M. J. rose to her feet. "Thanks for your help, Papa Earl. But we have to leave."

Bella and her grandfather escorted them through the living room. It never changed, this room. The chairs were set in precisely the same places they'd always been, and Papa Earl navigated past them like a bat with radar.

"Next time," he grumbled as Adam and M. J. left the apartment, "don't you wait so long before visits."

"I won't," said M. J. But it sounded hollow, that promise. I don't believe it myself, she thought. Why should he?

She and Adam headed back down the four flights of stairs, stepping over the same broken toys, the same cigarette butts. The smells of the building, the echoes of TV sets and babies' squalls, funnelled up the stairwell and unleashed a barrage of memories of how she used to play on these steps, used to sit outside her apartment door, her knees bunched up against her chest. Waiting, waiting for her mother to calm down. Listening to the crying inside the apartment, the sounds of her mother's anguish, her mother's despair. The memories all rushed at her as she walked down the stairwell, and she knew exactly why she'd waited three long years to come back.

On the third floor landing, she paused outside apartment 3H. The door was a different color than she'd remembered, no longer green. Now it was a weirdly bright orange, and it had a built-in peephole. It would be different inside as well, she realized. Different people. A different world.

She felt Adam's hand gently touch her arm. "What is it?" he asked.

"It's just-" She gave a tired little laugh. "Nothing stays the same, does it? Thank God." She turned and continued down the stairs.

He was close beside her. Too close, she thought. Too personal. Threatening to invade my space, my life.

"So your name's Mariana," he said.

"I go by M. J."

"What's it stand for?"

"Why?"

"Look, I'm not trying to be nosy. I just wondered what the M. J. stood for."

She stopped on the steps and sighed. "Mariana Josefina."

"That's lovely. But it doesn't quite fit with Novak."

"Novak's my married name."

"Oh. I didn't know you were married."

"Was. My divorce became final six months ago."

"And you kept your ex-husband's name?" He looked surprised.

"Not out of affection, believe me. It just felt like a better fit than Ortiz. See, I don't look like an Ortiz."

"Are you referring to your green eyes? Or the freckles on your nose?"

Again, M. J. paused on the steps and looked at him. "Do you always notice the color of women's eyes?"

"No." He smiled gallantly. What a lot of practice that smile must have had, she thought. I could almost believe it's for real. "But I did notice yours."

"Lucky me," she said, and continued down the stairs to the ground floor.

"Could you explain something?" he asked. "Who is this Jonah person you were talking about in there? And what's a 'big man'?"

"The big man," said M. J., "is like a-a head honcho. The guy in charge of this territory. For years it was Berto, but I guess he's gone. So now it's a guy named Jonah. He watches over things, keeps out rival gangs. If you want any favors, have any questions to ask, you have to go through the big man."

"Oh. A sort of unofficial mayor of the neighborhood."

"You got it."

They went outside, into a night that smelled of wind and rain. She glanced up at the sky, saw clouds hurtling past the moon. "It's getting late," she said. "Let's get out of here."

They hurried down the steps. Two paces was all they managed to take before they both halted, staring in shock at the empty stretch of road beneath the street-lamp.

M. J. let fly an oath that would have made a sailor cringe.

Her car had vanished.

5

Laughter drifted down the dark street, carried by the wind.

M. J. spun around and saw the teenagers, still standing at the far corner. They were looking her way and grinning. Damn punks, she thought. They think this is hilarious. In fury she stalked toward them. "Hey!" she yelled. "Hey!"

Adam grabbed her arm and dragged her to a halt. "I think this is a bad idea," he whispered.

"Let me go."

"On further thought, it's a terrible idea."

"I want my car back!" she said, and yanked her arm free. Rage was all the fuel she needed to propel her to the corner. The kids stood watching her, but they made no move. "Okay," she snapped. "Where is it?"

"Where's what, lady?"

"My car, jerk."

"You had a car?" a boy asked with mock innocence.

"You know I did! Now, it's not worth a hell of a lot, that car. And it's sure not worth going to jail for. So just give it back to me. And maybe I won't call the cops."

Some of the kids retreated and faded into the background. The rest-a half-dozen of them-began to fan out into a semicircle. Suddenly she realized that Adam was standing right beside her, shoulder to shoulder. Amazing. He didn't turn tuxedo and run, she thought. Maybe she had underestimated him.

The kids were watching her, waiting for signs of fear. She knew how their minds worked; she'd grown up with kids just like these. Turn your back, show a flicker of anxiety, and you were theirs.

She said, slowly, deliberately, "I want my car."

"Or what?" one of the boys said.

"Or my friend here,"-she nodded at Adam-"gets nasty."

All gazes turned to Adam. Just a bluff, Quantrell, she thought. Don't fold on me.

He stayed right where he was, solid as a wall.

Now two more of the boys backed down and slid away into the darkness. Only four were left, and they were getting edgy.

"No way you gonna get your wheels back," one of them said.

"Why not?"

"Man, she's long gone. Wasn't us."

"Who was it?"

"Repo dude. He's in and outta here. Your car, lady, she's chop."

Damn . They were probably telling the truth, she thought.

"This is hopeless," she muttered to Adam. "Let's go."

"I thought you'd never ask," he hissed between his teeth.

Cautiously they eased away from the gang and quickly headed back toward Building Five. They would use Papa Earl's phone to call the police. As for her Subaru, well, at least it was insured.

M. J. was so worried about whether the boys were pursuing them that she scarcely noted the footsteps moving in the darkness ahead. Just as they reached the front steps of Building Five, two figures emerged from the darkness and barred their way.

"Let us through," said M. J.

The boys didn't move.

"Just move aside," said Adam calmly. "And there won't be any trouble."

They laughed. That's when M. J. saw them glance past her, behind her.

She whirled around, just in time to spot the rear attack.

A figure flew at Adam's back, thudding into him so hard he staggered forward to his knees.

Now the two in front launched their assault. A fist slammed into Adam's jaw. Grunting, he brought his arm up to fend off the second blow.

That's when M. J. leaped into the fight. With a cry of rage she threw a left hook at the nearest attacker. Her knuckles connected with cheekbone. Pain exploded in her hand, but the triumph of watching the punk stagger away was worth it.

By now Adam had hauled off and landed a blow on his forward attacker. The rear attacker was still pummeling him on the back. Adam flung him loose. The kid rolled a few feet, then leaped to a crouch. Something clicked in his hand-a switchblade.

"He's got a knife!" yelled M. J.

Adam's gaze instantly focused on the silvery blade. He was unprepared for the sideways tackle by the other punk. They both landed on the ground, the punk on top.