Stella was angry. It had taken her two and a half hours to get to the scene, and another half hour to walk down a steep ravine in three inch heels. She'd screamed bloody murder at every single driver on the road, practically slapped the officer who pointed to the body with a barely contained giggle, and now she officially wished that nature would go screw itself. There was a mosquito on her arm. That was unacceptable. So by the time her cell phone rang, she was just about to murder someone herself.

"WHAT." She called into the phone, slapping the bug on her arm.

"I need you to come get me," whimpered the voice on the other end. It was strong, yet clearly wavering, and Stella knew exactly who it was.

"Linds? Are you OK?"

Two hours earlier, Lindsay had gotten ready for a date. But it was not a date. And even if it was, that would be OK because she was single. Right? The guy was pretty cute, and hey, he seemed nice. She was completely and utterly single, because she'd been stupid and now he didn't want her. So she was single. And, to top it all off, she looked pretty good. The dress was cotton, and plain, but the green made her look like a woman of nature, and dulled the homesickness. It was the color of the fir trees that flocked around her back porch.

Rick had picked her up at her apartment, which she thought was a tad bizarre since she hadn't told him the address. But someone must've. Her brother, no doubt. Rick and he had been friends when they were in grade school, until Rick moved away at thirteen. Rick had called her up and mentioned that he'd heard she was living in the city. They'd agreed to go out to dinner together, just to catch up. And to talk about David.

Lindsay's brother had gotten sick the past fall; a tumor had engulfed his lungs. She ached for him, wished that she could quit work and the city and ride up to his home in Maine just so she could sit with him and hold his hand. If she went out with Rick, she had no doubt that David would come up, and there was the possibility that she'd hear a story about him, something she didn't know, and he'd be there with her. So it wasn't a date with Rick. It was a date for David.

But it was a date against her, in the end, and she mentally berated herself as she sat, wincing and licking her wounds, up against a wall in a bathroom in Central Park.

She hadn't been this alone in her life, never listened to the quiet so loud that she was drowning in it. This was coming from the girl who'd spent weeks alone in the wilderness, up in Yellowstone and up near Slough Creek, with nothing but a sleeping bag and miles of trees encasing her. The phone only poured more salt into her wounds, for the static resonated in her ear and reminded her that the only person who she would take help from was far, far away.

"I need you to come get me."

"Linds? Are you OK?"

"I think my leg is broken."

"Oh, sweetie –"

"And I might have been drugged."

"Oh my God."

And then they sat in silence, louder than before, punctured with the occasional brush of static.

"Lindsay, what happened?"

"Just come get me."

"Honey, I need to know."

She sniffed, and moaned a pained sob into the phone, and Stella knew.

"I can't come get you, honey, I'm two hours away at a scene. Tell me where you are, OK?"

"I'm in a bathroom in Central Park." She racked her brain for more info – had she seen signs when she was running from him? Had she even bothered to look? How could she be so stupid? But then she remembered one – "I think I'm near seventy sixth street. East side."

"OK, now, look, honey, I'm going to get Danny to –"

"NO." Her voice had strength that shocked both women.

"He was at sixty ninth when I last talked to him, Linds. He's right near you."

"I want you."

Stella felt for her, she really did, and she knew that Lindsay would be hesitant to be in the vicinity of a y chromosome for some time, but it had to be done. It wasn't safe to wait for Stella to trek out to get her. Stella knew her priorities, and number one was getting someone to be with her.

"Honey, I'm sending Danny."