He felt shaky as he rose and reached for his coat. At least that was over with. He'd be glad to get back home where he had everything under control.

He passed List's office on the way out but her door was closed. It looked like she'd left for home ahead of him.

Ev felt a mounting anxiety during the bus ride home, an almost-desperate desire to reach the far side of his apartment door and lock it. He couldn't fight the rising fear that something terrible was going to happen if he didn't.

When he stepped off the bus, he headed for home at double time, but forced himself to stop outside Raftery's for his daily test of will. He glanced at his watch, then began his one-minute stare through the nicotine-fogged window.

All the regulars were there, lined up on their usual stools at the bar, sipping their Scotches and their gins, talking and laughing. But instead of the disdain he usually felt for such wasted time, money, and liver cells, Ev was almost overcome by a wave of nostalgia.

Those were the good old days, when he could walk into his neighborhood tavern in Charlotte and be greeted by a chorus of hellos, where he could sit among friends and talk and swear and laugh and drink from late afternoon until the early hours of the morning. The fellowship, the camaraderie, the sense of belonging, for some reason he missed it today more than any other time in recent memory. The longing for companionship was an expanding void within him. If he could only have that back, just for a few hours—

Ev caught himself with his fingers on the brass door handle, pulling it open. He snatched his hand away as if he'd received an electric shock and all but ran for his apartment.

Once inside, with the door safely locked behind him, he slumped in the recliner and panted from the exertion of running up the three flights of stairs. He hadn't even stopped to pick up his mail.

What's wrong with me?

It had to be his blood sugar. There was no other possible reason why he should feel so shaky. He had to eat something to get it up.

He went to the fridge and saw the o-j on the top shelf. Wasn't that what diabetics used when their sugar was low? He grabbed the container, poured himself a glassful, and gulped it down. Then he returned to the recliner and waited. He'd give it twenty minutes to see if it had any effect.

It took only half that. By the end of ten minutes he was feeling much better. Calmer, more relaxed. The near panic of moments ago was almost completely gone.

Amazing what a little orange juice could do.

He went over and poured himself another glassful.

TWENTY-FOUR

"Have you seen Ev?"

Lisl froze at the sound of Al Torres's voice. She'd looked for Ev earlier this morning but his office door had been closed. That wasn't unusual, though. She knew he had early classes on Fridays.

It had been okay for her to be looking for him. She had a reason. He'd seemed a little strung out yesterday but had been acting perfectly normal; she'd wanted to see if he was any better today.

But no one else should have been looking for him.

Unless…

"No," she said, keeping her eyes trained on her desktop. "Why?"

"He missed his first two classes this morning. And he didn't call in. That's not like Ev at all."

Oh no, oh no, oh no!

Lisl suddenly wanted to be sick. She tried to speak but no words would come.

Al went on: "Administration wants to know if anybody's heard from him."

Lisl could only shake her head and not look at him.

"You okay, Lisl?" he said.

She ventured a glance at him and managed to say, "Not feeling too good." She wasn't lying.

"Jeez, no. I guess you're not. I've heard there's a bug of some sort going around. I'll bet that's what Ev's got. Maybe you're coming down with it too. Anyway, if you hear from him, tell him to call administration."

When she heard her office door close, Lisl lowered her face into her hands and began to sob.

What have I done?

She'd spent much of the night in agony, struggling to sleep. She'd lifted the receiver a dozen times to call Ev, to tell him to stay away from his orange juice, to dump it down the sink. She even managed to dial his number once but hung up on the first ring.

How could she say that to him? How could she tell him that when he'd trusted her with his key ring she'd made a copy of his apartment keys, that she'd invaded his home and dosed his orange juice with alcohol. How could she get those words past her lips? Impossible.

She'd even toyed with the idea of calling up and somehow disguising her voice with a handkerchief like they did in the movies, but she didn't believe that would work.

It had taken her two sleeping pills- to get to sleep the night before, and it took the same last night before she finally dozed off, and even then she'd had to placate herself with the thought that if Ev had got through yesterday without going on a bender, he would probably come through this whole ordeal with flying colors. Then she'd be able to thumb her nose at Rafe and this particularly wild theory of his.

Rafe… why had she listened to him? He made her feel so good so much of the time, but every so often he'd convince her to do something that made her feel rotten. And he was so convincing. Everything made so much sense when he was whispering in her ear. It was only later that she wished she had listened to her own heart. She knew he had her best interests at heart, that he was fighting for her, it was just that Rafe didn't heed the boundaries that limited most people's actions. Rafe didn't seem to recognize any limits.

And apparently neither do I.

Lisl slammed her fist on her desk. She still couldn't believe she had doctored Ev's juice. Yet she had. Deliberately. With full knowledge of the threat it posed to that poor man. What had come over her?

But more important now: Where was Ev?

She pulled her address book from her top drawer and looked up his number. She was sure the department secretary and the administration office had already called him but she had to try herself. She dialed and listened to the phone ring on the other end. She didn't count the rings but it had to be near twenty by the time she hung up.

She rose and was surprised by how wobbly her legs felt. What if Ev had gone out last night and bought a case of vodka? In her mind's eye she saw him sprawled on his kitchen floor in a drunken stupor or in a coma from alcohol poisoning.

She had to go over there.

Renny wasn't exactly sure how to handle this. He'd wandered the grounds since eight A.M., searching for someone who looked like the priest, but nobody he'd seen had even come close. And he couldn't jexactly go up to one of these guys and ask, could he?

Then it had occurred to him that he could queer this whole bust if Ryan recognized him.

So now Renny was standing before a counter in the university personnel office, hoping he could bluster his way through this.

"Yes, sir?" said the pert young brunette with the red-framed glasses. "Can I help you?"

Renny did the badge flash.

"Sergeant Augustino, State Police. We have reason to believe that one of your groundskeepers might be a fugitive from out of state. I need to see your personnel records."

"A fugitive? Really?"

Renny watched as she chewed her lip and glanced around the office. If she was looking for help, there was none to be had. It was no accident that Renny had chosen coffee-break time to pop into personnel.

"What are we waiting for?" he said.

"Well, I'm not sure. I mean, shouldn't you have a search warrant or something like that?"

"I have a warrant for his arrest. That enough?"

"Oh, dear," she said, looking around again, but the office was just as empty as before. "What's his name?"