"How long have you been here?" she asked, putting on a stern expression to cover her soft feelings.

"Five or ten years. Where have you been?"

"Working. Pee Wee's been released, and I wanted to talk to him when he was sober. Now I have to go out and find him. I'm sorry."

Mike shook his head. "Let's go eat."

"Sounds great," Woody said. "I have a date, can I bring her?"

"You have a date?" Mike was incredulous.

"Yeah, I have a date." Woody tugged at his tie.

"I'm sorry, Mike, I can't. I have to work." April didn't want to admit yet that she'd lost two suspects in one day.

"The case can wait. We're having dinner."

April's scalp prickled with alarm. That wasn't like him. "What do you mean?" she asked slowly. The case couldn't wait. She was aware that they'd become a tableau on the stairs. Mike blocked her way to her office in the squad room. She had to explain. It couldn't wait a minute.

"Have a good evening." Taking charge, Mike dismissed Woody.

"Thanks, boss…" Woody made a quick about-face on the stairs and took off before April could revoke the order.

She was stunned. "What do you think you're doing?" Mike didn't have the right to dismiss one of her detectives, causing her to lose face in front of one of her people. Her face burned with the mortification of disrespect from her own boyfriend.

"Let it go. You must be hungry." He took a step down, but she didn't move.

It felt as if solid ground were turning to sand under her feet. Her cheeks were on fire. "I can't let this go, Mike. I have a missing person and now the only witness we have is missing, too."

"Well, it's not your show." He moved down two more steps and put his arms around her.

What?" She'd never expected this kind of response from him. She was stung by his show of power and intended to move out of the way, but she was puzzled. She loved the sweet and spicy way he smelled, the way he looked in his new colors. She loved the warmth of his little secret smile that meant he loved her, and she was rooted to the spot. The man she knew could never hurt her.

"It's okay. We'll sort it out." He hugged her in her precinct where love was off limits, and she was too distracted to move. Any other man, any other time in her working life, and she would have sent him flying down the stairs. Now, in the middle of all her worries and his causing her to lose face with Woody, her only ally in the squad, she let the electricity of love flow through her. Less than an hour ago she'd been thinking of having his baby. Now she let him divert her from her job. All her values were breaking down at once.

"Yo quiero, te amo," he said softly.

He liked her, he loved her, that was nice. Then her bewilderment ceased. "What do you mean it's not my show?"

"Don't take it personally." He'd suddenly become elaborately casual. He took her arm and tried to move her gracefully down the stairs. "I love you. How about dinner?"

"I don't want dinner. I caught this case. I want to keep it," she insisted.

He shrugged as if the thing were out of his hands. "Major Case has it now. The PC calls it. I don't call it. Let it go." The winning smile cajoled her. Let it go, he was saying. Be a good sport. She was being manipulated by her boyfriend and didn't want to be a good sport. She wanted to have a temper tantrum.

He took her arm and turned her around. This was trouble. She knew if she got into a shoving match with a lieutenant on the stairs, she might be able to inflict some damage; but a crowd of uniforms would gather, everyone would be amused. And he would win in the end.

"What do you feel like eating? I'll buy you the dinner of your dreams." Mike gave her another ingratiating smile. They got to the bottom step. He had her moving toward the door.

Conflicting emotions kept her quiet. Wasn't she supposed to have some choice in this? They were leaving the precinct. He was supposed to love her. If he loved her, why was he doing this? Mike's ancient red Camaro was parked across the street.

"Okay, querida, fill me in," he said as they got into the car.

More outrage filled her. He started grilling her before she'd even attached her seat belt. Her cheeks burned some more at the disrespect for her car, too. She didn't want to leave her car there on Fifty-fourth Street. She wanted to go home on her own, later. Now, she wanted to go back upstairs to her office and check with the parents of those kids, check with the parents of Maslow Atkins, check this patient list, try to locate Allegra.

Mike looked serious as he gunned the engine and headed east. Where the hell had he been all day? He hadn't done anything useful. What was with him? She studied his profile and sighed. Even when he was humiliating her she thought he was cute. That was a bad sign.

She gathered, without his even telling her, that he'd been the one assigned, and the case was now his. He was the big gun, after all. And she was just a water pistol. She shook her head to cool down. How he managed to do these things she had no idea. The heat slowly receded from her face. She was used to working with him. She trusted his judgment. Maybe he could help her. Old habits die hard.

She collected her thoughts and slowly began to tell him about Jason's call from Maslow, about Maslow's concern for his patient, about his meeting a dark-haired girl outside the park, his not returning home after his evening jog-if he ever actually planned to take one. She described her search of Maslow's apartment, finding his wallet and the cash, the voice on the answering machine. She told him about Officer Slocum's search of the area with the dog, Freda, and how she'd called the K-9 unit because Pee Wee insisted he'd seen a dead man. Some of it he'd heard before. She told him about all the people she'd interviewed, including the two kids at the end of the day. She told him about Allegra.

As she told the story, she had the strong suspicion that the 911 call she'd investigated last night might actually have had nothing to do with Maslow. It now seemed more likely that his mystery patient whom she let go was a skillful psychopath who had somehow killed or kidnapped her shrink.

When she finished talking, Mike told her that a check of ERs had turned up nothing. "But he's a doctor. If he's gay and met with some mishap during a sexual encounter, he might well have called a friend to treat him privately. I keep wondering if it's a gay thing," he added.

"Pee Wee James may have seen him in a homosexual encounter. Jason told me Maslow was a rigid, careful kind of guy. The call for a meeting may have felt like a flare to Jason. But something makes me think Maslow wouldn't bother him just because he had a bad patient session. The second thing is that Pee Wee kept saying he had people taking care of him. Who could be taking care of him? Maybe the whole thing is some kind of setup. Maybe Maslow wanted to disappear. Why do I have the feeling he's still alive?"

April thought of the soft voice on the answering machine again. She fell silent as they entered the Midtown Tunnel. He was heading home to Queens. That meant she'd have to come into the city with him tomorrow to get her car. Good. She'd worm her way back on the job. She knew how to handle Mike. She added to her list of things to do: Call John Zumech, the tracker. Develop the photos Woody had taken of Allegra. Someone out there knew who she was. Locate Pee Wee. She had her agenda and calmed down. Mike would rub her back. They'd make love and erase jurisdictional lines.

The moon over Forest Hills was just a sliver short of full. Mike parked in his covered space in his building's lot and they went upstairs. From the elevator April smelled roasting chicken from Mike's apartment. She was puzzled. When did he have time to go to the grocery store, purchase a chicken, put it in the oven? She glanced at him. Under his lush mustache his mouth tightened.