes.�

�Just like you like,� Sarah confirmed with a smile. �And the first batch will be done in just a couple of minutes.� She pushed the nearest pan closer to him. �You want to put the sprinkles on those?�

�Green for the trees,� he agreed happily, as he picked up the shaker.

�So how did it go?� Sarah asked as she continued cutting shapes into the remaining dough.

�It was good,� McCormick answered, deciding quickly he wouldn�t mention the moment of weirdness in the car just now.

�You know, we got as far as the driveway and then realized we were gonna have to use the Coyote because the truck is in impound. And the judge has this look on his face like he can�t believe he�s gonna trust his life in this thing.� McCormick chuckled. �He was griping the whole way down there about how no grown man should be riding around in a full-size version of a Matchbox car.� He shook his head as he took a moment to examine his handiwork with the cookies. He decided they needed more color, so he kept shaking as he continued talking.

�Anyway, then we get to the lot, and-� he broke off as the buzzer on the oven sounded. �I get the first one!�

Sarah had an indulgent smile on her face as she turned to pull the cookies from the oven. �Of course you do, but you know they need to cool a bit first. Go on with your story. And, really, I think those have enough sprinkles now.�

�Okay.� The young man surveyed the other sheets. �Then red for the candy canes,� he said, and grabbed another shaker.

�So you got to the lot . . .� Sarah prompted.

�Oh, yeah. And, you know how usually I want to get these giant trees, and he�s always saying, �That one�s too expensive, McCormick; that one won�t even fit through the door, McCormick,� and stuff like that. But today, he goes all It�s a Wonderful Life on me or something, and wants the biggest tree on the lot. I keep tellin� him, �Judge, we gotta get this thing home on the Coyote; be reasonable,� but you know reason has never been his strong suit.

�And Harvey, the guy down at the lot, he�s laughing his a-, uh, his head off, because he sees us do this routine every year, only now it�s backwards. And the judge asks him, �What, am I usually like some kind of Scrooge, or something?�, all indignant like, and Harvey just keeps laughing and tells him, �Yeah.��

He glanced up at Sarah, who was grinning back at him. �Are they cool enough yet?�

�No. And that�s enough red, too.�

�If you say so.� He set the shaker down reluctantly. �I like a lot of sprinkles, ya know.�

Sarah just laughed. �So what did you get?� She handed him the sheet she had just finished cutting, and one last shaker. �Yellow for the stars, right?�

�Right.� He started to work on the stars. �So we finally find a tree we can both agree on, and it�s really a nice one. Noble fir. Good shape, no ugly spots. But still, it�s like seven foot tall, and it�s the compromise. It�s only after Harvey wraps the thing up and drags it out to the Coyote to help us tie it on that Hardcase begins to see the problem.

�Now all I�m hearing is, �Ya know, the PCH is kinda narrow. Maybe we shouldn�t be trying to drag a tree this size home on this car. Might be kind of a hazard.�� McCormick looked up at Sarah, rueful resignation on his face. �Hadn�t I been trying to tell him that for the past hour?� He glanced down at the stars. �I guess that�s enough color on these. Can I have a cookie yet?�

�We�ll both have one,� Sarah answered. �You pour the milk.� She checked on the batch still baking in the oven, then served the first group onto a plate and carried it to the table, where Mark had already placed the glasses of milk and paper plates.

�Oh, Santas,� he grinned, as he reached out his hand. He bit into the cookie enthusiastically, then nodded in appreciation. �Your cookies are always the best, Sarah,� he mumbled.

She blushed slightly, and laughed. �Honestly. I�ve never seen anyone make such a fuss over simple sugar cookies.� She took a small bite of her own. �But I guess you finally made it home with the tree intact?�

He nodded. �But there was a lot of grumbling and fussing going on. I swear, once a donkey, always a donkey. That sure hasn�t changed in the last fifteen years.� He winked at her to prove he was speaking affectionately, though he figured the last time she thought otherwise was long, long ago.

�You shouldn�t-� she began her typical remonstration, but a bellow from the front of the house interrupted her.

�Hey! You gonna help with this thing? I thought you were- Do I smell cookies?� The voice was getting closer. �Sarah�s baking cookies?� Hardcastle popped into the doorway. �I get the first one.� But then he looked sternly across the room as McCormick pushed the last tassel of Santa�s hat into his mouth.

McCormick hesitated for a split-second, then grinned shamelessly and spoke the words that leaped into his mind. �Now, Judge, that wouldn�t be normal at all.�

�It wouldn�t, huh?� Hardcastle grumbled.

�Nope. But I�ll be glad to pour you a glass of milk, now that you�re here.�

�Mark was just telling me about your shopping trip,� Sarah said to the judge.

�He was, was he? Did he get to the part yet where he threatened to put the tree inside the car and tie me to the trunk?�

�Ah, no,� Sarah replied, struggling not to laugh, �I don�t think he�d gotten to that part.�

McCormick was chuckling as he returned with the glass to set in front of Hardcastle. �Hey,� he said to the older man, �you�re the one that was worried about the dangerous overhang, and you are much shorter than the tree.� He looked back at the woman. �But we managed. I just had to drive a little slower than normal.�

�That was slow?� Hardcastle exclaimed, and Sarah�s grin got a little bigger.

�And anyway,� the jurist went on, �I thought you were gonna get the stuff from the attic.� He fixed the younger man with a severe stare and asked, �Just how normal is it that I send you to do a chore and find you in the kitchen eating my food?�

McCormick just laughed as he grabbed another cookie before heading out the door. �More than I�ll ever admit to,� he called back over his shoulder.

As soon as he was gone, Sarah lost the battle to control her laughter. �He�s a good boy, Your Honor,� she said.

�I guess,� the judge said hesitantly. �Sure seems like he�s involved in a lot around here. Like he knows my whole life.�

The woman gave a very small shrug. �He�s been here a long time, and he�s helped you with a lot of things. Like I said, he�s a good boy.�

�I guess he seems okay,� Hardcastle agreed reluctantly. �For an ex-con.�

Sarah gave him a mildly disapproving look. �You�ve never really thought of him like that, Your Honor; not even at first.�

�Really?� Hardcastle didn�t seem particularly convinced.

�Really,� Sarah assured him. �He had to convince the rest of us, but he never had to work that hard with you.� She pushed the plate of cookies toward him. �Until now.�

Hardcastle didn�t reply to her comments, but simply reached for a cookie. �Oh, Santas,� he said, almost to himself, and chewed thoughtfully.

Finally, they were all three in the den, examining the bare tree standing in the corner. McCormick had quickly located the appropriate boxes in the attic and carried them downstairs, but that had been the easy part.

Then had come carrying the tree inside, followed by almost half an hour of arguing over the best spot to stand it. Sarah had ultimately sided with McCormick, and the young man had flashed an I-told-you-so look over at the judge. But Hardcastle had actually looked just a little bit annoyed, so McCormick had quickly wiped the smirk from his face and offered to change his vote to match the other man�s, but Hardcastle had declined.

After all of that had come the fairly mild cussing that accompanied getting the tree properly straightened in the stand. Hardcastle had been the one doing the cussing since he was the one on the floor loosening the bolts in the stand every time McCormick said �A little more to the right�, or �Just a smidge to the left�, and he had finally shouted, �Would you just make up your damned mind?�

And McCormick had instantly shouted back, �It�s not my fault you�re not listening; you�re moving it too much!� But the judge had raised up from under the tree and delivered a glare across the room that made the young man decide this was not the time to tell his friend that the arguing was normal, too. Besides, Hardcase did seem a bit crankier than usual, so �normal� wouldn�t have exactly been truthful, anyway.

Then Sarah had stepped in. �Let me direct him, Mark.� Everyone had calmed down, the tree got straightened, and the momentary crisis passed.

Now they were sitting, looking at the empty tree, and McCormick wondered which of them should break the silence and get the decorating going. Finally, he said, �I�ll start checking the lights. Sarah, why don�t you put on some holiday music?� He glanced over at Hardcastle to see if the plan met with approval, but the man wasn�t objecting, so he crossed the room and started rummaging through the boxes.

As he plugged the light strands in one by one, and replaced any bulb that was unlit, McCormick observed the man sitting quietly in the armchair. Hardcastle was barely even making conversation with Sarah, but was mostly just staring at the tree, apparently lost in private thoughts.

But McCormick understood. The holidays were always hard on Hardcastle, with memories of his family coming to the forefront of his thoughts each December. He could only imagine what it was like this year, when every thought and feeling that was real for Hardcastle said that Nancy and Tommy should be with him in this very room right now. It would be like the first holiday without them, all over again. Only McCormick thought it was probably worse, since the judge didn�t actually remember their deaths, or any of the grieving and coping that would�ve somehow prepared him for that first Christmas alone.

Normally-There�s that word again, McCormick thought bitterly-he knew that he himself provided some comfort to Hardcastle during the difficult times. But he knew just as surely that was not the case this year. Actually, I�m making things worse, he realized with sudden clarity, and he felt his heart gripped with a renewed pain. He lowered his head back to his task, blinking his eyes quickly to clear the mist that had suddenly settled there. This is not about you, he reminded himself.

�You almost done with those lights, Mark?�

Surprised, McCormick looked up to find Hardcastle looking back at him with apparent interest on his face. He�s still trying, he thought sadly.

�Last strand,� he said casually, determined to hold up his end of the charade. He held up the now glowing string of lights, and forced a grin. �Looks like it�s a go.�

Rising from their seats, they took up positions on opposite sides of the tree and passed the first string of lights around. Sarah directed their efforts-ensuring no dark spots remained-while Bing Crosby sang quietly in the background. By the time Bing got through �Mele Kalikimaka�, Hardcastle seemed to be relaxing just a bit, Mark was humming along with the record, and they had finished with the lights and were ready to move on to the ornaments.

�You gonna help, Sarah?� McCormick asked, opening a large box filled with smaller boxes of decorations.

�No, you two go ahead,� the woman replied with a small smile. �I�ll just supervise.�

Hardcastle nodded his head slowly as he looked down at the box of decorations. �Yeah, that�s what Nancy always said, too. She always left it up to us.� He glanced over at McCormick, and there was no disguising the fact that it was a different young man he hoped to see, though he did try to avert his gaze quickly.

For his part, McCormick simply pretended not to notice, and placed an ornament on the tree, disregarding the ache inside. It�s not him; it�s not the Hardcastle you know, he offered to himself in silent reassurance.

What if it�s the only Hardcastle you�re ever gonna get? He ignored the idea and hung another decoration.

Hardcastle, though, was now looking thoughtfully at Sarah, and a small smile was beginning to form on his face.

�Sarah,� he began, �what Nancy usually did while she was supervising was set up her Nativity scene. You know the one, right? Why don�t you set it up while we�re doing the tree? That would be great.�

Hardcastle was smiling in earnest now as he turned back to face McCormick. �That�ll be normal.�

But McCormick just stared back at him, a frozen expression of uncertainty on his face, and Sarah hadn�t moved.

�What?� Hardcastle demanded. �You didn�t bring it down? It�s in a brown box, about this big,� he gestured vaguely with his hands, �has a separate lid on it.�

�Um, Judge,� McCormick answered hesitantly, �it�s not up there.�

�Of course it�s up there,� Hardcastle responded, �where else would I keep Christmas decorations but the attic? Even you couldn�t have made me change that.�

McCormick tried not to dwell on the faintly accusatory tone in that last statement as he tried to decide how to explain about the Nativity scene. He took a breath.

�It�s not upstairs, Judge, because you don�t have it anymore. You donated it to Lucy Atwater.� He searched his memory, trying to recall if Hardcastle had ever said just how long he�d actually known the woman.

�Lucy Atwater?� Hardcastle questioned. �Started that kid�s home a few years back?�

�Yeah,� Mark answered, relieved, �Safe Harbor. But it�s been more than twenty years now. Anyway, you donated them there.�

Hardcastle turned to Sarah, seeking confirmation, and she nodded back. He turned back to McCormick.

�Why would I do that?� he demanded. �Did you have something to do with that, too?� The tone was more than slightly accusatory now.

�No,� McCormick answered immediately. �I mean . . . what do you mean by that? I knew you did it. I don�t know why you did it. You certainly didn�t discuss it with me first. I hadn�t been here very long, only a few months. We were in the attic, and you saw them, and a few weeks later we helped Lucy with a problem, and then you gave her the figurines. I don�t know what you think I would�ve had to do with it, or what else I can tell you about it, but that�s what happened.� The young man was working hard to hide the defensiveness and the hurt in his voice, but he wasn�t certain he was succeeding.

�You hadn�t put it out for years, Your Honor,� Sarah interjected, �and you said you thought the kids would enjoy it.�

�And they did,� McCormick assured him. �Lucy says she�s put it up every year since. It was a nice thing to do, Judge.�

�The kids, huh?� Hardcastle said thoughtfully. �Yeah, I guess Nancy would�ve liked that.�

�I think so,� Sarah agreed as she moved close to the judge. She placed a hand comfortingly on his arm for a moment, then smiled at him. �Now what do you say we decorate this tree?�

After a moment, Hardcastle nodded slowly, and he turned to the boxes. �Yeah, but you know we have to put up the special ornaments first.� He lifted the flap on the nearest box.

And McCormick, still trying to decide exactly what Hardcastle had been insinuating moments earlier, but wanting only to help, answered without fully taking time to think.

�They�re over here, Judge,� he said, reaching into the box on his left. He turned back to Hardcastle, holding two small ornaments. �See? Your little gavel and my little racec-� He broke off, watching as the hopeful expression on Hardcastle�s face was replaced by a cold and angry stare. He realized belatedly that the judge wouldn�t even have remembered these particular ornaments, and he dropped his hands to his sides, wishing he could make the offending decorations disappear, himself along with them.

�I�m sorry,� he said in a small voice. �I didn�t-�

�Don�t,� Hardcastle interrupted coldly. �I don�t want to hear it.� He turned his attention back to the nearest box, pulling out the smaller boxes quickly-almost frantically-searching the contents. Sarah spoke quietly at his side.

�Judge Hardcastle, what is it you�re looking for?�

�The special ornaments,� he repeated, moving his search to the next box. When the woman didn�t respond, he clarified.

�The rocking horse from Tom�s first Christmas; the bride and groom with our wedding date on it; that hand-painted rose Nancy always loved; the plastic tree we got in that Christmas town the year we went to Colorado for vacation.� He was almost through the last box now, his voice growing more urgent each minute. �The special ones,� he said one last time.

Sarah glanced over at Mark, as if to seek confirmation that the ornaments Hardcastle sought were not in any of the boxes in the den, but the young man was simply standing, frozen, a horrified expression on his face, pure misery shining in his eyes. She returned her attention to Hardcastle.

�Judge, I haven�t seen those in a long-�

�No.� Hardcastle faced her and grabbed her hand, clutching it tightly. �Don�t tell me that, Sarah. I wouldn�t have gotten rid of them; I wouldn�t. No matter what.� He stared down into her concerned eyes, and repeated, �I wouldn�t have gotten rid of them.�

�No,� Sarah answered reassuringly, �you wouldn�t. They�re in the attic, somewhere. Maybe Mark could bring them down.�

McCormick forced himself to move. �Yeah, Judge, I can find-�

�No!� Hardcastle whirled to face McCormick, his shout freezing the young man in place again. �You,� he went on, jabbing a finger in McCormick�s direction, �do not need to be involved in this; this is about my family. I�ve tried to play along with you this week, even though no one seems to be able to explain to me how it is that some convict has managed to come into my home and take over nearly every aspect of my life, including, apparently, wiping out every trace of Nancy and Tommy as if they were never here.�

�Your Honor!� Sarah tried to intervene, but Hardcastle wouldn�t be stopped.

�No, Sarah; this needs to be said.� He continued railing at the other man. �There might be a lot I don�t know right now, but I do know this: you are not my family. You wander around here, eating cookies, stringing lights, and singing Christmas carols like you actually belong here, like this is your home. But hear me: no matter how good of friends we�re supposed to be, you are not my son. I had a son, and I sure as hell don�t need someone around here trying to be some kind of replacement. And even if I did, it certainly wouldn�t be someone like you.

�Now, I am going to go upstairs to my attic, and find my family ornaments, and then I�m going to hang them on my Christmas tree, because that�s what�s really normal. After that, you are free to do what you want, but I think things are going to change around here for you. Is that clear?�

McCormick was taking a moment to respond, trying to ensure that he could maintain enough control to speak, but Hardcastle seemed displeased with the delay.

�I said, is that clear?�

�Yes,� McCormick finally grated out, �it�s clear.� He drew in a shaky breath, and continued, his voice trembling. �But let me be clear about a couple of things, too.

�First, it�s ex-convict. And I think this might be the first time in the entire time I�ve known you that you�ve truly used that word against me.

�And second, I�m not the one who wiped out your family; you took care of that all by yourself long before I ever got here. I know I�m not your son, and I never tried to be. All I ever tried to be was your friend. This is also the first time you�ve ever made me feel I wasn�t good enough to be either.�

The words hung in silence. The two men stared at each other, cold defiance on both faces. Sarah stood apart from them, watching them both, hands clasped together in worry, looking as if she wanted to say something, but had no idea what it should be. Finally, after several terrible seconds, Hardcastle turned and left the room without another word.

Sarah watched after him sadly for a second, then turned to McCormick, a deep concern painted across her face. She started toward him, arms outstretched. �Mark . . .�

But the young man stepped back, pulling away from her comfort. �The attic might be hard for him, Sarah. Will you go be with him?�

Sarah looked at him wonderingly, then spoke gently. �He didn�t mean it, you know.�

�I know,� McCormick lied. �But he really shouldn�t be alone up there, especially the way he is right now. Sarah, please. I can�t go.�

�You�ll be okay?� she asked.

McCormick nodded. �I�m just gonna go back to the gatehouse for the night. I�ll see you tomorrow morning. You look after him tonight, okay?�

�You won�t even try coming back for dinner later?�

�Ah, no. I think it�s best if I give him some space.�

Sarah nodded her acceptance. �I�ll take care of him.� Then she watched McCormick walk slowly from the room, still clutching the two tree decorations that were apparently no longer special enough.

Hours later, when he was sure everyone would be sleeping, McCormick rose from the sofa in the gatehouse and placed the miniature gavel on the mantel next to the racecar. He had thought about taking it along, to serve as a reminder of why he was taking a giant step backward, back to a life that carried more risk now that he was a law student, and now that he truly was working without backup for the first time in a long time.

But he didn�t really need any reminder beyond the dull ache that had settled in his heart, and, besides, he had once heard a wise man say that pockets should always be empty during this type of expedition. Nothing to accidentally leave behind for the cops to find. So he took one last look at the ornaments, then slipped on a jacket to complete the black on black ensemble. Then he opened the double-doors and stepped out into the cool night air.

He walked out onto the patio and stood for a moment, looking up at the clear December sky, marveling at the specks of light. He wasn�t expecting the voice that came from the darkness.

�Can�t sleep either?�

McCormick whirled around to see Sarah sitting quietly in one of the deck chairs.

�You scared me, Sarah. What are you doing out here?�

�More to the point, young man, what are you doing out here?�

Somehow, even in the near total darkness, McCormick was sure the woman could see that he was dressed in basic black. Worse, he was sure she understood why.

�Like you said,� he answered, �I couldn�t sleep. Did the judge find his ornaments?� He knew evasiveness wouldn�t get him far with this woman, but it had to be worth a try. The long silence that followed made him think maybe he�d been wrong about that.

�He did,� she finally said from the darkness. �He has a lot of stuff up there; it was emotional for him.

�But don�t try to change the subject; we were talking about you and your sleep. And, it�s the reason you couldn�t sleep that worries me. What are you planning?�

�I�m not- �

�Mark McCormick, are you really going to lie to me?�

The softly spoken accusation froze the words in his throat. He glanced away quickly. �No, ma�am,� he whispered.

He felt, more than saw, her rise from her chair to move closer. �You used to look up at the stars a lot,� Sarah said thoughtfully, �back when you first came here. I always wondered what you were thinking.�

�I was thinking that they were beautiful,� McCormick answered honestly. �And I was thinking I should never have taken them for granted. And how I would do anything to never lose them again, even stay here and put up with the lunatic judge who sent me to prison.�

�And tonight?� she prompted.

He hesitated, not wanting to answer, but knowing it was pointless to resist. Several beats passed before the words finally came. �Tonight, I was thinking that there are things worth giving them up for.�

�He would disagree with that, you know.�

McCormick snorted. �In case you haven�t noticed, Sarah, he disagrees with me about everything.� He shook his head. �But I don�t care. No matter how he feels about me, I can�t change how I feel about him. Someone did this to him, Sarah, and if there�s a chance something in that building will help me figure out who, or why, or how, nothing is going to keep me away.�

�And what if you get caught?� Sarah demanded harshly. �Or hurt? What will he do if something happens to you?�

�Before or after the party?� he asked sardonically.

�Don�t take that tone with me, young man.�

�Sorry. But, seriously, Sarah, he doesn�t care what happens to me. He�ll manage, whether I�m here or not. He would obviously prefer that I not be underfoot so much; he�d be glad to see me gone. And, anyway, he wouldn�t be surprised, that�s for sure. The man thinks I�ve got one foot back in Quentin, already. He figures that�s where I belong.�

�That�s not fair, Mark,� Sarah scolded.

�No, it�s not,� McCormick replied fervently, and there was no disguising the pain in his voice. �None of this is fair! But it�s happening just the same, and even you can�t deny it. You saw how he was tonight. It�s not bad enough I�m not Tommy; I�m a felon on top of that. I don�t know where the guy is who believed that a single mistake shouldn�t define an entire life, but apparently that guy didn�t exist in 1971. He can�t get past my record, Sarah. I never would�ve thought that was possible, but here it is. I�m not leaving him like this. I can�t.�

�And who�s going to help him if you do end up back in jail?�

�I�m not gonna get caught,� McCormick replied stubbornly. �I�ve had a lot of practice at this sort of thing.�

But Sarah could be just as stubborn. �Some of that practice is what landed you here, if I remember correctly.�

Mark almost smiled at that, but his determination didn�t falter. �I already told you: some things are worth the risk. I need to know what�s in that building, Sarah. Experience tells me that we�re not gonna get a lot of answers just by asking, and that�s if we knew what questions to ask, which we don�t. I have to get him back, Sarah. Can�t you understand that?�

�I�m not letting you do this, Mark; can you understand that? I�ll tell Judge Hardcastle if I have to.�

�And he�ll call the cops,� McCormick replied bitterly. �But you do what you need to do.� He turned to stalk off the patio to the drive, but he heard the woman following him.

�Don�t you walk away from me, young man,� she called out angrily, and reached out to grab his arm with more force than he would�ve ever thought possible.

�Sarah-a-a-g-g-h!� He wrenched his arm away from her and cradled it to his body.

�What�s wrong?� she cried, alarm immediately replacing her anger. �Mark?�

He shook his head roughly. �It�s nothing,� he said, but he couldn�t quite hide the breathlessness of his answer, as the pain burned along his arm.

�Nonsense,� Sarah said firmly. �Come into the light where I can see what�s going on.� She steered him back toward the gatehouse doors. Once inside, she found the light switch, and pulled him further into the living area.

McCormick had allowed his left hand to fall away from his right arm, trying to diminish the appearance of clutching it in pain, but the arm was still folded against his body, and he hadn�t quite erased the grimace from his face.

�What happened to your arm?�

He shook his head again, but Sarah was already moving closer to him. �Let me see. Take this jacket off.�

�Sarah, it�s nothing, it�s . . .� Her silent glare stopped his objections, and he allowed her to help support his arm while he removed the lightweight jacket that was so handy for after-hours work.

Under the jacket he wore only a short-sleeve tee shirt, making it impossible to hide the bandage that showed just the barest tinge of red.

�What happened?�

�I told you someone was shooting at us,� McCormick said as lightly as possible.

�I assumed they missed,� Sarah replied blandly. She was already busy examining the bandage, making sure it was applied to her satisfaction. �Men,� she was muttering, �you�d think one of you might�ve mentioned it.� She gently straightened the arm, reassuring herself that it was still in working condition and not gushing blood. �And you were carrying all those boxes from the attic. Honestly.�

McCormick finally found a laugh. �Sarah, it�s not gonna need to be amputated, or anything. I�m fine.�

But Sarah didn�t seem to see the humor in the situation. She released his arm, took a step back, and glared at him defiantly. �And you were planning on pulling your second-story job in this condition?�

McCormick laughed again, not sure whether the woman was more flabbergasted by the idea of him actually pulling the job, or being wounded while he did it.

�And if someone is already willing to go this far, don�t you think you should be more concerned about being here at home in case they come back for the judge? Surely keeping him alive is more important than getting his memory back.�

�Of course,� Mark replied defensively, �but I can�t be his bodyguard every minute of forever. If I could get his memory back, we�d have a better idea how to protect him. At least we�d know what we have to protect him from.�

He was reaching for his jacket when Sarah spoke again, softly. �Mark, please. Whatever this case is, I couldn�t stand it if it caused me to lose you both.�

He turned back to her, anguish on his face. �Sarah, don�t. I need to-�

�Monday,� she interrupted. �Let it wait until Monday. Do this Lieutenant Harper�s way.� She looked up into his blue eyes. �Please.�

McCormick stared at her silently, torn. Finally, he dropped his jacket back onto the nearest chair, and forced a smile he didn�t quite feel.

�Can we at least go back to the house and have some more of those cookies and milk?�

The smile was a little more real when he saw the relief wash over Sarah�s face just before she crossed back to him and threw her arms around his neck. She moved away quickly.

�Okay,� she agreed in her no-nonsense tone. �But only if you do the dishes.�

The stillness in the house seemed odd as Sarah made her way down the stairs. It had seldom been that way when she lived there. She remembered the judge had always been an early riser, up and out the door for early morning exercise, then off to work. Nancy Hardcastle had also been up and busy, not far behind him, waking Tommy for school, tending to her gardens, and the myriad of obligations to the many organizations she belonged to. There had never seemed to be enough hours in the day for either of them.

Even after his family members had passed on, the judge had continued his early morning regime, and, later, he bustled about getting McCormick ready for the day-usually loudly. She fit right in, being a morning person herself. Memories made the house come alive for her this morning and, as she stepped to the foyer, she smiled at the thoughts. The silence was marred by some noises coming from the den.

Peering through the door, she saw McCormick pushing a chair back where it belonged near the sofa. He paused, picking up a book when he realized he wasn�t alone.

�Oh, morning, Sarah� he grinned sheepishly.

�Good morning, yourself. Have you been here all night?�

�Well, yeah. After we finished our snack, I had gone back to the gatehouse, but then decided you were probably right last night and I decided to pull another all-nighter.�

�I was right about what? And how is your arm?� she asked as she came down the steps.

�Right about keeping watch over the house.� He couldn�t bring himself to say the judge. �It was a long, quiet, boring night.�

He yawned and his grin became a bit wider as he put the book back on the shelf. �I did get a head start on some reading for next semester though.� Not that there�s going to be a next semester, he thought to himself. He was talking fast and moving, as if to beat a quick exit. He flexed his arm with the barest grimace �See? Nothing to worry about. I can lift fertilizer bags with the best of them.�

�Well, I�m glad you made good use of your time then. And I�m also glad that this �all nighter� kept you indoors.� Sarah put a hand on his good arm to slow him down. �I�ll get some coffee going and breakfast while you freshen up. Then after breakfast, you can take a nap.�

Looking her right in the eye, Mark said, �No thanks, I�m not hungry, and after yesterday, I�m sure the judge won�t appreciate me being in the house-let alone finding out I was here all night.�

�Mark,� she started.

�No, Sarah, stop. Don�t even say anything. At least I know how he really feels about me now and we don�t have to tip toe around each other anymore.� He was on the landing, his eyes darting towards the stairs. �I�m sorry to have gotten you stuck in this mess, too. Another bad idea, I guess.� He looked at her sadly. �I�ll be here to take you to the airport, but until then, I�m laying low in the gatehouse.�

He didn�t bother to add some of his other thoughts. In addition to reading, he had spent part of the night figuring on what stuff to start packing. He felt his time at Gull�s Way had reached the end. He wasn�t going to leave until this was all over, but he figured he had better be prepared for the inevitable. A quick, false smile, and with a quick glance again at the stairs, he was out of the door.

Sarah stood alone in the room. She spied something that Mark had left on the table. She picked it up and smiled. She smiled briefly as she paged through it, setting it down when she was done. Looking around the room, she stopped at the half-decorated tree in the corner. With the lights off, it seemed cold and lifeless, much like the atmosphere on the estate this morning. Sighing, she headed up the stairs toward the kitchen.

It was after eight when the judge finally appeared in the kitchen. Sarah had spent the time leisurely reading the paper and enjoying the view with some coffee. Around seven-thirty, though, she began to worry about the judge sleeping so late.

�Good morning, Sarah,� he said as he moved over to the coffee maker.

�Good morning, Your Honor,� she answered, studying him. He didn�t really appear rested, and his brow was furrowed together just a bit. �Did you sleep well?�

�Yeah, I did. Well, I slept, anyway.� The last words were muttered, barely audible.

Sarah immediately noticed that Hardcastle was avoiding direct eye contact. She got up from the table and went to the stove. Being in the middle of the kitchen would mean bumping into each other and she was hoping that would break the ice a bit. She had never felt discomfort like this with the man before.

�What would you like for breakfast?� she asked, taking out a frying pan. �Bacon and eggs? Or maybe some pancakes and sausage?�

�Sarah, don�t trouble yourself. I�ll just have coffee this morning. I�m not really that hungry.� He took his cup over to the window and he looked out the ocean view. It didn�t take much to notice his gaze wandered over and stayed at the gatehouse.

�You�re sure?� she asked, �It�s really no trouble at all. In fact, I kind of miss taking care of you and Mark. Even though I live so nearby my family now, it�s not like having them in the house with me. It does get kind of lonely, especially in the mornings. Oh, Judge,� she stammered, �I�m sorry, I didn�t think-�

The judge couldn�t ignore the slight emphasis of �you and Mark� but he knew Sarah had forgotten that for him, his family had only been gone a few days, a simple mistake. It didn�t make the pain any easier.

�You know, I remember how you always had coffee ready for me and Nancy. You were always up the earliest.� He continued looking out the window. �No, go right ahead and fix yourself whatever you want, but I�m really not hungry.�

�Well, in that case, I guess I�m not doing any cooking this morning, as I�ve already had toast.� Sarah put the pan back. This diversionary tactic didn�t work. �But I insist on putting together a good old Sunday dinner for you.� As Hardcastle turned around she said again, �I insist. It�s really no trouble; you already have everything. Sunday dinners were always my favorite to make when I was here. That was one meal Mark was never late for.� Figuring then that if she kept talking about him, the judge was bound to say something.

Studying the cup in his hands for a few moments he said, �Sarah, I�m sorry you had to see and hear all of that yesterday. You�re a good friend and you don�t need to be in the middle of all this.�

�Humph. You�re the second person that said that to me today.� With that she got his attention. �Don�t look so surprised. Yes, Mark was here all night again, �pulling another all nighter�, as he put it. He was on his way out when I came down this morning. He apologized, too.�

�He was here in the house all night?� He apologized?�

�Yes, even after all that happened yesterday, he didn�t want you unguarded. And of course he did. He always does when he thinks he was wrong.� Sarah shook her head. �Not that he was wrong,� she added quietly. Then she continued, a little louder, �Honestly, I don�t know what to do with either of you.�

The judge turned his attention out the window again. There was a heavy silence in the room, not tense, just somber. The bright sunshine was a definite contrast to the silhouette of the dejected man standing there.

The old woman silently went to the table and sat down. She toyed with her own coffee, trying to think of what to say next.

�You know, for one of the first times in my life, I really don�t know what to say or do to help the two of you.� she started. �When Mark called, he didn�t really tell me anything about what had happened. It was only when he picked me up that I found out.�

�Another one of his surprises; he seems to be good at those,� the judge huffed out quietly.

�Yes, and he has pulled off some really wonderful ones over the years, too. The first time I got flowers from him on my birthday after I left, I started to cry; he�s never forgotten since either.� Sarah smiled. �And he�s sent little cards or postcards from time to time out of the blue. Sometimes I think he misses me as much as I miss the both of you.�

Hardcastle hung his head a bit. He knew he had gone over the edge the day before, but Sarah�s little recitation was just making him feel more guilty. He wasn�t one to apologize easily, but his conscience wasn�t letting go.

He rubbed his eyes and, blinking, sent his gaze back out toward the water. When he had told Sarah he slept, he wasn�t going to admit that the dreams he�d had kept him tossing and turning till exhaustion finally won out. He saw many faces during the night. Some he recognized, and others he had no clue about. Some of the faces were reassuring, Nancy, Tommy, Frank, even Sarah. He wondered in his dreams about some of the faces. Were they people he knew now? Did he know them from years ago?

McCormick kept popping up in them too, over and over again, sometimes mixed in with Nancy and Tommy, sometimes all by himself. With all the talk yesterday of some of their escapades, he was left trying to decide what he thought were really dreams, and what might have been memories. But even in his dreams, he chastised himself. How could any of them have been recent memories? He didn�t even know what happened the week before. He was truly beginning to question his sanity.

�Look, Sarah, I know you mean well and are just trying to help, but I think my little explosion yesterday shut off the entrance to the mineshaft.� He turned and sat down at the table. �God, it�s just that I miss them so much.�

Sitting directly across from him now, she could see the misery etched into his face. Instinctively, she reached over and clasped his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. Long gone was the propriety of employer/employee, now there was just the friendship that the man so desperately needed.

Hardcastle shot over a thin smile, grateful for the comfort. But the sadness remained.

Sarah returned the look with a gentle smile. �And you�ve been through this all once before, and you don�t remember.� He nodded and she continued, �The pain doesn�t ever really go away totally, but it will get better. You made it through before. The memories of your family will remain in your heart forever. And, believe it or not, you did make new memories. I have complete faith that they will return, too.� Giving his arm a firmer touch, she said, �There�s a photo album on the coffee table in the den. Take a look. Maybe it will help a little this morning. I know it helped me.�

With that, she rose and began walking toward the door. �I�m going to freshen up a bit so I can start cooking. I think once Mark finds out about dinner, he�ll come. Reluctantly, probably, but he�ll come. That is, if you want him here.�

There were pictures of Frank and him, fishing, and some of the Courthouse Racketeers, hamming it up for the camera. There were a few of him and Sarah, out in the rose garden, early summer, smiling. He was smiling. Who�d taken that one?

And then there was Mark, sitting on the hood of that car, the Coyote, holding a basketball, and another on, on the same page-him and the kid, standing in front of the Corvette.

The �Vette was Tom�s.

He turned the page quickly. More pictures of Mark. Another car, this one low and sleek and covered with sponsor�s labels, and the man in a racing suit, with a helmet tucked casually under one arm. And there he was again, in the next picture down, standing next to the younger man, and, if he�d had to guess, he would�ve had to say the expression on his own face was . . . pride.

Hardcastle closed the album and leaned back in his seat, swiveling slowly until he half faced the window. There had been no signs of life from the gatehouse. After what Sarah had told him about Mark standing guard duty again, he hoped the kid was taking a nap. Somehow, though, he doubted it.

He deserves a chance.

I can�t help the way I feel. And when I pretend otherwise, he knows.

How the hell does he know?

The judge put his fingers to his temples and rubbed, closing his eyes, wishing he could will this whole nightmare away, and just hold on to the familiar-the smells from the kitchen and the sounds of Sarah puttering with the pots and pans.

No, won�t work; you�ll open your eyes and they still won�t be here. Not only that, but nearly every sign of Tom�s existence had been blotted out, or moved up into the dark recesses of the attic. Why did you do that?

He let out a sigh. What had that kid said to him yesterday? That he�d managed to wipe out the vestiges of his family all by himself? That seemed like the actions of a crazy man. And then to take in a felon, let him have the run of the place, that was crazy, too.

He stayed up all night, keeping an eye on things.

Sure, you�re his meal ticket.

No, you couldn�t have been that bad a judge of character, unless . . . you really did go crazy.

All the things Frank had said he�d done, all the stories that he and Sarah and Mark had been sharing over lunch yesterday-he stopped rubbing his temples and leaned forward, hunched over, elbows on his knees.

This is madness.

�Are you all right, Your Honor?� Sarah�s gentle voice cut into this thought.

He sat up, opening his eyes, mastering his face. �Yes, Sarah,� he said mildly. �I�m fine.�

She looked as though she didn�t believe him but said, �All right then, dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.� She looked down at the album lying closed on the desk, then gave him a small smile, and the briefest of nods, before she turned and went back down the hallway toward the kitchen.

He looked toward the gatehouse again, then slowly got to his feet, feeling as though he had somehow aged thirty years, instead of merely fifteen. He trudged up the steps and down the hallway, and stood for a moment in the door to the dining room looking at the table-the usual three plates, but now it was him, Sarah, and-

He heard her voice in the kitchen, a one-sided conversation. She was using the phone, insisting, quietly but firmly, that dinner was ready and that she�d set places for three. The party on the other end was not being given much time to answer and Sarah did not appear to be accepting a simple �no�. A moment later he heard her say good-bye and �see you in a bit.�

Then she was standing in the opposite doorway, the one that led to the kitchen, holding a salad bowl and a basket of biscuits.

�Almost ready,� she said. �I made that nice ham you had in the fridge. I hope you weren�t saving it for Christmas.�

The utterly blank look on his face was followed by a bemused, �I have no idea, Sarah; that was your department.�

�I suppose I should have asked Mark, but you�ve still got three days to pick up something else.� She said it so matter-of-factly, that Hardcastle almost felt as though everything had been set right again.

Then they both froze at the sound of the back door opening. Sarah put the food down quickly and wiped her hands on her apron, a quick, nervous gesture that the judge could not ever remember seeing her make before.

�I�ll be right back with the potatoes and the ham,� she ducked back into the kitchen, leaving Hardcastle standing alone, next to the table, feeling unsettled.

Voices again, this time both sides of the conversation, though kept low enough that only the feelings came through-Sarah still insistent, Mark anxious and unwilling. He listened for a moment, then took a few reluctant steps nearer to the kitchen door. He paused there again. He could not remember ever being this indecisive. Then he steeled himself to the task and stepped through the doorway.

Sarah had her hand on Mark�s shoulder; his head was down, shaking a little from side-to-side. At his movement into the room, the kid glanced up. The emotion Hardcastle caught a glimpse of was very real-sadness, maybe some fear, but in a moment more it was gone, wiped clean, replaced with a mask that might have passed for indifference, if it had not been so studied.

�I�ll carry the ham,� Hardcastle spoke evenly, trying to imitate the matter-of-factness he�d heard from Sarah a few minutes earlier.

It worked. They were all in motion again, with Sarah taking the bowl of mashed potatoes and Mark picking up the green bean casserole. The momentum carried them all the way back to the dining room. Then they were taking their seats, the judge at the head of the table, Sarah on his left, and Mark slipping quietly into the chair on his right. It was patently evident that there was nothing voluntary about this, only that sitting down to dinner had become the path of least resistance.

Sarah did most of the serving. The judge carved the ham. Mark sat quietly, politely reserved. Once the food was dished up and sampled, there was a decent interval that consisted mostly of compliments to the cook. Sarah beamed gently.

After that the conversation stretched out a bit thin. Hardcastle thought maybe Sarah was having second thoughts about pressuring Mark into an appearance, but she soldiered on bravely.

�I was looking through that album in the den,� she said; there was no forced cheerfulness, only kind interest. �Those pictures you took of the judge and me, by Nancy�s roses, that was the first time I came back, after I went to stay with my sister.� She smiled at the recollection. �And this place hadn�t gone to rack and ruin in my absence.�

�We managed,� Mark replied, �but we missed you a lot.� Then he caught himself, looking back down at his plate, as if he was preparing to be taken to task for using the �we�.

Hardcastle said nothing for a moment. Then he cleared his throat, watching with dismay as the younger man controlled a flinch.

�Ah,� the judge hesitated, �I was wondering why you left, Sarah.�

She looked at him with mild surprise; perhaps this was one question he wasn�t already supposed to know the answer to. She put down her fork, and cocked her head at him, with a small smile.

�Well, it was because of my sister; she was getting so frail. But, Your Honor, that wasn�t something that happened all of a sudden.� Her expression had gotten rather thoughtful, and now her face turned to take in the younger man, as well. �I don�t think I really expected the rack and ruin. I wouldn�t have been able to leave if I had. Oh, maybe I thought there�d be a little more dirty laundry in the hamper, and a dust bunny or two under the desk, but I would never have left you two alone if I didn�t think you could take care of each other.�

Hardcastle shifted his eyes from Sarah to Mark and caught the quietly frantic signals he was sending her. So far the young man was keeping the panic isolated to his eyes, the rest of his expression still a study in wary self-control. Sarah was smiling reassuringly.

�Well,� Hardcastle tried to force a smile of his own; it felt almost broken. He retracted it, settling for something more neutral, �I guess you were right.� He was addressing his ex-housekeeper, but his eyes never left Mark.

The wariness remained.

The meal trudged onward, with Sarah acting as the interlocutor and Mark speaking only when spoken to. His answers were tense, quiet, and to the point.

At the end of another brief silence, toward the end of the meal, she said, �I know you�ll think me foolish, young man, but I�m glad you don�t race any more. When was the last time?�

The change of subject seemed to have taken both men by surprise. McCormick recovered first. He swallowed once and said, �About a year ago, a little less. It was a case. Before that it was the Arizona Modifieds.�

�That�s where those photos were taken, the ones in the album?�

Mark nodded.

�You won that race. I remember the judge writing me that.� She nodded once in Hardcastle�s direction.

�Sarah-� Mark�s voice was low and entreating.

�He was very proud of you, and all I couldn�t help but think was, �Oh, no, now he�s going to want to race all the time.�� She shook her head. �I was so relieved when I found out that you�d passed up some other offers.�

�What happened?� The judge interjected. �I wouldn�t let you?�

�There were cases,� Mark said hesitantly. �And school . . . I didn�t have enough time.� He let a flash of defiance escape across his face, as if he was daring the older man to doubt him. Then that was gone, too. It was back to simple wariness. �I�ve given it up,� he said with finality. �It�s out of my system now.�

�You�re better off,� Sarah said very gently.

�Yeah,� the younger man�s voice was dead flat, �that�s what I thought, too.�

What had seemed interminable eventually came to an end. Mark was on his feet almost the moment Sarah began to stand.

�I�ll take care of the dishes,� he said.

�No,� she replied firmly, �I�ll do them. You�ve been up all night and you�ll be driving me to the airport later on.� She made a little shooing motion. �Both of you go sit in the den. Let things settle.� She smiled. �I�ll be along in a few minutes. I�ll make us some coffee to go with the cookies. Or would you rather have milk, Mark?�

�Coffee�s fine,� he said, looking as if nothing at all was fine. He stayed on his feet as she gathered up the dishes and stacked them.

�Go on now,� she finally insisted. �I won�t be long.�

The judge was studying the tablecloth a little ways in front of his plate. He let out a sigh and lumbered to his feet. Mark followed him silently out of the room, casting one last look over his shoulder at Sarah. She gave him an encouraging smile. He did not feel encouraged.

In the den, he took the same seat he�d occupied for most of the night. The photo album was no longer on the coffee table. Now it was sitting on the judge�s desk. Not good, that�ll get him riled up again. He wished to hell he�d never taken it down last night. It might have sat there unnoticed on the shelf for a long time.

Hardcastle seemed to vacillate between moving back behind the desk, nicely out of the way, but obviously right next to the offending album, and taking a seat nearer to Mark himself. Tough choice, McCormick thought, watching him compromise by standing over by the fireplace mantle. Mark wondered how long Sarah would string out the dish-doing for, and how long it would be before one of them would crack under this uneasy silence.

�What time is her flight out?� Hardcastle finally asked.

�Five o�clock,� Mark replied. �I thought we�d better leave by three-thirty. Lots of traffic this time of year.� There, easy, you can do this. No problem at all.

�I was looking at your file again, last night.�

Mark froze, felt his face draining white. He wasn�t sure what he�d been expecting, in the way of talk, but this non sequitur was so unexpected that he almost thought he might not have heard correctly.

The judge ignored his silence and plowed ahead. �You�re from New Jersey?�

Mark managed a nod.

�Not much in there about that. You have family there?�

�Not anymore,� Mark replied bluntly.

This got a considered nod from the judge. McCormick fidgeted, waiting for the next question. None came, and he heard himself blurt out, �My mom�s dead. My dad wasn�t around. You�ve met him. He was nothing special.� Mark gritted his teeth. �Look, Judge, I�ll head back to the gatehouse and let you visit with Sarah. Just tell her I didn�t feel good, or tell her . . . I dunno, tell her anything you want. You don�t have to make small talk with me.�

�I�m sorry.�

McCormick froze again. Then his eyes narrowed down a bit. ��Sorry�?�

�Yeah,� the judge nodded once, �sorry. I thought maybe it would help if I knew you a little better. Maybe I would understand why-�

�Why the hell you put up with me?� McCormick finished with an air of exasperation.

�No.�

�I just don�t know how,� McCormick forged ahead over the judge�s single word, �you could have forgotten every other damn thing about me and still remember how to push my buttons.� He shook his head. �Okay, well, my dad cut out when I was five; my mom died when I was ten, and my uncle beat the crap out of me pretty steady on until I was old enough to get out and stay out. Is that enough detail for you?�

He�d kept his voice low and tight and sliver-sharp, daring the man standing in front of him to ask him anything else. But Hardcastle just stood there, nothing judgmental in his expression. McCormick found himself becoming angrier still.

�No,� he said as harshly as he could. �No� what? �No more.� He was tired, exhausted; he was losing control. For a moment he felt profoundly lost, and then he slipped into a once familiar place-dark and cold, but very familiar. He was vaguely aware that the judge was saying something to him-asking him something. �What?� he said flatly.

�You okay?� Hardcastle was standing a little closer to him, looking down, frowning-a stranger�s concern. The question was so absurd that Mark almost let out a laugh.

�I�m tired,� he finally replied. �I really should go get some sleep before I take Sarah to the airport.� He heard his own voice; it was calm, reasonable, persuasive.

�Yeah, maybe you should.� Hardcastle was nodding, still looking a little worried.

Mark stood slowly, looking around at the room. It was already the past. He understood that now. He�d just have to get through the next couple of days, figure some things out, make some arrangements. Then it would be done.

He nodded once at the judge, and then trudged up the steps and out the door.

Hardcastle moved behind the desk and into his chair, watching the younger man walk slowly down the drive toward the other building. Then he turned his head back sharply, at a sound from the doorway.

�Sarah,� he heard himself; he sounded flustered. �Ah, Mark said he was tired, needed a nap.�

Her expression was frankly disapproving. She moved over to the desk, putting down the tray and looking out the window for a brief moment. Then her gaze came back to the judge.

�Your Honor,� she hesitated, �I was hoping-�

�I tried,� Hardcastle protested. �I asked him about . . . things. He got angry.�

Sarah sat herself down primly in the chair opposite the desk. �Did you try saying you were sorry?�

�I did,� the judge said, with an air of belligerence that made Sarah shake her head.

�Not in that tone, I hope,� she looked at him archly.

�No, of course not. I was very polite.�

�Oh, Judge,� she sighed. �He�s never even needed �polite�.� She shook her head again. �I never saw anyone who could take that much guff from you and still come back smiling.� She cocked her head. �Not that you didn�t take a fair amount from him, too, but I think the balance was always in his favor.�

Hardcastle said nothing.

Sarah reached for a coffee cup and began to pour, still talking quietly. �Yesterday, what happened, that was very hurtful to him,� she paused, handing him the cup. �He never tried to take Tom�s place. Never. And he�s right; you hid away everything that could remind you of your boy long before Mark showed up.� Her eyes were locked on his.

�Why?� Hardcastle asked. It was almost a whisper. �Why the hell would I have done that, Sarah?�

Sarah sighed again. �I think . . . I think that maybe you thought you had driven Tom away, that he had joined the Marines because-� she interrupted herself, �It wasn�t true. All fathers and sons fight. And all children have to make their own way in the world. He didn�t do it out of anger or fear. He told me he wanted you to be proud of him, but even that wasn�t why he did it.� She paused for a moment, as if she was searching for the right words, and then, �He did it because he was Tom.�

There was a long moment of silence.

�I can�t believe he�s gone,� Hardcastle finally said, in a voice that implied that he believed it all too well.

�I know,� Sarah said quietly, �but he�s been gone a long time; Nancy, too. But neither one of them would have wanted you to stop being alive yourself.�

�I don�t get any say in it, Sarah?� he looked up at her, sadly pensive.

�No,� she said decisively, �not anymore. You�ve got other responsibilities.� She cast a look in the direction of the gatehouse.

Hardcastle found his glance following hers, and then, �He�s a grown man, Sarah. What the hell does he need from me?�

�Someone who needed him, a place to belong,� she answered without a moment�s hesitation. �I don�t think he�s had very much of that in his life. You gave him both those things, and he has repaid you many times over.�

He sat there for a moment, considering everything, saying nothing.

Sarah got up slowly from her chair, still looking down at him. �Finish your coffee, Judge. Let him get a little rest.� She reached out to pat his hand, comfortingly. �I think you will both muddle through. You always have.�

Mark showed up at the front door promptly at three-thirty, not looking much better than he had at dinner, but appearing grateful that Sarah had come out onto the front porch to meet him. A moment later, Frank pulled up, apologizing for being late. He took one look at Mark and his eyebrows rose as he shot a silent question in Sarah�s direction. From her there was a brief shake of the head. McCormick seemed to be ignoring the whole interplay.

�He�s inside,� he said to Frank, flatly. �You�re ready?� he asked Sarah.

She nodded, smiling softly up at him. �I�ve said my good-byes.�

He�d pulled the Coyote up in the drive. Now he opened the door for her and helped her down into the seat before closing it and going around to the driver�s side. All the reserve that he�d shown to the judge earlier was still in place.

He must�ve noticed her frown as he got into his own seat.

�I�m okay, Sarah. Don�t look that way.� He keyed the ignition and eased the car down the drive without another word.

�No, you�re not,� she tsked. �Neither is he.� Now she had his attention. He shot her a quick glance.

�Sarah,� he started slowly, �I don�t suppose you could come back, stay with him for a while, after the holidays? Maybe your sister could come too. The weather�s much nicer here than up there in January.�

�You�re giving up, then, Mark?�

�Sarah, there�s nothing to give up on. There�s nothing there. Worse yet, worse than nothing. He hates me. He�s angry.�

�Of course he is. You are, too. Someone stole fifteen years of his mind. They stole your friend.� Sarah threw her hands up in a gesture of exasperation. �You both have every right to be angry,� she tossed him a sideward glance that showed a little anger of her own. �Just don�t be angry with each other. No matter how much he seems to want to hurt you, he�s only lashing out at the unknown.�

�What do you want me to do?� Mark asked wearily.

�Drop me off at the airport. Go home. Get some rest. Have a nice ham sandwich when you get up-make his with mustard and Swiss on rye-and then find out who did this to him.�

Mark�s smile was a pale imitation of the genuine article. �I was trying to do that last night, Sarah.�

�You know what I mean, young man-a nice legal investigation. Let Lieutenant Harper help.�

�Okay,� his smile was fond, �I�ll do that. I promise.� The smile faded again, as though that one gesture of optimism had cost him more than he had left to pay.

�I don�t know if it will be all right, Mark,� she said gently, �but I think it will get better.�

Harper knocked two quick raps on the front door as the Coyote was pulling away. He wasn�t surprised to find Milt opening it, only a moment later, with a dangerous scowl on his face.

�You guys are getting pretty good at the handoff,� he grumbled. �Hardly any wasted effort.�

�Come on; it�s only until tomorrow . . . if Neely says you�re okay,� he added, almost as an afterthought.

�Why wouldn�t he?� Hardcastle grumbled.

�I dunno; I�m not a doctor.� Frank shrugged, following the older man into the den. �Sarah made cookies?� He smiled. �Now that�s my kind of houseguest.� He reached for one before he took his seat. His eyebrows went up as he noticed the other addition to the room. �Nice tree.� He frowned a little. �Doesn�t look quite, um, finished.� He took a bite of the cookie.

�Looks okay with the lights on,� the judge muttered defensively.

�Lemme guess,� Frank put the other half of the cookie in his mouth, pondering thoughtfully for a moment. �You only had time to put the lights up before you chewed the kid out and sent him to his room.�

�You�re the goddamn detective,� Hardcastle said grimly. �And I didn�t send him; he stalked out of here on his own last night.�

�I�ll bet.� Frank let out a breath. �Well, no matter what, I can guarantee you it won�t be the worst Christmas you two ever spent.�

The judge�s eyebrows rose a little in doubtful speculation.

�Let�s see, ah, two years ago. I was out of town, at Claudia�s folks. A guy named Cherney framed you for a murder. Nice frame too-Mark said they left the woman�s body right here.� He pointed down and toward the other side of the room. He paused for a moment and then said, �You know, I�ll bet that�s why he doesn�t like to have the tree over there any more.� He nodded to himself. �That white tape thing, it spooks everybody.�

�I got framed for a woman�s murder?� The judge was frowning impatiently.

�Yeah,� Frank continued, �Christmas Eve, everybody out of town. Mark going crazy trying to figure out how to make bail, thinking you�re gonna get yourself knifed in the county lock-up.�

�I spent Christmas in the lock-up?�

�No, he hocked the Coyote. He got you out on Christmas. Then you two busted Cherney for the murder.�

There didn�t seem to be a whole lot to say to this. The judge was staring at the unlit tree in the gathering gloom.

After a few more minutes, Frank asked, straightforwardly, �How bad did you rip into him yesterday?� He fielded Hardcastle�s quick, questioning glance and said, �Well, he doesn�t look too good today.�

�It was bad enough.� The judge frowned. �But Sarah�s already given me the lecture. Twice.�

�Yeah, but did you listen?�

Hardcastle nodded, saying nothing. A long moment later he added. �But it wasn�t really about him.�

�I know. I hope he knows, too.�

He�d seen Sarah safely onto the plane, waiting with her until it was time to board. She had chatted with him gently the whole time. He didn�t want to tell her how hard it was becoming to talk about these things now, and, at any rate, the comfort of her voice was worth any amount of painful memory.

But now he was pulling up the drive at the estate and everything was slamming back up against him, like breakers after a storm. Higher walls. More sandbags. You�ll get through this. He caught the glimmering of colored lights through the bushes. They�d turned on the Christmas lights.

He braked the car to a stop next to the fountain, just sitting for a minute. He couldn�t stay like that for long, he knew. They had to already know he�d gotten back. He�d have to go up there, say hello and good-bye to Frank, and then goodnight to the judge. Simple. Five minutes, tops.

He pulled himself out of the car and walked reluctantly up the steps. As he�d expected, Frank was already opening the door.

�Saw her off?� he asked.

�On the plane, safe and sound,� Mark replied quietly. �Thanks for coming by.�

�No problem. He�s in the den,� Frank gestured with his chin.

�Did you eat?� Mark asked.

�Not yet, Claudia�s keeping mine warm. Better shove off.�

�Yeah,� Mark looked wistfully over his shoulder at anywhere-but-in-there. He watched Frank slip out the door. He stepped out behind him, closing the door a little behind him. �I�ll call you tomorrow, after the appointment.�

Frank gave him a nod and a wave and then was climbing into his car.

Mark let out a breath. He supposed he ought to be grateful that Frank hadn�t quizzed him about how things were going. He stepped inside again, listening for a moment. He took the last few steps to the den doorway, leaving his jacket on.

The judge was sitting quietly at his desk. The album had moved again, now it was open and lying a little to the judge�s right. Hardcastle looked up at him.

�This one,� he said mildly, �looks like it was taken in Washington.�

Mark glanced down at the page. �Yeah, �bout three years ago. You were named as a possible candidate for a vacancy on the Supreme Court.�

�You�re kidding.�

�Dark horse candidate. Law and order,� Mark shrugged.

Hardcastle stared down at the picture-the two of them, in full rig tuxes in a fancy reception hall. �So, I took you along?�

�No,� Mark said very flatly. �You left me here. I took myself along. Good thing, too, because when I got there a guy named Arthur Huntley was trying to have a couple of his goons get you off the candidate�s list permanently.�

�Arthur Huntley?�

�Formerly Lonnie Vanatta.�

This was met by a look of quick recognition. �Lonnie? We got him?�

Mark nodded.

�Well,� Hardcastle nodded to himself. �That�s good.�

�And you took a pass on being a candidate for the Supreme Court, took yourself out of the running.�

�Well, that had to be a long shot.�

�Not after you showed up in D.C. and nailed Lonnie Vanatta between press interviews.�

The judge mulled that one for a moment. �Then . . . why?�

McCormick shrugged. �Same reason I gave up racing, I guess.�

�Come on,� the judge said skeptically, �I was too busy to be a Supreme Court nominee?�

Mark nodded silently, studying his feet, hoping this line of questioning was pretty much over, because any other answers he gave would probably be met with even more disbelief. His eyes were drawn to the tree, now lit, though mostly bare in other respects. He was frowning down at a couple of packages lying underneath.

�Sarah left something,� the judge said, answering the unasked question.

Mark stepped closer, looking at the other package alongside the one from Sarah. He could see the envelope more clearly, now-his own name written in the judge�s scrawl.

�I found that one upstairs,� Hardcastle said gruffly, �in my closet . . . I have no idea what it is.�

Mark blinked a couple of times. �I know . . . I know that.� He swiped at his face with the sleeve of his jacket and took a deep breath. �Do you want a sandwich?�

�Ham? We got any Swiss in there?�

�Swiss and mustard and rye. Yeah.�

�Then maybe you wanna finish decorating this tree after that?�

�Um,� there was another swipe and a moment�s hesitation. �Yeah, maybe.�

He was on the sofa without quite remembering how he�d gotten there. Mark blinked again, taking in the direction of light through the den window. It was morning. Monday. He sat up abruptly. The shotgun was still propped against the chair, where he�d started out the night.

�Dammit.�

He had a vague recollection of being handed a pillow and blanket and told to vacate the chair sometime during the night. That he had done so without protest, and without any conscious thought, was a pretty good indication of what shape he was in. He checked his watch-a little after nine.

Monday-the appointment with Neely. He winced, turning halfway over and trying to sit up; his arm still ached. He glanced back up at the tree, lights now unplugged, but bearing an adequate number of ornaments. They hadn�t bothered with the Christmas music, but they�d managed to be civil.

Mark would settle for civil right now.

He heard some sounds from the direction of the kitchen and pulled himself to his feet. He found his shoes, ran his fingers through his hair, and put the shotgun away. The sounds were more distinct now-dishes being taken out. There was the smell of bacon and toast.

That�s . . . nice.

He frowned. Okay, he thought. There�s a certain logic to this. The appointment with Neely had to be looming pretty large in Hardcastle�s mind. Getting his keeper in the best possible frame of mind would be part of the strategy.

Does he think I�d try to screw things up for him if I was angry?

He doesn�t know you; he doesn�t know what to think.

And, anyway, wouldn�t you be willing to do it, for his own good?

Mark stared down into the murky depths of that thought for a moment, then took one of those silent vows that he knew would be easier to make than to keep. He squared his shoulders as he entered the kitchen. There were two plates on the table and Hardcastle draining the bacon.

�You shouldn�t�ve let me fall asleep like that,� Mark said, standing just inside the doorway and rubbing his neck.

�Why not?� Hardcastle glanced back at him. �I was laying awake in bed and you were asleep in the chair. What�s the sense of that?�

McCormick frowned at this. �How come? I mean . . . how come you were awake?�

Hardcastle shrugged and made a vague gesture with this free hand. �Dunno, just was. Made breakfast,� he said, with an expression that seemed to change the subject. �Took me a while to find everything.�

�Smells good,� Mark conceded, stepping over to the table-eggs, scrambled, bacon and toast. McCormick supposed Hardcastle might not have gotten much practice doing this, back when there were two women in the house.

�Looks good, too,� he said, adding a little more congratulatory tone to his words.

The judge studied his own cooking with a slightly concerned eye. �Bacon�s a little burnt.�

�That�s crisp,� McCormick picked up a piece and put it on his plate. �That�s how I like it.� He took a second piece, as if to prove the point, then he looked resolutely down as he dished up for both of them from the pan of eggs. �Listen, Judge, what would you say if Sarah were to come back, after the holidays, you know, just to help you find things for a while?�

�I don�t-�

�Need a keeper. I know.� Mark shook his head once sharply. �She�s not a keeper; she�s a housekeeper. You had one of those for years and years. What would be wrong with having one again?�

Hardcastle fidgeted a little. �I dunno.� Then he got a stubborn look to his face. �I guess I must�ve thought I could do without one.�

�Yeah,� Mark said quietly, �but you had me.� He smiled sadly. �We shared the chores . . . if you define the word �share� very loosely,� he added, after a moment�s thought. �I did get you to hire another housekeeper once, but . . .� his face got a little vague, �it didn�t work out.�

There was no response. Mark looked up from his food to find the judge giving him a rather penetrating stare.

�I suppose you already asked her?� Hardcastle finally grumbled. �What did she say?�

�Oh . . . well,� McCormick smiled again, �she told me to go home, take a nap, and then make us a couple of ham sandwiches. But she didn�t say �no�, and I think if you asked her . . .�

�What about her sister?�

Mark shrugged. �You�ve got a lot of room here, Judge. Heck, there�s a whole second house.� He gestured back over his shoulder, not sure how much more blunt he could be.

But the judge merely settled back into his seat, with that same unwavering, penetrating look. Finally came a non-specific �hrmph�.

McCormick pushed his eggs around a bit, and took a few more bites. He wasn�t all that hungry, but he didn�t want to be misconstrued. After a while he made a show of checking his watch again, and then got to his feet, gathering up his plate and the empty pans.

�I�ll take care of these, then I guess we better get ready to go-the appointment with Dr. Neely is at eleven.�

Hardcastle muttered something under his breath. Mark froze where he stood and then turned slowly back to the older man.

�And it�s your appointment, not mine. If you don�t want to keep it, just say the word. If you are going, I�d rather you still let me drive you.�

�I don�t see why I can�t start driving again.�

�Because,� Mark frowned, turning away again and putting the dishes on the counter next to the sink, �you still don�t know what the hell it was that made you crash the truck in the first place, that�s why.�

�You think this Neely guy is going to figure it out?�

�No,� McCormick looked out the window, �I don�t.�

There was a moment�s silence and then the judge spoke again, abruptly, �I think maybe I need to see a psychiatrist.�

Mark froze again, not wanting to turn around until he�d settled the look on his face. He wasn�t sure what the judge would make of it; surely there was disapproval written there. �I think . . .� he began, then he hesitated.

�What?� Hardcastle asked testily.

�I think if you have a hammer, all problems are nails.� McCormick sighed. �At least that�s been my experience.�

�You�ve had some experience?� the judge asked. �Being a nail, I mean?�

Mark�s laugh was short and a little painful. �Yeah, Judge,� he finally risked a glance over his shoulder. �You could say that. Anyway, for what it�s worth, I don�t think a psychiatrist is gonna figure this out, either.�

�Well, maybe not,� Hardcastle agreed, �but I still think maybe I should see one.�

They�d arrived at Dr. Neely�s office with time to spare, despite Mark�s apparent effort to drive at a moderate and sedate speed. Hardcastle thought he was making up for it with the pacing, now that they were in the waiting room itself.

The judge grabbed a copy of Sports Illustrated off the end table and handed it to him. �Siddown, you�re making me nervous.� He pointed at a chair. The kid sat, but forward on the edge of the seat, managing to look even more twitchy sitting there than he had while he was on his feet.

�It�s my appointment, remember?� Hardcastle said gruffly. �What the hell are you so jumpy about?�

Mark shrugged; then he smiled a little lopsidedly. �So what�s your strategy? You gonna try to fog him again? You�ve had a whole week to get up to speed on current events.�

Hardcastle frowned for a second, but couldn�t muster up the anger he�d felt in that hospital room when he�d been caught out the first time.

He gave a quick grunt and said, �Well, if that�d been my plan I woulda taken a cab here.� Yet, somehow, he thought if he did try to plaster things over with Neely, the kid wouldn�t be so quick to jump on it this time. �No, I figure I�ll just be honest with him.�

Before he could say anything else, the door to the office opened and a nurse holding a manila file announced his name. He got to his feet and darted a quick look at the younger man, who had enough worry on his face for the both of them.

�You comin�?� he asked. McCormick looked startled. �You think he�ll believe me?� the judge said with a somewhat chagrined smile. �He�s gonna want to talk to you, I figure.� He fielded the kid�s puzzled expression. �You�re the keeper.�

�The hell I am,� Mark said with surprising vehemence, but he stood up and followed the judge into the inner room.

They�d barely settled themselves there, blood pressure and pulse taken and recorded, when Neely himself entered with a smile and a nod.

�Mr. Hardcastle,� he pulled a small stool up next to the work counter and opened the folder, �how are you? Been a week already?�

The judge smiled thinly. He supposed for the neurologist it had been a quick and uneventful interval. He gave a nod. �Since the accident, yes. I�ve only been home five days.�

Neely nodded once as well. �And how have things been going?� His glance up from the file included Mark. �Any change? Any improvement?�

�I know who the vice president is,� Hardcastle said grimly. �Other than that, no, I don�t think so.�

Neely frowned and jotted a few words. �Any new problems? Headaches? Weakness? Any episodes of dizziness?�

�No, none of that. I lost my temper a couple of times.� The judge glanced sideways at Mark who was studying the floor just in front of his feet with intensity.

Neely cocked his head at Mark. �Is that unusual?�

�Hell, no,� Mark said with some feeling; then he softened it with a smile. �Standard operating procedure.�

�Really?� Hardcastle�s eyebrows had risen a bit.

�Yeah, well, maybe not quite like that, but you can be pretty prickly sometimes.� Mark shrugged.

�Sarah said you took a lot of guff from me,� Hardcastle said quietly.

Neely leaned forward on his stool. �Who�s Sarah?�

�Ex-housekeeper,� Mark filled in. �Came for a visit this weekend. She�s only been gone a couple years; she knows the routine, and they know each other. I think she�ll be able to help him fill in the gaps.�

�No trouble retaining new information?� Neely asked.

�None,� Mark assured him. �By this time next week he�ll know the free-throw percentages for everybody in the Laker�s starting lineup.�

The judge gave the kid a hard stare.

Ask him about driving,� McCormick said to Hardcastle, ignoring the look.

�Driving?� Neely repeated, thoughtfully. �Well, that�s hard to say, seeing as we�re not sure of the etiology of your problem. But I would say if you have no further symptoms for, say, another week or so, I would okay you for short daytime trips, at least. I wouldn�t advise driving if you are overly tired. No problem with anything else? Eating, sleeping?�

The judge cocked his head at his younger companion. �You wanna answer this one, too?�

Mark shook his head tightly and slouched back against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

Hardcastle turned back to Neely. �Appetite�s okay.�

�And the sleeping?� the doctor prodded.

�It�s . . . pretty much okay.� He shifted his eyes off Neely and onto a spot several hundred yards beyond the wall. �Do you . . . is there any idea of what might have happened? What caused this?� His eyes snapped back into focus on the doctor�s face, which was an honest study in puzzlement.

�No, not really,� Neely said. I can tell you a few things it most certainly isn�t, but that�s good news, because most of the things in my department that cause amnesia are not really reversible.�

�So, you think my problem�s not something that falls under your department?� Hardcastle continued insistently.

Neely shook his head no. �Don�t think so,� he said. �Not likely, anyway.�

�You said . . .� Hardcastle hesitated again, this time the look he cast at Mark was even more pointed, �something about seeing a psychiatrist.�

�Yes.� Neely looked rather surprised. �Dr. Westerfield, I mentioned your case to him; he was most interested. He said he�s got some space on his schedule; there are a lot of patients away during the holidays. He wouldn�t mind seeing you on short notice. He�d probably be able to fit you in tomorrow.�

�You�re not the average three-penny nail,� Mark muttered under his breath. Hardcastle caught it and grimaced back at the kid.

Neely gave them both a puzzled glance and continued, �My receptionist can call over there and set up the appointment.� Then he was rising; clearly the interview was at an end.

�That�s all?� Mark asked. �What about-�

�He wants to know if I still need a keeper,� Hardcastle interrupted sharply.

�Judge-�

�Gentlemen,� Neely overrode them both with a quick hand motion. �All I can say is that the situation seems to be . . . stable, at least for now. And you, Mr. Hardcastle, appear to be relatively functional.� The patient greeted this assessment with a grim smile. Neely forged on without a pause. �I can�t predict what will happen next. You don�t appear to be suffering from any known neurologic syndrome. Therefore I can only advise based on your current condition.

�It wouldn�t hurt to have someone around; a competent housekeeper would do, a friend would be a sensible idea. I can�t insist on it, though.� He nodded at the two men. �If there�s any change, or anything new arises, I would be glad to reevaluate you.� Then he offered a handshake to the judge, gathered up his file, and was gone.

Hardcastle looked back at the kid leaning up against the wall with his head hanging down.

�I can be out by tomorrow,� Mark murmured. �Be easier if I had a couple days.�

�The hell with that,� the judge said firmly. �You�ve gotta drive me over to see this shrink guy tomorrow.�

The younger man�s head came up, fractionally. His eyes narrowed just a little. Some of the previous day�s wariness was back, but it was losing a battle to some other, less cautious expression. Might be hope, Hardcastle thought.

�If the shrink says you need a keeper,� Mark suddenly broke out in a shameless grin, �it�s not my damn fault. I�ll just say I told you so.�

McCormick couldn�t help it; the drive back up the PCH was not sedate. The third time he caught himself verging on making it exhilarating, he lightened up on the accelerator, and cast a sideward glance at the judge. No complaints yet. The man looked practically serene compared to earlier that morning.

One part of his mind was still counseling caution. He just asked you to stick around and give him a ride to the shrink�s office. He had the address on a card in his pocket, the appointment was Tuesday at ten-thirty. And yet-

�For Pete�s sake, it�s not the Indy 500,� Hardcastle groused mildly. �I�d like to get home in one piece.�

�Sorry,� Mark replied. �Bad habit.� They were practically home.

Home.

He pulled into the drive at a downright sensible speed, spotting a familiar sedan parked by the fountain as he pulled up.

�Frank?� the judge asked, looking at Mark with slightly raised eyebrows.

�Looks like it. I told him I�d call when we got back.�

Hardcastle shrugged as they both climbed out. Frank was standing over by the bushes, near the place where the shooter had fired from on Friday night. He waved as he started walking back to them.

�How�d it go?�

�It went,� the judge replied, with a certain satisfaction in his smile.

Mark felt the lieutenant�s attention turn toward him. He saw the question that wasn�t being asked and he wondered, briefly, just how bad he�d looked yesterday, that Frank thought he�d better head over today to do some damage control. He flashed a small smile, not the full-bore goofy grin that he felt bubbling to the surface inside, but something more sensible, intended to allay concern, without encouraging false hope.

�We�re okay, Frank. He�s still not supposed to drive, and Neely still doesn�t have a clue. You got anything else?�

�Maybe,� Frank said, �maybe so. Wanna go inside?�

They�d retired to the den. Hardcastle took his usual spot behind the desk. Frank sat himself down opposite, and the kid, without any hesitation, slid a chair up beside Harper�s.

�Did a little legwork this morning,� Frank said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his notebook. �Thought I�d get a jump on things while you guys were keeping your appointment.� He flashed a look at Milt who didn�t appear to be bristling at the choice of pronouns. �Anyway, came up with a little background on this company, Symnetech. Turns out they�ve only been around about a year, under that name at least. The guy who founded it, his name�s Clement Grieves, was originally the director of something called the Holgremsen Institute.�

This information was met by two blank stares. Frank shrugged and forged ahead.

�Yeah, I never heard of it either. Holgremsen was a doc, very smart guy, Nobel Prize type. Started the Institute in the way back, right after the war. Did research. Died a couple of years ago.

�In comes Grieves, had worked for Holgremsen, took over the Institute. They got lucky, some of their research turned into a very exciting new drug. Got an article in the Wall Street Journal. It�s an antidepressant. Big money in antidepressants these days. Not fully approved by the FDA yet,� Frank went on, �but all the signs are good. That was a year and a half ago.� Frank flipped a page in his notebook and spared another glance to his listeners. He had their full attention.

�So, Grieves reincorporates the Institute as a private corporation, that�s Symnetech.�

�Is that legal?� Mark turned toward the judge. �The Institute was a not-for-profit entity and now-�

Frank shrugged again. �There weren�t any major assets, just the drug patent. The original seed money that Holgremsen used was gone, and they didn�t have any big grants. And, anyway, Symnetech belongs to the Holgremsen estate.�

Hardcastle frowned, �And that belongs to . . .?�

�Half a dozen respectable charitable organizations get a share out of any proceeds. No living relatives.�

Both the other men were frowning.

Mark spoke first, directing it to the judge. �An IPO?�

�Maybe, makes sense.� Hardcastle rubbed his forehead. �You got anything on Symnetech having plans to go public?�

�Come on, Milt. I only had a couple of hours to come up with this.� Frank flipped his notebook closed. �Anyway, give me a nice murder, a kidnapping. These corporate things,� he shook his head, �you need an accountant, not a cop.�

�There�s something missing.� Mark had leaned his head back on his chair and was studying the ceiling. �If they just do a stock offering, Grieves can�t profit that much. It�s those respectable charities that are going to get the payday.�

�He�s got something on the backburner,� the judge nodded.

�Something that�ll run the price of the stock up, after the initial offering,� Mark lifted his head and looked at the judge. �More research? A new drug, another patent?�

Hardcastle nodded. �And that tide�ll float everybody�s boats. As long as the charities are getting bigger checks, and all the investors are profiting, whose gonna look too closely at the CEO�s chunk of stock. Heck, he�s probably making it look all self-sacrificing, that he took a couple thousand nearly-worthless shares of a feel-good company instead of a salary.�

�Yeah,� Frank interjected, �but what has that got to do with . . . all this?� he waved his hand vaguely at Hardcastle. He watched the cold, wet blanket of reality settle back on the sparks of criminal speculation.

After a moment or two of grim silence, Mark said confidently, �Dunno, but I guess we�ll find out. Anyway, it�s a good start.�

�Yeah, Frank,� Hardcastle added. �Thank you.�

�Don�t thank me,� Frank smiled, �Haul out a plate of those Christmas cookies. You two haven�t eaten them all have you?�

�Not yet. We made a dent, though.� Mark smiled as he got to his feet. �Coming right up.�

McCormick was barely out of the room before Frank inched his chair in toward the desk and leaned forward. �Things are going a little better?�

The judge nodded again. �Guess so.� His eyes passed over the recently vacated chair and then back to Frank. �He�s pretty sharp.�

�That he is,� Frank smiled. �You taught him all he knows.� There was a moment�s hesitation. �Well, not everything. I think he picked up some of it in San Quentin.�

The look he got from the judge at this was merely annoyed, not angry. �Yeah, well, he doesn�t scare off too easy.� Hardcastle�s face had assumed a thoughtful look. �I like that.�

�You�ll like him,� Frank spoke with assurance. �Just give him half a chance.�

Milt was still pondering this when McCormick rounded the doorway, tray in hand, smiling to himself. �I shoulda asked you if you wanted a sandwich first. It�s going on one o�clock.� He set the tray down and divvied up the cups and plates. �We�ve got a lot of ham. I suppose I should-� He broke off, looking up suddenly at the judge, as if he�d just realized he was talking out loud.

�Should what?� the judge asked mildly.

�Should, um . . .� The kid sat down, smile gone. Frank watched a cool, neutral almost-wary look replace it. �Ah, Sarah was right; the ham was for Christmas. I suppose I should pick up something else. You can�t just eat ham sandwiches all week,� he added, with a touch of defensiveness.

�Well,� Hardcastle continued on, still in the same mild tone, �I suppose we could, but it wouldn�t be very Christmasy.�

�No,� Mark hesitated. �It wouldn�t.� He hesitated again. �I could pick up a turkey. A small one.�

�Not too small,� Hardcastle smiled. �Turkey sandwiches.�

The kid�s smile was tentative, but back. �And Swiss, and mayo, and more rye.�

�Yeah, that sounds about right.�

Frank shook his head, and finished his second cookie. �Okay, you two, now you know all the angles. Stay out of trouble and keep me posted. I better head back to the office.�

McCormick got up and saw him out. When they got to the door Frank took his arm and guided him out, closing it slightly behind him. Then he asked the same question he�d asked the judge. This time the answer was more hesitant.

�Yeah,� Mark finally answered, �a little better. He�s been on his best behavior all day. I thought it was because of Neely.� Mark paused, then leveled a look at Frank. �What the hell did you say to him?�

�Nothing,� Frank smiled. �I think he figured it out all by himself.�

�No,� Mark said, looking down a little. �I think Sarah gave him a kick in the pants. She�s good at that. One look from her . . .� He shook his head. �He�d do it for her, too.�

�Well, long may it last,� Frank said with feeling.

Mark lifted his head, eyes a little narrowed, his smile thin. �Yeah, but the important thing to keep remembering is, it might not.�

Frank gave him a pat on the arm, but was too good a friend to offer a flat-out denial.

Mark watched Frank walk to his car before he turned back to the door. He reached into the box for the mail almost reflexively, starting the once-through sort, to divide them into two groups, even before he�d gotten the door open. It was the second letter-one addressed to him-that made him freeze in his tracks, the door ajar.

Damn. He looked over his shoulder. Frank was already halfway down the drive. Mark looked back down at what was in his hand, then shoved it hastily into the inner pocket of his jacket. He composed his face, and stepped back into the house. He had no idea what Frank might, or might not, have explained to the judge about their financial arrangements, but he was sure as hell not going to go inside and hand the man a tuition bill right now.

He stepped back into the den and put the judge�s part of the mail down on the edge of the desk, certain that his face was a brittle mask over a seething cauldron of �what-the-hell-do-I-do-now?�

It didn�t matter. The judge had his Rolodex out and was thumbing through it for something. He didn�t even look up as he muttered, �Can�t find Fawley�s number. Must�ve changed. Tried to dial the old one and I got a pet store.�

�Fawley?�

�My accountant, business manager, handled all of the brokerage accounts. If anybody�d have the low-down on an IPO, it�ll be him. I�ll just ask him to scope it out for me a little, like I was thinking of investing. He�s always telling us to broaden the portfolio.�

�Try the �P�s, Pickering. He�s the only one I ever heard you mention. Fawley must�ve retired.�

This time Hardcastle looked up, abruptly. �Or he died.� The look on his face was resigned. �Pickering? I remember him. Skinny kid right out of school. Junior member of the firm.�

�He�s filled out a little. And I�ve never heard you complain about him.�

Hardcastle�s reply was mostly a grunt, as he flipped further back through the cards. �Here,� he looked up again, concern written in his expression. �He�s gonna ask me stuff and I�m not gonna know what the hell he�s talking about.�

�Nah,� Mark sat back down. �It�s right before a holiday. It�s almost the end of the year. You�ll be lucky if he even answers the phone. Just tell him what you want. Tell him you don�t want to bother him about anything else, knowing how busy he is and all. He�ll love you for it.�

The judge nodded a little doubtfully but began to dial. Mark reached over and pointed out the speaker button.

The secretary was crisp but friendly. She seemed to recognize the judge�s name and asked if he needed his account file pulled while he waited.

�No . . . no, just a quick question. That�s all,� Hardcastle assured her.

When Pickering came on a moment later, he was more jovial than harassed and Mark had a suspicion that the office Christmas party had started a bit early. The business manager gave Hardcastle�s inquiry a moment�s thought before he replied.

�Symnetech? Yeah, I heard something about it. It�s a January launch. Already delayed once, I believe. I can�t tout it very much. Might draw a little interest from investors who are looking to balance their portfolios ethically, but I wouldn�t say it�s all that common to have a company that does well and does good.�

�Why was it delayed?� Hardcastle asked, with only casual interest.

�Don�t know. There can be lots of reasons. Might�ve just been a snafu with the paperwork. Hey, you�ll be wanting a check drawn on the main account pretty soon? Do you want it made out to, um . . .� there was a brief sound of paper-thumbing, �McCormick directly, or to the bursar?�

Mark felt the cauldron come to a sudden and complete boil, and his forehead dropped into his hand. Can I not catch a break, here, just once? He barely registered the judge�s words.

�. . . what we did last time.� Hardcastle�s tone was calm and even, as if he knew exactly what he was talking about.

�Yeah,� the accountant replied-the sound of a pen, notations being made. �It�s easier that way. Just give me a total and I�ll put it together for you. And, if you�re interested in biochemicals, I�ll let you know if I hear of any hot prospects. But not Symnetech.�

There was an exchange of holiday greetings, and a promise to meet about tax papers after the beginning of the year. Then the dial tone, and Mark reached over to hit the speaker button again. He slumped back in his seat.

�Well, I guess I shoulda figured,� the judge said flatly. It was hard to read what feeling might be behind the words.

McCormick kept his eyes focused on the edge of the desk where the damned phone sat. He waited for something else, some pointed comment from Hardcastle. Nothing more came.

Mark finally sat up a little straighter and said, �You are under no obligation-�

�Oh, but I kinda think I am,� the judge interrupted him. �We must have some sort of arrangement.�

Mark resisted the urge to tell Hardcastle it had been his idea, and, God knew, he didn�t want to go into the exact mechanism by which he had acquired his law school tuition from the judge; the man�s sense of mental health was shaky enough as it was. So he settled for the vague and obscure.

�Strictly verbal. I don�t even think there was a handshake involved. I won�t hold you to it.�

�Got the bill yet?� Hardcastle replied.

Mark sighed, and reached into his pocket to pull out the envelope. He handed it over reluctantly, watching the judge take the letter opener to it in an altogether familiar gesture. Then he saw the expression of mild astonishment on the man�s face as he unfolded the sheet and studied it.

A low whistle and then, �Didn�t cost that much when I went there.�

Mark couldn�t help it; a smile crept onto his face. He tried to squelch it as the judge looked up and pinned him with a look.

�What?� the older man asked, appearing mildly suspicious that he�d been left out of a joke.

Mark blinked once. �I�m sorry; I couldn�t help it. That�s exactly what you said last semester.� He shook his head. �And then you called me �a damn expensive hobby�.�

�And what did you say?� Hardcastle asked curiously.

�I told you ��A�s don�t come cheap�,� Mark replied levelly.

�Then there�s textbooks,� Hardcastle looked down, studying the bill again, �Things like that.�

�You already paid for them. I wanted to get them before the semester break; get some of the reading out of the way over the holiday . . .sometimes things come up.�

�Don�t they though,� Hardcastle replied dryly.

�No obligation,� Mark repeated himself, looking directly at the older man.

The judge nodded once, then reached forward for the phone and began to dial Pickering again.

By the time Hardcastle had finished his additional brief business with the accountant, Mark had slipped out of the room. It was as though he was embarrassed about the whole thing, though Sarah and Frank had both intimated that the kid earned his keep. The judge frowned again, looking at the bill he�d just made arrangements to pay. He didn�t feel like he was being used.

He got up and strolled into the kitchen, where Mark was finishing the lunch arrangements with more bustle that it appeared to require. At least he had gotten to the point where he could recognize when the kid was nervous. He supposed that was a start. Of course it also meant that he was getting a lot of practice seeing it.

�Just about ready. Leftovers again,� Mark apologized.

Hardcastle pulled out a chair and sat himself down. Mark put down a bowl of potato salad and took the other seat.

There was a moment of awkward silence and then McCormick took a breath and said, �Thank you. You didn�t have to. I never expected you to do it the first time around.�

The judge nodded and started filling his plate. He paused, spoon in hand, and gave the younger man a questioning glance.

�Did I seem like the sort of person who would go back on a deal?�

Mark blanched, then shook his head tightly. �God, no, just the opposite. When you made a deal, it stayed made.�

Hardcastle nodded. The look got a little sharper. �And have I changed that much?�

The answer didn�t come quite as fast this time. The kid was avoiding his gaze. �Judge,� he began slowly, �I don�t know how to explain this, without making you mad.�

�Just explain it,� Hardcastle said, with some exasperation.

�See, you�re already angry. That�s what I mean. You remind me so much of the guy who sent me up for two years, for auto theft.� Mark shook his head. �I used to pretend that I wasn�t scared of that guy. I had a smart mouth. I joked about it. Sometimes I got angry myself. I guess I�m out of practice. I haven�t had to be afraid of you for a long time now.�

�Then why the hell did you stay here, if I�m such a scary guy?�

�Huh?� Mark sat back in his chair and finally looked the older man right in the eye. �I thought you read my file.� Utter disbelief was written on his face. �I was looking at third-strike felony auto theft, on top of breaking and entering, flight to avoid arrest, and damage to police property. All of that while on parole. Whaddaya think? Fifteen years? Probably too conservative. I�m surprised I took as much time to make up my mind as I did.� He shook his head. �You had me between a rock and a very hard place, Judge.�

�So, you�re saying I blackmailed you?�

�Nah,� the kid�s smile was a little tight, �blackmail�s illegal. This was �judicial stay�.�

Hardcastle�s eyes narrowed a little. Mark wasn�t evading him anymore, the gaze he returned was steady and a little defiant.

�Hmph,� the judge grunted. �So happens I read your file, and I took a look at the Cody one, too. Most of those original charges would�ve looked pretty thin after you nailed him for a double homicide. A smart guy like you must�ve figured that out.�

�Yeah,� McCormick nodded the concession. �I did figure that. But I was still on parole.�

�But even that ended a year ago. So, why did you stay?�

The gaze didn�t waver. �Come on, Judge,� he said; his smile was steady, too. �Do I seem like the kind of guy who would go back on a deal?�

Hardcastle thought he should have seen it coming, it sounded so convincing when the kid said it. Doesn�t mean it�s true, but it sounds true. He shook his head once, as though to shag a little nagging doubt away, then he went back to filling up his plate.

They ate in silence but the tension seemed to have slackened some. Toward the end of the meal, the judge gave Mark another considered look.

�Whaddaya think, do we still need to mount a guard every night? Been three days now and no more action.�

Mark pushed the last of his potato salad around on his plate, giving the question some thought. He finally shrugged. �Dunno, Judge, I�m kinda in the boat with Neely on this one. Don�t know why it happened in the first place, so I can�t be sure if it�s gonna happen again. Maybe it occurred to them that it was a bad idea to raise suspicions by taking pot shots at ex-judges. Maybe they finally figured out that you aren�t much threat to them if you haven�t come at them in a week.

�But, still, I wouldn�t want to be casual about it. It took them four days to get around to firing the first shot. A couple more days of being careful wouldn�t hurt.�

�Then you should go take a nap,� Hardcastle looked down at his watch. �You can�t stay up night and day. And we�ll split the watch.�

Another day, another waiting room, another copy of Sports Illustrated. They were the only two there. This time the kid was sitting, almost sullenly, slouched back in his chair, leafing through the magazine with no apparent interest. He hadn�t had much to say this morning, but managed to radiate silent disapproval all the way over.

�Dr. Westerfield will see you now, Mr. Hardcastle.� The receptionist pointed him toward the office door.

Mark put the magazine down and started to rise, too, but slumped back at a gesture from the judge.

�Stay here a bit,� Hardcastle said, trying not to make it sound unkind. He caught the questioning look from the younger man, quickly papered over with resignation.

�Your funeral,� Mark muttered and then, �good luck,� he added quickly, not quite able to keep the worry out of his voice.

�I just want to talk to the guy. See what he says,� Hardcastle said with calm confidence intended to be reassuring. �It won�t take too long.�

�Yeah, three days, tops,� McCormick grumbled. �Just remember, they can�t hold you any longer than that without a hearing.�

�Yeah,� the judge smiled, �I know that.� He gave the younger man a quick pat on the shoulder and was startled by the look he got in return-surprise, followed quickly by a shadow of wariness.

Hardcastle sighed and strode toward the office door, trying not to let the kid�s fears infect him.

Westerfield was sitting behind a desk which reminded the judge of his own. He was a guy just north of middle age, balding, with a round, cheerful face. He was working in his shirtsleeves, the doctor�s coat hanging on the coat rack near the door. The judge put aside his expectations of a pointy beard and glowering eyebrows with a faint sigh of relief.

�Mr. Hardcastle?� the doctor rose and extended a hand, �I�m Westerfield. Dr. Neely has told me about your . . . predicament.�

The judge grimaced. �Well, that�s a new word for it. And he told you it wasn�t in his department, too, I suppose.� Hardcastle was trying not to sound irritated about that. He figured irritated would just be more grist for the mill with Dr. Westerfield.

He was gestured to a chair. This wasn�t going to be one of those doctor�s visits where you took off your shirt and said �ahh�, but at least he hadn�t seen a couch yet.

The judge let out a deep sigh. �Listen, Doc, I woke up last week and I was missing fifteen years; it�s as simple as that. They don�t think it�s because I hit my head,� he pointed to the rapidly fading bruise and the scabbed over scrape at his hairline, �and Neely says it wasn�t some kind of stroke; he sent me here. So, Doc, am I crazy?��

Westerfield looked taken aback. Maybe he�d been a little more direct than the man was used to. Hardcastle couldn�t help it. He�d had a week to think about the question he was asking. But a second later there was a smile and Hardcastle began to think he might be able to get along with this guy.

�First of all, Mr. Hardcastle, we don�t really use the term �crazy�. What Dr. Neely was trying to suggest, is that there didn�t seem to be any structural problem with your brain, and no way to explain the functional loss-though, Lord knows, we don�t really understand how memory works.�

�If you don�t understand it, then how the hell can you tell what is or isn�t causing it?� the judge asked, with rising frustration.

�Because, we may not know how it works, but we know the way it works. There�s no physiologic division between, say, a memory from adulthood that is ten years old, and one that is from sixteen years past. They�re both long-term memory.� Westerfield spread his hands and smiled again, �Now, you feel like you woke up, and fifteen years had simply never occurred, it was, um, 1971?�

Hardcastle nodded.

�A particular day in 1971?�

He frowned, then shook his head. �Frank asked me what day it was. I . . . didn�t know. I looked out the window, there were people, down in the parking lot, wearing jackets. I thought it must be winter. Then he told me it was December, um, sixteenth.�

�And what was the last thing you remember before that?� Westerfield prodded gently.

�Ah,� Hardcastle made a face. �The continuance I granted. The Hefflin case.�

�And that was-?�

�December. 1971. A terrible case. The father set fire to-� He paused abruptly and shook his head once. �It was pretty awful. The defense wanted more time for another psychiatric evaluation. He was going with an insanity plea. Hell, that guy was as sane as you or-� he stopped again, looking chagrined. Then he shrugged. �Well, as sane as you, anyway.�

�Sounds . . . memorable.� Westerfield�s smile was grim. �What day was that?�

Hardcastle froze. �Um, I don�t know. I�d have to check my records. Not too long before Christmas, though. I remember I was hoping to get the jury seated before the holiday break.�

�Do you remember what happened later that day?

�I came home.� Hardcastle frowned.

�What did you have for dinner that night?�

�Ah,� the frown deepened, �I dunno. Sarah . . . made something. I don�t remember what it was.�

�Of course not,� Westerfield nodded. �Nobody remembers what they had for dinner fifteen years ago. The only reason you remember that moment was it probably carried a lot of heavy emotional content for you. It was a particularly horrible case, and an exceptionally aggravating ruling.�

�And Frank had told me it was the middle of December, and I thought it was 1971 so . . . the Hefflin case.� The judge�s frown had been replaced by a look of acceptance.

�I think we ought to take a closer look at this interface between what you remember, and what you don�t,� Westerfield mused thoughtfully, �and see if it�s immutable, or indefinite.�

�All right,� Hardcastle gave his a questioning look. �How?�

The �how� part was basically Westerfield taking him through the late sixties and early seventies, mostly the things that everyone knew, but then dipping into the judge�s own personal life at intervals. Back and forth, it reminded him of walking the grid at Gull�s Way, Friday last, the same attention to detail that the kid had shown, looking for shreds of evidence.

�Doc,� he stopped in mid-recollection, �there�s something else I need to ask you about.�

Westerfield looked up from his notes. �That�s okay. I think we�re just about done with this exercise.� The doctor tapped his pen on his notebook. �Clearly there is no abrupt interface between what you remember and what you do not. This is exactly what I would expect; after all, none of us can remember ordinary events from fifteen years ago. We remember routines, and the very exceptional. You do seem to have an extraordinary memory for names, and details. I suppose that goes with your previous profession. But what you are actually dealing with is a sort of �fade out� somewhere in late 1971. Does that year have any specific significance for you?�

The silence got very thick. Hardcastle finally cleared his throat and said, firmly. �No, not that year.�

Westerfield�s left eyebrow went up a little.

�My son died, the next year. Frank, he�s an old friend of mine, he told me. I went to see the grave. And my wife, Nancy, she died the year after that.�

�Ah,� Westerfield eased forward a little in his chair. �I can see what Neely was getting at.� He tapped his pen again. �But you say you went to see your son�s grave?�

�Nancy�s, too,� Hardcastle rubbed his forehead. �They�re in Woodlawn.�

�Voluntarily?�

�Ah?�

�This, um, Frank, he didn�t force you to go. You asked to see their graves?�

�Well, yeah,� Hardcastle admitted. �I dunno, it just didn�t seem real. I�m not sure what I was thinking.�

�You just wanted to be sure.� Westerfield shrugged, �Like a person checks a road map when they think they might be lost.�

�Lost,� Hardcastle exhaled, �that�s for sure.�

�But people who have memory loss for psychological reasons, when they�re in a fugue state, they don�t try to reorient themselves. The amnesia is a sort of protective device. They may even fight to hold on to it, in the face of overwhelming evidence. What year is it now?�

�1986,� Hardcastle replied glumly.

�Is it? Do you really believe it is?�

�Hell, we drove by twenty gas stations on the way here, Doc. Have you seen the price of gas?�

�There.� Westerfield laughed. �If you want to be a regular patient of mine, you�re going to have to come up with a conspiracy theory to explain that.�

�I�ve got somebody waiting out there in your lobby who might be better than me at that.�

Westerfield gave him a puzzled look.

�His name�s Mark; he�s staying with me. Neely insisted I couldn�t stay by myself.� Hardcastle shrugged. �Probably was right. Hell, I didn�t believe any of this at first . . . Anyway, he knows me. I mean, he knows what I put on a ham sandwich, he knows where I keep the extension cord for the Christmas tree. He says he�s worked for me the past three years or so. He says we�re friends.�

�And you don�t remember him at all?� Westerfield looked speculative. �That must be . . .disconcerting as hell.�

�Wait, it gets better,� Hardcastle grimaced. �He�s an ex-con. I was a judge . . . I was the judge who sentenced him.� He rubbed the bridge of his nose. �Does that make any sense at all?�

The doctor appeared to ponder this for a moment before responding, �No, not much for him. Some pretty major cognitive dissonance there, I�ll bet. I�d like to meet him.�

�He doesn�t like �shrinks� very much.�

Westerfield laughed.

�But,� the judge hesitated again, �there�s something else that�s bothering me.�

The psychiatrist merely nodded an encouragement to continue.

�People who have this �fugue� thing, do they have trouble sleeping?�

�What sort of trouble are we talking about?�

Hardcastle�s eyes narrowed a little as he tried to construct a description that made sense. �It�s dreams. Very vivid, some I understand. Some confuse the hell out of me.�

�Like?�

�There�s one, over and over. I�m outside; there�s trees. I�m walking down a hill. There�s lots of underbrush. I can�t see very well, but I�m looking for someone, Tom, that�s my son. I want to hurry, but I�m afraid of what I�m going to find when I get to the bottom; I�m afraid he�s already dead. And then I wake up in a cold sweat.� Hardcastle closed his eyes; he could see the way the sunlight had come through the trees. It was early morning. He jerked himself upright and opened his eyes with a start.

Westerfield was leaning forward, elbows on the desk. �No one knows why we dream, but elements of whatever is troubling us while we�re awake seem to crop up frequently.�

�But this is so real, like it happened,� Hardcastle insisted. �And Tommy died nine thousand miles away. I wasn�t there.�

�Or, it�s possible it�s a real memory, and it confuses you because you�re having to fill in some of the context. Have you asked anyone who knows you if such an event ever occurred?�

Hardcastle shook his head, looking unwilling. �Who should I ask?�

�Well, now you are acting like one of my fugue patients,� Westerfield sighed. �How about this guy who knows where you keep the extension cords?�

Mark had pretended to look at every page of the three-month-past issue of Sports Illustrated. He�d gone back to pacing, with frequent breaks to study the slowly creeping hands of the waiting room clock. The receptionist hadn�t paid much attention to this. She was used to seeing barely-controlled anxiety, he figured, and had probably already diagnosed him from where she sat. Nearly forty-five minutes had inched by when her phone rang. She spent a short moment with the receiver to her ear, and then looked up at him.

�Mr. McCormick?� she inquired politely. �You can go in, now.� She pointed him toward the door.

He straightened himself, loosening his shoulders. He tried to figure out all the potential angles of damage control he might expect to encounter, while erasing all hints of anger from his face. The he opened the door and edged through.

Hardcastle was just sitting there, not looking particularly worked over. The guy on the other side of the desk was smiling, gesturing him to a chair. If there was bad news in the offing, he was doing a good job keeping it under wraps.

�Mr. Hardcastle tells me you aren�t too fond of �shrinks�.�

Mark shot the judge an exasperated look and a quick, �Thanks.� Hardcastle shrugged.

Westerfield stifled a chuckle. �Don�t worry, Mr. McCormick, it�s a common opinion. Your friend also tells me you have a theory about his current condition.�

�I thought that�s why he was coming to you,� Mark grumbled.

�Well, good news there. I would have to say his memory loss doesn�t show the typical hallmarks of a psychiatric disorder.�

Mark sat up straighter. �Really? I mean . . . yeah, I know.�

�And your theory?�

�I just think it�s awfully convenient for someone, that he can�t remember what the hell he went out to do last Monday night,� Mark shook his head. �I hate convenience. It seems . . .�

�Unnatural?� Westerfield prodded.

�Yup. I have no idea how it could have been done, though,� he looked at the doctor. �And I guess nobody else knows, either.�

�How much time are we talking about, here?�

�A couple of hours, tops.� McCormick looked at the man next to him. �We were in the den at ten o�clock. I left. I got the call from Frank at three a.m., and you had gotten from Malibu, to Glendale, to St. Mary�s.�

Westerfield rubbed his chin with his thumb. �A drug, something chemical, that would be the only way. And I�m not familiar with anything that works this way.�

�Something that�s still under development?� Mark asked. �Something a research lab might be working on?�

�Who knows,� Westerfield shook his head. �It�s possible.�

Mark looked at the judge again. �Okay, I was wrong. We shoulda come here a week ago.� Hardcastle smiled back at him thinly.

�The question is,� Westerfield continued, �is the damage permanent, or reversible? Have synapses been destroyed, or is the access merely temporarily disconnected?�

Mark locked his gaze back on the doctor at the mention of the first possibility. �But it�s been a week. If it was temporary, shouldn�t he be recovering?�

�Depends,� Westerfield replied. �There are all sorts of factors. Some connections may need to be reforged, or pathways around them found, or it may be a simple matter of reversible binding of a drug that�s blocking certain receptors. It would help if we really knew how the memory system works.�

�It would help if you guys would learn to think outside the box.� Mark shot the doctor a quick look and then, in an aside to the judge, added, �Don�t worry; I�m still glad we came. This is the first person who�s even given it a little thought.�

Westerfield was still smiling. Mark felt himself relax just a little.

�And it may be that there has been the return of some of the interval memories,� Westerfield took in both men with a glance. �And the difference between none and even one is critical here.�

Mark found himself nodding.

�Tell him what you told me, Mr. Hardcastle. Maybe he can clarify things for us.�

There was something in the judge�s expression that brought all the tension back to McCormick�s spine. Mark wanted to say �Stop, wait a minute,� but Westerfield had said it was important and the guy had been the most rational person to take a look at the situation so far.

But a moment later, as the judge described the scene, in fits and starts, he realized his gut instinct had been absolutely right. Then they were both staring at him.

Dammit, no more lying.

�It might have happened that way. I wasn�t exactly there.� Okay, that was a lie. He was pretty sure his face was giving it away. Westerfield was still staring; Mark hadn�t worked up the nerve to snatch a glimpse of the judge�s expression, but he knew the man hadn�t moved.

�I . . . see,� Westerfield murmured, and Mark knew if he�d figured it out, then the judge, who�d known him for a whole week now, couldn�t be very far behind.

Spill it.

�It was about a year ago. You were looking into Charlie Clarkson�s murder. It was a ravine; the slope led down from the road. I�m not sure exactly where it was. You could ask Frank. He knows. Or maybe it doesn�t have anything to do with that . . .� He averted his eyes as the nervous words wound down. He couldn�t bring himself to see what the other man was feeling right now. Surprise, doubt, utter disbelief.

�We may need some further sessions,� Westerfield said quietly. �Maybe for you, too, Mr. McCormick.�

�No, thanks.� Mark stood, decisively. �I can go wait down by the car.�

He heard Westerfield murmuring, �I think we�ve covered plenty of ground today.� And then he felt Hardcastle�s hand on his sleeve, a loose grip just above the wrist.

�Hold up, kiddo. I�m coming, too.�

The ride home in the car began in uncanny silence. Mark drove with extreme attention to detail. Every passing minute made it that much harder to start a conversation.

Conversation? What the hell are you going to say to the man? �I�m sorry. I didn�t mean to become anything more than a hired gun. I didn�t even know you�d had a son until a month after you hijacked my life.�

But it was Hardcastle who made the opening gambit just before they hit the PCH.

�I suppose we�d better stop and get that turkey.�

McCormick nodded. �I hope they have some that aren�t frozen.� He heard the words coming out very flat, very ordinarily.

�Frank said you almost died.�

Mark almost jerked his head to the side at that unexpected segue. He finally found his voice �What all has Frank been telling you?�

�This and that,� the judge replied vaguely. �Maybe that�s why I dreamt about it,� he added, in a very practical tone.

�Then maybe it�s not really a memory.�

�He didn�t describe it,� Hardcastle protested. �He didn�t say anything about a hill, or trees, or . . . anything.�

�Okay,� Mark backed off. �That�s good then; you remember something.�

�I want to call Frank. I want to see the place,� he said, with sudden insistence.

McCormick chewed his lower lip for a moment and then said, �You�re sure?� There was a definite nod from the older man. Then a pause, then Mark began again, a little more slowly. �You don�t need to call Frank. I�m pretty sure I can find it. I know the road, anyway, and . . . I think I know about where it was.�

He said nothing more until he found the turn-off and drove up into the hills. He�d never been back to the spot, but from Frank and Millie�s descriptions, and his own hazy recollection, he thought he could find it. The judge himself had not talked about it much. He�d certainly never given an account of just how he�d managed to find the place the first time. That Mark had gotten from Millie as well. God help us the conversation doesn�t get around to that as well.

He snuck a glance sideward at the older man as he navigated the final curve, and saw a big rock off to the right. Millie had mentioned that. He pulled over to the curb and let out a heavy breath. The judge was already climbing out of the car and Mark dragged himself out to catch up. Hardcastle was walking like a man in a trance. McCormick moved forward, ready to take his arm if he started to fall.

And then he almost stumbled himself. He was looking over the brink, down a steep slope into a thickly wooded place. Despite the midday, winter sunlight, he couldn�t see much at the bottom. Dark and cold. He remembered it being cold. Hardcastle was stepping down.

�Wait,� Mark held out one hand, snagging his arm. �It�s kinda steep. There�s nothing there.�

Hardcastle was still looking down. �The light�s a little different,� he murmured

�It was early in the morning.�

�It�s just like what I saw. Everything else is the same.�

�No,� McCormick said, still holding on to the arm firmly. �I�m up here.� He heard the somewhat strained quality to his laugh. �We�re not going down there. There�s no reason to.�

He saw the judge look up at him, studying his face suddenly. It was as though he had come back from a long way off.

�Okay,� Hardcastle finally said reassuringly. Mark let loose of his sleeve. �We better go get that turkey.�

�Right,� Mark encouraged, taking one more quick look down into the darkness before he led the other man back to the car.

PART THREE

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