Slowly she became aware of her surroundings. She felt pressure all over, like she had been wrapped tightly in a heavy blanket. As her eyes slowly focused, she could see the front seat of a car, but it was very close and she was looking at it from a very low angle.

She realized she was lying on the floor of a car, under the dashboard. She could hear the slow drip, drip, drip of liquid hitting metal, and the chirping of birds nearby.

Almost afraid to move, afraid of the pain, she lifted first one arm, then the other, surprised that, although she was stiff and sore, nothing seemed broken. She began to push herself up off the floor and onto the seat. It was a tight squeeze; the dashboard seemed a lot closer to the front seat than normal.

Dragging herself up, she looked to her right and froze. Mike was still in the driver's seat, the steering wheel now pressed against his chest, his right hand lying limply in a small pool of blood on the seat behind him. Blood soaked his right pant leg around his knee.

The fedora still on, his head lay against the side window, bright red rivulets of blood coursing down the cracked glass. His eyes were closed, blood on his face from the gash over his eyebrow; his mouth was slightly open. She couldn't tell if he was breathing.

She turned to the passenger side door and raised the handle. She heard a click and it opened. She shoved the heavy door away from her and a metallic groan rent the air as she managed to push it open wide enough to crawl out.

She looked at the car: the grill was folded around the large tree trunk, the windshield shattered, and the hood bent upward; the tires that she could see were flat. The front seat was much closer to the dash than it should have been. And she could smell gas, leaking, she assumed, from the ruptured tank.

Remarkably, she was largely unhurt, though she knew bruises would be making their presence felt sooner than later. She had not escaped completely unscathed but she had survived.

She glanced around nervously, knowing she needed to get out of there and fast. She leaned back into the car, kneeling on the seat and feeling under the dash. She found her bag but her grasping fingers couldn't find the gun that had flown from her hand when the car plummeted down the embankment.

With an angry and disappointed growl, she backed out of the car and slammed the door. She looked up the steep hill. Taking a deep breath, slinging her bag over her head, she started to climb, grabbing at branches and shrubs to pull herself up, trying not to slip on the dirt and grass.

Several minutes later she had managed to crawl close to the top of the embankment. She was just about to haul herself up onto the shoulder when she heard the sound of an oncoming vehicle. She ducked back down, waiting for the car to pass before she scrambled over the top.

Panting, she got slowly to her feet, then leaned forward and brushed the dirt and leaves from her knees and lower legs, smoothing her dress into place as best she could. Reaching into her bag, she extracted a small packet of tissues, pulling one out, wetting it with her spit and trying to wipe her face, hopefully removing the dirt and sweat she knew was there. When the third one remained white after use, she was satisfied, tossing the used tissue into the ditch and pulling a hairbrush out of her bag.

Finally satisfied she looked almost normal, she turned to face the road, then in a mild panic looked back and forth, first one direction and then the other down the tree-lined strip of asphalt. She was suddenly unsure which way they had been heading before the altercation; she had no idea which way led back to San Francisco.

With a frustrated groan, she started across the road then looked down at the pavement, hoping to see skid marks. There were none. Trying to recall the details of the struggle in the car, she couldn't remember at any time the car going into a skid hard enough to leave rubber on the road, except when Mike made the tight circle, trying to throw her off-balance. But she still couldn't remember which direction they were travelling when he did that.

"Damn it!" she muttered to herself, shaking her head in anger then making up her mind. She continued across the road and had only walked about three hundred yards along the shoulder when the sound of a car approaching from the behind caught her attention.

Pasting a coyly innocent smile on her face, she turned to face the oncoming car and stuck her thumb out. A white Olds Cutlass came into view around the bend, slowing down slightly when it got closer. As it passed, she could see a middle-aged man behind the wheel and a woman of a similar age in the passenger seat.

She watched as the brake lights came on and the car pulled onto the gravel shoulder and stopped. She ran up to the driver's side door.

"Where are you going, honey?" the pleasantly smiling man asked her.

"San Francisco…" she said hesitantly, still not sure if she was heading in the right direction.

The man glanced at his wife then turned back and nodded. "Hop in the back, sweetheart. We can take you as far as Sausalito. Is that okay?"

With a relieved laugh, Donna opened the back door of the Cutlass and got in.

# # # # #

Following his colleagues, Steve walked into the Homicide office and crossed to his desk. With a loud sigh, he took his notebook out of the pocket of his camel hair jacket and tossed it near the phone, then slid the coat off and draped it carefully over the back of the chair. He sat heavily, pulled the notebook closer and flipped it open. As he reread the top page, he rolled his sleeves up.

He glanced up at the inner office, surprised to find no evidence of his partner's presence. With a frown, he got up and was just about to cross the short distance to Mike's desk when Lee Lessing called to him from across the room. The young inspector had his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone.

"Steve, if you're looking for Mike, he called in early this morning to say he wasn't coming in today. He said he'd tell you about it tomorrow."

Without further explanation, he went back to his phone call. Shrugging, Steve returned to his desk and sat.

# # # # #

It was just past one o'clock when the cab stopped at the curb outside the office of the Starlight Motel and Donna Atkinson exited the back door. As the cab pulled away, she crossed the parking lot towards the blue Pinto, fishing in her leather bag for the keys.

Within seconds, she had backed out of the space and left the lot, turning right, towards San Francisco.

# # # # #

Pain – it was everywhere. He could hear his own breaths, coming in sharp little gasps, as he tried not to compound the agony that seemed to rack his entire body every time he inhaled. He opened his eyes a slit; the right was blurry and no amount of blinking, it seemed, would clear it.

He tried to lift his head but everything started to spin. He closed his eyes and rested his temple against the cold glass again, fighting the sudden nausea. He couldn't feel his left arm. When he raised his right hand, he felt a cold wetness against his side; he knew it was blood.

His right leg was numb, and there was a pressure against his chest that could only be the steering wheel. He couldn't move.

A soft whimper of pain and fear escaped his lips. He knew he was alone, and he knew he was in trouble.

And he wished he had told someone where he was going.

# # # # #

There was a short sharp knock on the front door of the De Haro Street house. Officer Janice Patterson looked up from the magazine she was reading and glanced at her watch. It was just after two. She frowned as she got to her feet, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table, and headed towards the door. The lieutenant was not due back for several hours at least, she thought.

Donna Atkinson was standing on the stoop. "Hi," she smiled warmly when Patterson opened the door. "I'm here to pick up my son like Mike said I could." Without waiting for an invitation, she pushed past the frowning policewoman and entered the house, looking around for Joshua.

Closing the door, Patterson turned towards her. "I didn't think you and the lieutenant would be back for several hours. At least, that's what he told me this morning."

"Well, we got finished a lot sooner than he expected." Donna was looking around the room. "Where's Joshua?" she asked, her voice sounding just a little strained, the officer thought.

"He's upstairs in the master bedroom having a nap." Patterson gestured with her head towards the second floor and Donna smiled. "Where's Lieutenant Stone?"

"Oh," Donna said, starting for the stairs, "he dropped me off here; said he had a couple of things to do and then he was going into the office. He told me to tell you that after I took Joshua, for you to just lock up the house and go on about your business." She stopped halfway up the stairs and her smile grew even broader. "So I guess you have the rest of the day off!" She continued up the stairs.

Shrugging to herself, Patterson walked to the foot of the stairs, watching as Donna disappeared into the master bedroom. "Did he tell you what I should do with his key?" she called up the stairs.

Several seconds later, Donna appeared on the upper landing with her son in her arms. "He said to tell you to just keep it until he could arrange to meet with you again." With another beaming smile, she started down the stairs.

Ten minutes later, Patterson stood on the sidewalk and watched as Donna, her son and his bag of toys and diapers disappeared around the corner in the small Pinto. With a happy snort, her potentially long day now reduced to half of what she'd been expecting, she started up the stairs again. In the time it took her to tidy up and lock the front door, she had decided how she would begin to enjoy the remainder of her now free day.

# # # # #

The large tan sedan turned off Montgomery onto Union and slid into a vacant space at the curb. Wearily, Steve Keller got out, pocketing the keys, and had started to cross around the front of the LTD towards the sidewalk when he suddenly froze.

Donna, bouncing Joshua on her knee, was sitting on the bottom step. She grinned up at him as he stared at her expressionlessly from the far side of the car.

"Surprise!" she called out as she stood, hefting Joshua into her arms and stepping towards him. "We thought we'd come by and surprise you. Maybe get you to take us out to dinner." She looked at her son. "Would you like that, Joshy? Would you like to go to dinner with your Daddy?"

She looked back at Steve expectantly.