“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Conner paused. “Is that something to do with your sorority house?”

O’Brien laughed again. “You’re smarter than you look, Conner.”

“Gee, thanks.”

They continued moving along the tunnel. Conner wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It seemed like hours, but the voice inside his head told him it was probably more like ten minutes. His ankles were already beginning to ache. Miss Tae Kwon Do up there might be able to duck-walk for hours, but he felt certain he’d be getting shin splints after fifteen minutes.

He was thinking about suggesting they sing “One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall,” when he heard O’Brien let out an abrupt cry.

“What is it?” he asked urgently.

She didn’t answer, but he did hear what sounded like a scraping or crashing sound, followed by a heavy thud. “Oww!”

“O’Brien! What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer.

“O’Brien?” His voice was tinged with concern. “Talk to me!”

“I’m all right,” she answered. “More or less, anyway. There seems to be a small crater here in our otherwise reliable tunnel. Some of the brick gave way and my foot crashed down into it.”

“Are you okay?”

“Ankle feels twisted.” He heard more scraping noises, followed by a strong grunt. “Can’t seem to get my foot free.”

“Let me help.” Conner scooted forward until he bumped into her prostrate figure. He slid his hands under her arms and gently tugged. She didn’t budge.

“Damn. I’m stuck. I think I feel blood trickling down my foot.”

“We’ll figure something out. Don’t panic.”

“Thanks. I wasn’t planning to.”

Conner took the flashlight from her. There was, in fact, a small crater beneath them-small, but bigger than he might’ve guessed. O’Brien’s foot had wedged itself neatly into it.

He tested some of the surrounding brick and mortar. It felt loose and crumbly. “I think I can get you out of here.” He hesitated. “Um… I have to… um…” He cleared his throat. “Have to, you know. Reach between your, um, legs.”

“What are we, in kindergarten? Just do it already.”

“Right, right.” Conner inched forward till he was directly behind her. With O’Brien blocking his path, the only way he could get to the crater was by folding himself on top of her and reaching down in front. His hips hung on her left shoulder as he pried her foot loose. He was forced to prop his body on top of hers, his chin resting against her knee. The whole thing struck him as some bizarre variant on good ol’ 69, but he opted to keep the thought to himself.

“Having any luck?” O’Brien grunted. Conner suspected she was probably in more pain than she cared to let on.

“Yes,” he answered. “But it’s slow work.”

“What do you weigh, anyhow?”

Conner bristled. “Two hundred. Two-oh-five, tops.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you should lay off the frozen margaritas.”

Conner grimaced. “Remind me again why I’m busting my butt to help you?”

After about two more minutes of making like a gopher, Conner managed to create an opening large enough to withdraw her foot. Gently, he helped her out of the rocky crevasse. Her foot was bleeding.

“Think you can walk on it?”

“Assuming I can get out of these tunnels into someplace where you can walk, yes.”

“Stiff?”

“A little.”

“Here. Let me massage it.” To his surprise, she didn’t protest. He wrapped himself over her again and began rubbing the sore calf and foot.

Her foot was soft and warm, and despite the bizarre circumstances, Conner felt himself responding to her touch. “You have… um… very nice feet.”

“My momma always said it was my best feature.”

“Well… I wouldn’t go as far as that.” He continued massaging the sore muscles, working his way slowly up her calf.

“You can quit if you’re tired.”

“No. I don’t mind.” Taking her shoulders, he adjusted her slightly, pulling her up into his lap. Again she didn’t resist.

She turned slightly and so did he, till they were almost face-to-face. Even if he couldn’t see her very clearly, he could definitely feel her presence.

“O’Brien,” he said.

“Yes?” she whispered.

Whatever it was he was planning to say, he forgot it. He leaned forward slightly, and once again, to his amazement, she did not draw back. Their lips met.

“How’s your foot?” Conner asked, when at last their lips parted.

“Foot?” she replied, and a second later, they were kissing again. The brush of her lips sent warm shivers cascading down his spine.

Abruptly, she broke it off. “I’m sorry,” she said, placing a hand against his chest.

“Sorry? Why? I’m not.”

“It’s just-I just-“ She paused. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“But-why?”

“I’m still on duty.”

“We’ll call this a coffee break.”

“But-I can’t-for all I know-”

“What are you saying?”

O’Brien grabbed the flashlight and began brushing herself off. “It wouldn’t be appropriate, Conner. You’re still a suspect.”

Conner felt as if he’d been thrown overboard and dashed against the rocks. So that was it. Despite all they’d been through, she still held out the possibility that he was the killer.

“Anyway,” she said, changing the subject, “let’s move on.”

“Right. Fine. Whatever you-“ Conner stopped in midsentence. As O’Brien turned, the beam of the flashlight washed across the crater. “Give me that thing.”

Conner took the flashlight and aimed it into the now even larger crevasse. There was something down there. Something shiny and metallic.

Conner reached into the opening. He knocked some dust and rubble out of the way and managed to come up with a palm-sized metallic silver box.

“This doesn’t look like part of the sewer system,” Conner said. “But I don’t know what it is.”

“I do,” O’Brien said anxiously. “It’s an electronic voice disguiser. Our killer must’ve left that behind.” She took the box from him and carefully wrapped it in a handkerchief.

“But why did he leave it down here?”

“I don’t know. Probably an accident. Maybe he fell into the crater, too. Maybe he dropped the thing without realizing it. Whatever the reason, it’s a big break for us.”

“What-another serial number to trace?”

O’Brien shook her head. “I’m hoping for something even better. Fingerprints.”

29

An hour later, Conner abandoned the search through the tunnels. When he made his goodbyes, O’Brien grabbed his arm and said, “Go get ’em, boy. Win this one for the Gipper.”

“I never knew the Gipper.”

She squirmed. “Then win it for some other dead sports guy.”

Conner smiled. “I’ll do my best.” She gave his hand a squeeze, and then he was off.

Just before he arrived at the first tee-off, Conner spotted Fitz, who stepped forward to intercept him.

Fitz motioned him to the side. “I want a word.”

Conner checked his watch. “Could we do this after I sign in?”

Fitz shook his head. “Do you have any idea what’s waiting for you up there?”

“This is just a wild guess, but… my golf clubs?”

“Yeah, that-and three camera crews and about a thousand golf fanatics.”

Conner went bug-eyed. “No!”

“Yes! And they’re all here to see you.”

“But-why?”

“You’re the man of the hour. The latest phenom. The underdog who bounced back from personal tragedy to batter down the favorites. You’ve got a story no reporter-or fan-can resist. You’re practically a folk hero.”

Conner probed the side of his mouth with his tongue. “Do I detect a certain note of cynicism?”

“I’m not cynical about your performance yesterday. I thought that was incredible. I always knew you had it in you. I just didn’t know if I’d live to see it.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

“The problem is I don’t want you to blow it after you’ve come so close.”

“And of course, it goes without saying that I would normally blow it.”