The boy with the switchblade moved in toward the struggling pair.

M. J. let fly a kick, felt an instant thump of satisfaction as her shoe connected with the back of Mr. Knife's knee. He groaned and fell forward, but didn't drop the knife.

Something thudded into her from behind, made her stumble to her knees. A fourth? she thought in confusion as hands gripped her arms. How many were there?

Her hair was jerked back, her throat lay bare.

The boy with the knife crouched beside her.

"No!" yelled Adam. "Don't hurt her!"

The blade touched her throat, lingered there a moment. She caught a peripheral view of Adam struggling to reach her, panic stamped plainly on his face. Two boys had him by the arms. A third kicked him soundly in the belly. Adam doubled over, groaning. "Leave her alone," he gasped.

"We won't cut you," whispered a voice in M. J.'s ear. "Not now. But you stay away, you hear, lady cop? 'Cause she don't want to be found."

"I'm not a cop," rasped M. J.

The knife bit sharply into her flesh; she felt a drop of blood trickle down her neck. Then, suddenly, the knife was lifted away and her hair was released. M. J. knelt on the ground, her heart thudding, her throat closed down by terror. She touched her neck, then stared at the blood on her fingers. "I thought," she said hoarsely, "that you weren't going to cut me."

"That?" the lad with the knife laughed. "That's not a cut. That's just a little kiss." He signaled to his buddies that it was time to leave. With startling efficiency, they picked Adam's wallet, stripped off his overcoat, relieved M. J. of her purse.

"This time," said the kid, "you get off easy." He gave M. J. a kick in the shoulder, which sent her sprawling onto the glass-littered sidewalk.

She groaned. "I'm such a lucky girl."

"No goddamn car is worth it," said Adam, gingerly holding an ice pack to his cheek. The left side of his face was swollen, and dried blood had caked in his eyebrow. His tuxedo, which had started the evening crisply immaculate, was now in tatters.

He fit right in with the other down-and-outers sitting in the Hancock Emergency Room waiting area. The benches were filled with a tired collection of the bruised and sick, coughing kids, wailing babies, all of them resigned to the long wait for a doctor.

"Anyone with a modicum of sense knows when to fight, and when to turn tail and run," said Adam. "You should've run."

"I didn't see you running," she shot back.

"How could I? I had to stay and protect you!"

"Well, I do appreciate the gesture."

"Let me tell you, I wasn't the least bit happy about getting killed over some old Subaru." He looked sideways in distaste as a drunk fingered Adam's tuxedo sleeve. "Do you mind?"

"No," said the drunk. "Do you?"

"I liked that car," muttered M. J. "It was the first car I ever bought brand-new."

"It could've been the only car you ever bought brand-new."

A man staggered into the waiting room, rolled his eyes back, and fainted. He was quickly scooped up by two orderlies and wheeled into the inner sanctum. Everyone in the room gave a collective sigh of unhappiness. The wait would be that much longer.

"I tell you what," said Adam. "Next time this happens, I'll buy you a new car."

"Hey, I could use a new car," said the drunk brightly.

"You could also use a bath," muttered Adam, sliding away.

"I can buy my own car," said M. J. "I just don't like getting ripped off." She-as well as everyone else-looked up hopefully as the ER nurse came into the waiting area.

"Ripped off," said Adam, "is better than beaten to a pulp. I can't believe they did that to us. And all over something so trivial."

"But it wasn't over the car," said M. J. "Don't you get it? My car had nothing to do with it."

The nurse called out: "Novak!"

M. J. shot to her feet. "Here."

"Follow me."

"Wait," said Adam, tossing aside the ice pack. "What do you mean, your car had nothing to do with it? Then what was that fight all about?"

"Your daughter," M. J. replied, following the nurse out of the waiting area.

Adam was right behind her as she went into the treatment room.

"You'll have to wait outside, sir," said the nurse.

"He's with me," said M. J.

The nurse looked at Adam's battered face, then at M. J.'s black eye. "I think I can tell," she said, and shook out a paper drape. "Lie down and put this over your blouse. So it doesn't get blood on it."

"It's already got blood on it," said M. J. as she settled back on the treatment table. The nurse began to clean the knife slash; the sting of Betadine was almost worse than the blade itself.

"What makes you think Maeve had anything to do with this?" said Adam.

"Something our friend with the knife whispered in my ear."

"Hold still," snapped the nurse.

"He said, 'Stay away, lady cop. Because she doesn't want to be found.' Now, that tells me a couple of things. First, he's stupid. He can't tell a cop from a civilian. Second, he's warning us that she doesn't want to be found. Who do you suppose she is?"

"Maeve," he said, looking stunned.

The ER doctor came in, a shaggy version of Dr. Michael Dietz, with the same look of battle fatigue. M. J. wondered how many hours he'd been working, how many bodies he'd laid hands on. He glanced at her neck wound. His name tag said Dr. Volcker.

"How'd you get it?" he asked.

"Switchblade."

"Someone try to kill you?"

"No, it was an accident."

"O.K." The doctor sighed. "I'll skip the dumb questions." He turned to the nurse. "Suture set. She'll need about three stitches. And hand me the Xylocaine."

M. J. winced as the needle with local anesthetic pierced her skin. Then there was the moment's wait for the drug to take effect.

"I can't believe she'd do it," said Adam. "I mean, we've had our differences. But for Maeve to have her friends assault us…"

"She wasn't attacking you, specifically. She probably didn't know who the hell was asking about her. We might've avoided the whole scene if we'd just told Anthony right off that you were her father."

"You're saying Anthony warned her?"

"He left the apartment while we were still there, remember? Before you said anything about her being your daughter. Probably went straight to Maeve."

"And she had her friends jump us."

"Gee," said the doctor, tying off the first stitch. "You two lead exciting lives."

They ignored him. "Maeve must be scared of something," said M. J. "Why send the troops to attack at the first sign of strangers?" She glanced at Adam and saw his troubled look. "What's she afraid of? What did you forget to tell me?"

He shook his head. "She's in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

He sank into a nearby chair and wearily ran his hands across his battered face.

"Does it have to do with Jane Doe?" asked M. J. "With Xenia Vargas and Nicos?"

"Maybe." His answer came out muffled, as though he wanted to bury the words in his throat.

"Or does it have to do with Cygnus? Some miracle drug you've got in development?"

He looked up in anger. "Why blame it on Cygnus? None of your tests are back! You don't know what the hell those junkies were shooting up."

"Do you know?"

He started to speak, then saw that both the doctor and nurse were watching them in fascination.

"Are you going to sew her up or what?" Adam snapped.

"I was kinda hoping I could hear the end of the story," said the doctor. He tied off the last stitch and snipped the thread. "All done. Come back for suture removal in five days."

"I can pull 'em myself, thanks," said M. J. She sat up. The room seemed to sway around her like a boat. She waited for a moment for everything to stop moving.