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  "Okay, you do that and call back. If we have something to go by, other than her dimensions, I’ll get on it. Mitch?"

  "Yeah?"

  "We need you at the usual place tonight. Something’s going down."

  "Dammit."

  "Got a problem with that, too?"

  "No. I’ll be there."

  Mitch didn’t appreciate the snicker he heard as the sergeant hung up. He didn’t much relish putting off his swim, either. The perspiration, which had steamed beneath the leather jacket he’d worn earlier, made his flesh crawl. The rank smell was enough to propel a dive off the wharf immediately. He’d been preparing to do just that when he’d been rudely interrupted by his mouthy neighbor. The cool, refreshing dip would have to wait a few minutes longer until he returned from his fact-finding trip--if he didn’t suffocate from the stink first. Sniff. He gasped for fresh-smelling air.

  His pocket flashlight didn’t illuminate much as he skirted the trees and crossed the unkempt lawn. Stumbling frequently, mumbling oaths each time, he could barely circumvent the heap of lumber nestled next to the driveway. What were the boards doing here? He should have noticed the pile from the road when he passed by it. Maybe at thirty-six, he was getting too old for this game of cops and robbers. His vigilance had worn as thin as his patience.

  After writing down her license number, Mitch listened to the heavy-duty chirping of crickets and the bluster of frogs. She was right. Life should be peaceful out here in the boonies. He grinned as he thought of the way her eyes had flashed at him in anger. He spat into the dirt, however, when he realized she could be here to spy on him. As an afterthought, he edged toward the side window. A sudden twinge of guilt--or was it excitement that ripped through his chest?

  He could see the complainer sitting at a desk staring at a laptop, her back to him. Mitch didn’t risk getting close enough to see if the dog nestled at her feet. Those puny runts were always wimps for women. Someday he’d get a German Shepherd, a man’s dog. One that knew his place in the world and could be trained to do all kinds of intelligent things.

  The Murray woman turned, reaching for a drink on the stand behind her. The change of position gave Mitch a bird’s eye view of her slender fingers and her computer screen. He recognized the site she had entered, having whiled away the long evenings in the same chat room. Had he ever actually had a conversation with her? He wished he could get close enough to see what nickname she used or even what identification icon she displayed in the room.

  His mind galloped full speed, then an idea struck with such force that he reeled with anticipation. In a rapid evacuation mode, he no longer cared about making noise. At his speed of departure, if she heard any sound, he’d be long gone before she could set the mutt loose.

  As soon as he reached his living room, he pounced on the chair in front of his computer and pushed buttons. "Come on, come on, connect you fool thing," Mitch grumbled, his fingers flexing with renewed energy. The slow telephone and modem connection fanned his impatience. Finally, he typed in his password, then clicked on his mouse and made his way to the chat program he’d seen on her screen. He registered under his code name, Nightspook, typed his password again and entered. Mitch scrutinized the list of occupants. Out of fifteen participants, seven appeared to be women. Right. How the hell could he tell which ones were really females? The icons had little to do with their real gender. He could only try. Which one might she be? Would she even stay online long enough for him to find out?

  "She sure had some nerve coming over here in the dark and talking down to a stranger." He smiled, thinking how much he liked that sweater she’d worn. "Or maybe it was pure stupidity. Yeah... not a brain in her head. Let’s see, baby. Which one could you be?"

  Mitch sent messages: Hello. Where are you from? to three of those on the list--Angel99, MistyDawn, and Petals.

  Within seconds, three yellow lights on blue name tabs lit up on the bottom of his screen indicating replies. When clicked on, all designated locations other than Nova Scotia.

  "Okay, I’ll try again." He sent out four more messages asking where each participant was located. Two yellow flashes from Dreamgal and Little Lulu came in. When his mouse clicked on the flashes, Florida, answered one, London, the other."

  "C’mon you last two... reply."

  A flash, from Heartbroken, brought another connection--Indiana.

  That left Pixie, identified by a picture of a redhead. She was a strong probability, unless Ms. Murray had gone online masquerading as a male. If so, he was sunk. Her deceit would make it impossible to identify her.

  Watching the screen fill with more icons, he waited. And waited. Since she didn’t appear ready to bite, he would have to take the initiative. Mitch typed to Pixie:

  Greetings, one of the winged folk.

  Hello, Nightspook. Oh pray, what land sends you forth?

  "Gotcha!" Mitch roared. "I’ve probably got a webhead freak on here." With fingers poised to strike the keys, he pulled back, grinned, then typed:

  Allow me to introduce myself... I am a Drow elf... perhaps you have heard of us, though our race remains deep underground far from forests where your people live.

  He rose, snatched up the kettle and partly filled it with water. As soon as he plugged it in he rushed back to his chair.

  "So you were going to take drastic action were you, miss? Probably call the cops. Well, I’m the cop that headquarters will call, and for your sake, it better not require me going over there in person. Hmm. Maybe I’ll give you a run for your money in cyberspace and see if I can find out for myself why you’re here."

  He wiped the moisture from his hands onto his jeans. This was the most excitement he’d had on the computer since he’d moved in. It would take smart maneuvering to prevent her from taking off. He’d noticed that women he’d chatted with always seemed to take offense at things he said in fun. Another message flashed from Pixie:

  My magic dust allows me to travel the universe; but alas, I have no knowledge of you. From exactly where have you come to find me, and why?

  If you seek... you find.

  He shifted his chair; his answer lacked imagination.

  A long pause ensued driving up his speculation and putting him on the edge of his seat. Was she waffling over his evasiveness? Or did she have a slow modem, too?

  Finally a reply from her:

  An adventurer of life’s wonders you are I see, but you have not answered my query.

  You are right. I was forced on the path of adventures... but it does not matter whence I come. You are a Pixie and are known to be a creature of magic power and insight and have great knowledge of surface lands and forests.

  ‘Tis true, but occasionally I like to spare my weary wings and be informed.

  The kettle whistled. "Ahh... I sure can use some strong coffee to home in on this," Mitch muttered into the air. Pouring a heaping spoonful of instant powder into a blue enamel mug, he added the boiling water. The current of air lifting from his arm movements packed a smelly wallop, but the swim would have to wait. This was not only fun, but a damned good challenge.

  Mitch blew on the brew, breathed in the stimulating aroma and took a quick sip. His fingers flew over the keys.

  It is one of the Drow’s talents to come along unnoticed.

  But there are many lands both on earth and in the heavens, and I would like to know your sanctuary.

  Her persistence rivaled his.

  Now he had a problem. She still wanted to know where he was and pushing steadily for an answer. He hoped she would make do with a general location.

  I’m from Canada.

  He held his breath wondering how long he could keep her at bay without losing her interest. She could take off with no warning, and he still wasn’t sure if this was really the crank next door.

  What part of Canada?

  He had to think how precise he wanted to be. A change in topic might work.

  I could, of course, address you as Pixie, but knowing your name, which is a
s beautiful as a bird’s song, it would be better for both of us if I knew your real first one.

  The screen remained motionless. Had he blown it? He may have. "Shit!"

  A sigh of satisfaction released when her typing came through.

  My name is Jen. I’m from yonder historic city in the province of New Scotland. Now tell me something personal.

  He grinned victoriously.

  I’m from under the historic Citadel in the same place.

  He’d taken a chance and provided the truth. The Halifax police department sat just below the fortified mound.

  You are? And your name?

  Uh-oh. He should have anticipated her question. It was during this quandary he remembered, he’d better phone in her license plate number. And to do it he had to disconnect.

  ~ * ~

  When Jen had returned from the neighbor’s, she’d gone straight to her computer to work off her angst by chatting with a few friends. Spooky chomped on a ham bone at her feet. With the contact of a new chatter, Nightspook’s greetings and conversation added to the mystical vein of her computer involvement. To assure more comfort, she left her chair and readjusted the screen door. "We’re going to be pestered by mosquitoes all night, Spooky, and every bite will have that biker’s name on it. I used to like the name Mitch."

  His eyes looking curious, Spooky glanced up at Jen. She winked as a signal of her affection. He yipped twice in response, then lowered his head to concentrate on his project. Jen poured a glass of cold lemonade, rolled the tumbler across her forehead and breathed deeply. Her pup’s contentment calmed her. She returned to the computer.

  "Okay, let’s go at this again. I sure don’t feel sexy like the redhead icon I use." She looked under her desk. "Spooks, did you see that disgusting jerk leering at me the whole time I was talking to him? At least he knows I have the temper that goes with red hair."

  She sighed. It was her temper that often got her in trouble. She’d come here to deal with concerns vital for her self-esteem. Online, she had nothing to prove when talking to people she didn’t know and would never meet. She could be anyone she wanted to be. She could even be easy-going.

  Her computer pursuit leaned toward fantasy, a complete contrast to her no-nonsense, temperamental personality. In reality, the male element seldom captured her admiration. The type of creep she had just met on the other side of the trees churned her stomach. He fitted the lowlife profile of many of the men who had abused the women under her protection at the shelter. They couldn’t protect themselves or their kids. She had often wondered why the women didn’t take off sooner.

  "Okay, let’s get back to Nightspook. Oops! Looks like I took too long away from the screen--he’s gone off line. Too bad. He was from Halifax, too." Her bare toes naturally curled into Spooky’s soft hair. He made a wonderfully soothing rug as he lay balled at her feet. Her mind jumped back to her experience with her unwelcome neighbor. A groan of distaste ripped from between her clenched teeth.

  His broad chest came first to her mind. When she’d peered closer, the burnt caramel-colored tee shirt, taut against his sturdy torso, had almost matched the sweat-laden forelock drooping low on his brow. The bushy whiskers had jerked several times from flexing his jaws as she made her thoughts known, indicating his struggle to keep his irritation under wraps. She shook her head. Sometimes her own stupidity shocked her. She inhaled a deep breath. Not only did she have the noise from his machine to worry about, but with an uncouth tough living so near, scary possibilities crept into her sleep-deprived mind.

  "If Nightspook comes back on, I’d better smarten up and get more creative to match how slick he is."

  She waited.

  "Aha, he’s back."

  I come by night and am searching for you at your historic city, but you’ve left on a drift of cloud.

  She leaned back in her chair, mystified. "Holy sh--" She had left under a cloud of suspicion. She typed:

  You really dwell beneath the Halifax Citadel?

  In a manner of speaking I do.

  Jen asked him his name again and stared at the screen with a rare hope of an honest reply. The screen went black. "Damn! I’ve lost my connection." She waited a few minutes then tried to bring up the program again. No dice. "This does nothing for sweetening my disposition, Spooky. What say you and I go for a dip?"

  Spooky’s tail wagged full throttle. He turned in circles, while she put on her bathing suit. When she opened the door he scampered to the lake’s edge.

  Jen floated on her back and gazed at the diamond chips in the nighttime sky. The battery-powered lantern on the dock cast a shimmering glow onto ripples made by a lazy kicking of her feet. This was one place that was comforting to her. She needed that solace tonight after--Damn the grungy jerk. His presence leaped into her mind again, destroying her relaxation. As she drifted with the stress of him in her head, she thought of other anxieties in her life, especially those of the past two weeks. She had to shake the memory of her shameful action or at least accept it and move on. To do this she had to get her inner rage under control and think clearly. Her volatility had already shattered one life and threatened to do the same with hers. She couldn’t afford more mistakes.

  "Don’t you know you shouldn’t be swimming alone at night?"

  She shrieked, "Wha--?" and squinted into the darkness. "Who’s out there?"

  A deep voice echoed from the water beyond where the lantern light splashed the surface. "It’s only me. Your friendly, neighborhood Harley owner. There’s no one to hear you if you run into trouble swimming alone."

  Jen made a beeline for the safety of the dock. Within its reach, she turned and treaded water. Why should she allow him to chase her out? Her fingers swiped the droplets from her eyelids. She detected a movement a short distance away. Set to dart out of the water if she had to, she waited, held firm by her stubbornness and curiosity. Her breath caught in her throat. A guttural growl rose from Spooky and increased its pitch to an enthusiastic bark.

  "Yip-Yip-Yip!"

  "That mutt will wake the dead." The male voice spoke from the darkness.

  "Eek! You! My worst nightdisturber."

  "Who did you expect it to be?"

  "I didn’t expect anyone on my territory." Jen tried to sound forceful, overshadowing her tremors.

  "The lake belongs to everyone. Your boundaries don’t extend out here. And you’re dumb to be swimming alone."

  Her hackles rose once again, firing the chill that formed when she’d first been aware of an intruder.

  "It’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?" she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. "You’re in here swimming alone."

  "I’m having a bath."

  Before she could stop them, the words flowed from her mouth as smooth as jelly off a spoon. "You needed one for sure."

  "By the way..."

  "Yes?"

  "I wouldn’t stay in the water so close to the dock."

  "And why not, Mr. Einstein?"

  "Suit yourself."

  "Okay. Why?"

  "There are leeches in the lake... and they live under docks."

  "Leeches? Eek!" She lunged for the shore. Spooky splashed out to meet her.

  "Hope you don’t have a bathing suit on," the invader yelled.

  Jen turned to make a snarky reply and saw his head come into view. She glanced down as she waded to the bank. Her new bikini, now wet, was more revealing than she’d thought. Right now she didn’t care. She just wanted out.

  "Leeches suck blood. Better check yourself in a hurry, or if you prefer, I can do it for you." His laughter howled in her ears.

  She dashed to the cottage, brushing her body with her towel as she ran. Once in the kitchen’s light she scanned her front. Three squirming stretches of black slimy matter held fast to her thigh. Again using her towel, she scraped at the beasts until they let go. Once they were gone, stinging sores and streaks of blood marked her skin. Struck with panic, she raced back to the dock.

  "I
don’t have a mirror to check my back!"

  "Turn around then."

  She whirled to show him.

  "Get a salt shaker," he ordered. "I can see some from here."

  "I don’t feel anything biting me."

  "They’re stealth biters. You won’t feel them until you try to get them off."

  Distance was her enemy now, not her safety. She practically flew over the grass back to her kitchen. Jen grabbed the shaker from the table and returned, expecting he would be on his way to help. He was still in the water.

  "I have the shaker."

  "Then I’ll have to come out and sprinkle it on."

  "Could you please hurry?" she implored.

  "You may not want me to do so."

  "Why not? Are you that mad about my complaining? Does torturing me give you pleasure?"

  "No, ma’am."

  "Well?"

  "Okay, remember you asked for it."

  Up from the water rose a god like she’d never imagined seeing in her lifetime. Within the lantern’s light, his slicked-back, gleaming hair created a different image than the one she’d seen previously. His massive shoulders glistened as water streamed in rivulets down his matted chest. His legs splashed plumes of water into the air, but as he came ashore, the plumes dwindled, revealing his nakedness.

  Mesmerized, she never once thought to look the other way.

  "Give me the salt shaker, Jen. Ah... Jen, you have one on your midriff, too."

  "Oh. Get it off! Quick!" Recoiling from her fascinated state, she decided to get a grip on her boldness and look anywhere except down. As he salted the creature, she bit hard on her lower lip and remained motionless, lest some errant part of her accidentally touch some wayward part of him. She prepared for the worst--the pull of his fingers on the leech, his knuckles touching her bare flesh. But it didn’t happen. The leech dropped of its own accord.

  "Let me get the ones on your back."

  She spun around.

  He clasped her shoulder, his cold touch causing her back muscles to flinch. Tingles sprinted down her spine. His breath hung heavy in the surrounding air. Was it from panting to reach shore or pure lust? His sharp whistle pierced her eardrums. "Nice bathing suit."