Well, blog readers, this is it – my dream come true. As of June 7, I'll no longer be an assistant editor at MODE, but an assistant editor at the NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS! No more platform heels and Prada: Instead, I'll be writing about important authors. Major cultural trends. Scholarly analysis. And probably nobody is going to snicker at my hemlines any longer. Nobody will notice anymore, because my new coworkers will have other interests … more like mine.

So why don't I feel like celebrating?

Betty began her preparations to leave within minutes of receiving the interoffice mail folder with her signed release in it. Packing up her office was easier to do than looking down at that sheet of paper with Daniel's stark signature on it. Was it her imagination, or was his writing a little bit shaky?

She wasn't going to ask herself that question. She was going to prepare for the better days to come.

"That's so weird how much simpler the lines of the room are now," Megan chirped. "Without stuffed rabbits and things in it."

Betty only said, "I hear Marc is trying to figure out how to give Amanda this desk." She didn't even have to turn and see Megan's face fall; it was enough to know it was happening.

This should have been one of the best days of her life. Instead, she felt small and sick inside.

How could Daniel have ruined this for her? Moments like this didn't come around that often; they deserved to be celebrated, not rained on. Daniel? Definitely acting like a rain cloud. Betty felt as though he had stolen something precious from her, something irreplaceable.

But she knew that wasn't the only reason, or even the main reason, for the deep sense of loss inside.

We associate big celebrations with fireworks. Staring up into the sky, watching it blossom into brilliant light and color: Fireworks aren't just displays of our happiness, but a sign that everybody's invited to celebrate with us. There are no ticket prices, no exclusive seats. The show is for everyone.

So maybe I ought to feel like setting off fireworks as I count down my final days at MODE.

I don't, though.

Instead I find myself remembering that fireworks aren't just pretty blooms of color, like bunches of flowers. They're explosions so massive and lethal that they'd kill anyone up close.

There's not that much difference between a roman candle and a bomb.

"So, your goodbye party is going to be massive," Amanda said as she fell into step beside Betty in the Tube at the top of her last week there. "By the way, are you also leaving your apartment? Because Tyler and I are starting to want a little more privacy away from Marc. You know. For sex."

"I got that already, Amanda. And no, I'm not moving apartments. Just jobs." Betty sighed as she looked down at the folders in her arms; they were mostly exit forms to fill out for HR. Already, her last assignments had been turned in. The end was so close. "Wait, did you say a goodbye party?"

"Don't you want to know what we need more privacy for? More privacy than we could have in a bedroom?" Amanda gave her an open-mouthed smile. "Here's a hint. It involves ingredients you can find in any kitchen, if you actually cook. I mean, I don't, but Tyler says he can go shopping."

"No, I don't want to know what – "

"Admit it, Betty. You can't stop thinking about me naked."

"Amanda. Focus. Goodbye party?"

"Of course. We're gonna dance and drink – in Tyler's case club soda, but he says he can be around other drinkers, but we gotta watch him. He's still good for dancing, though. The whole staff is coming. We might see if those piñata guys from four years ago can make La Nina Betty again. Did you know, they say that's become their most popular model after the burro donkey thing?"

"I'll be sure to put that on my resume. But, Amanda – I don't really feel like a goodbye party."

Amanda stared at her as they reached the elevator bank. "Are you nuts? We always have goodbye parties! Even for people we hate. Unless they're Nick Pepper, because that guy was a loser. Also Alexis, but she left because she nearly killed Christina. That kind of killed the mood. Anyway, you love parties."

"I do, but – "

At that moment the elevator doors opened, and Daniel walked out. Betty had been working really hard to avoid him for the past week, and he'd apparently been returning the favor; this was the first time they'd laid eyes on each other since the Sprinkler System Incident. She was too shocked to say anything, or to notice much beyond the face that his face, while still bruised, was almost back to normal.

Daniel's mouth opened, then closed again, and he walked past so quickly that she half expected him to break into a run. Betty realized she was crushing the folders against her chest so hard the papers inside would all be rumpled.

"Whoa, what was that?" Amanda looked from Betty to Daniel's fast-vanishing figure at the end of the Tube. "Is Daniel, like, pissed off that you're leaving MODE?"

"Yeah." What else could she say?

"Well, no wonder. I mean, you are the Tinkerbell to his Peter Pan. The R2D2 to his C3PO. The Stacey to his Clinton. Wait, no, I call that last one for me and Marc."

Betty said, shortly, "He'll get over it."

She expected Amanda to respond by blathering on about the party some more, which would give her another chance to veto it, but Amanda surprised her: "I don't know if he will. I mean – you're the only reason he made it here, right? He's never really had to run MODE without you, not for long, anyway. So Daniel's probably freaking out."

Why hadn't she ever thought of that before? It had been so long since Betty had questioned Daniel's ability that she hadn't wondered whether he still questioned it himself.

Lost in thought, she failed to notice the moment when Amanda strutted away, which meant, whether she liked it or not, the party was on.

Thinking about the true nature of fireworks – and some other things – reminded me that even the greatest changes in life are also forces of destruction. Yes, I'm ready to move on to the NYRB. I'm ready to take the next steps in my life.

But believe it or not, I'm going to miss working at a fashion magazine. I'm going to miss all the friends I've made. The bustle and color of the Closet. The challenge of finding new things to say about clutch handbags. Walking up the runway after the Fashion Week show is over. Joking on the beach during a photo shoot in the Bahamas. Brainstorming late at night with Chinese food. Meade Publications galas. All the good stuff.

Saying hello to what comes next means saying goodbye to all that.

Celebrating what comes next in my life means facing the destruction of what came before.

And that's as hard for me as it must be for … everyone else.

A deep percussion beat thumped through the MODE offices as the goodbye party began. Betty, still at her desk, sat staring at the blank spot on the wall where her poncho used to hang. She'd had it sent to her apartment; she'd have to get a look at her new space at the NYRB and see if the framed poncho would fit there. The dimensions of her office-to-be: Just one more part of the future she didn't know and couldn't guess.

Why hadn't she realized that quitting MODE would be scary? For Daniel, and for her?

Too late, Betty understood that part of why she'd needed Daniel to be happy for her right away was because she didn't want to face his natural worries about her leaving – which meant facing her own fears, as well. That was a burden she shouldn't have put on him, particularly not right after he'd had to confront his own mortality in that horrifying helicopter crash.

(Was that part of it too? Had her fear of losing him forever subconsciously led her to push him away so she'd never have to face that pain again?)

But recognizing her own fault in their argument didn't take away the fact that Daniel had behaved badly. Very badly. Burning that release – trying to prevent her dream from coming true – that would have been childish and unfair at any time, doubly so after they'd come so close to a romance. Her part in their initial misunderstanding didn't excuse his actions. Betty could hardly believe he'd done that. It seemed so unlike the kind, patient, helpful Daniel she'd become enchanted by in the past couple of months.

Had she really fallen for Daniel? Already it seemed surreal – impossible. Like a dream she'd had. A dream that still had its power over her …

But if he could really be so mean-spirited about her desire for another job, about her need to move on and have an independent life without him, then she'd never fallen for Daniel at all. Just for a vision of him that had proved to be a mere illusion.

If you want to make progress towards your goals, you can't focus too much on the destruction and danger of the inevitable fireworks. You have to look at the colors, and the lights. You have to hear everyone around you cheering. You have to gaze upward in wonder at all the beauty that's possible for you, and for all of us.

So that's what I'm going to do.

Betty took a deep breath and swallowed the knot in her throat. Then she walked out to her farewell party, raised her hands to the answering cheers of her coworkers, and threw herself into the dancing.

It helped her stop thinking about the fact that Daniel wasn't there.

oooooo

Probably Hilda could've swung an invite to Betty's farewell party at MODE. Justin got invited just for being an intern for a few days; didn't being a Fashion Week hairstylist rate the same treatment? One phone call to Marc and the whole thing would've been set up.

But Justin was at a "Moulin Rouge" sing-along in Chelsea with Austin, and besides – tonight, Hilda had bigger challenges to deal with.

Her running shoes were white and silver, so Hilda had gone with ballet flats, which were at least quieter than heels. Black leggings, black T-shirt, sunglasses at night: That all seemed about right.

She peered around the corner of the warehouse into the neighboring parking lot. Nothing yet, except the same old empty soda bottles that had been there three minutes ago, the last time she dared to take a look. Damn, some people were trashy. How hard was it to throw your crap away?

Hilda knew she was only irritated about the trash because it helped keep her from freaking out, and she needed all the help she could get.

If Bobby was out here doing some kind of job for the Mafia, she was going to kill him before the mob thugs ever had the chance. How could he lie to her like that? How could he endanger their new family? They'd already started talking about trying again for a baby later this year …

"Hilda?"

She spun around, clutching in her purse for the pepper spray, but Bobby ducked down and covered his eyes. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Baby, it's me!"

Hilda took a deep breath, torn between relief and outrage. "Yeah, it's you, hanging out here in this parking lot. You are not at the sports' bar trivia night, mister!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you." She crossed her arms. "Bobby, what are you doing here?"

"I – I'm going to trivia night later." He looked wary, as well he might. "I just gotta do my cousin Eddie a favor."

"Your cousin Eddie, huh?" Eddie Talercio was a round-faced, endlessly cheerful type, who had come to her wedding, done the chicken dance and eaten at least a third of the cake by himself. "Eddie needs you to 'move the merch'? Eddie's the one sending you out in an unmarked van? Is that what's going on here?"

Bobby groaned as he leaned against the brick wall of the warehouse with her; it was as if they were both hiding out from God knew who, barely illuminated by the streetlamp yards away. Although this was probably the single biggest argument they'd ever had – and what it meant was both huge and terrifying – Hilda realized she felt safer out here now that he was with her. She still trusted the guy, even if it was crazy.

Finally he said, "I'm not mob. I told you that, and I told you the truth. But – a couple guys in my family – "

"Oh, Jesus, save us." Hilda covered her face with her hands, as if trying to block it out.

"Hilda, I don't get mixed up in that crap. Swear to God. I've never brought home one dollar I didn't earn fair and square. But every once in a while – maybe once a year or so – one of them asks me something as a favor. As family. So I do it, and I don't ask questions."

"What kinda favors are we talking about here? Are you a hit man? A bank robber?"

"Don't be ridiculous –"

"We are out here on a Friday night because you're doing something for the mob. There is no such thing as a ridiculous question about this. Okay? I get to ask whatever I want."

Bobby looked wounded. "I would never hurt anybody like that. Not ever."

"I know, baby." She touched his arm. "I know that. But you gotta tell me what this is, and we gotta get you out of it."

His phone rang. From the expression on his face, she knew who had to be on the other line. Holding out her hand, Hilda said, "Give it here."

"You don't need to get mixed up in anything you don't understand."

"That's why I'm gonna understand." Hey, if the mafiosos decided Bobby was totally whipped, they'd probably back off. Hilda kept staring at her husband until finally he handed the phone over. "Hello, who is this?"

"Hilda?" Jesus, it really was cousin Eddie. He was mafia? Didn't look the type. "So nice to talk to you. Listen, I was calling Bobby – "

"I know you were calling Bobby. For dirty work. I'm not okay with that, Eddie. He's leaving the family business. As of now."

Only after the words left her lips did Hilda realize that back-talking a mafia don was probably a bad idea, even if he was related to you and looked more like a Weeble than Michael Corleone. Bobby's eyes were bugging out of his head, and she wondered – much too late – whether she'd just started them down a path that led to riding in car trunks and wearing Hefty bags for a late-night swim.

But Eddie just chuckled. "The little woman's putting her foot down already, huh? Well, listen, Hilda. I don't want to mess things up for you. All I ask is you don't mess things up for me."

Nervously she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I wasn't gonna call the cops or anything."

"Of course not. But tonight – I was counting on Bobby here. I just need him to drive that van a few miles down the road. Nothing in the back but DVD players. You can check for yourself, if you want. Hey, go with him. It's safe as it can be, and that way, I'll owe you both a favor. Never know when you might need a favor, Hilda."

She was starting to see how Bobby might feel like, at times, he had no choice. "This is the last time. The absolute last. I have your word on that."

"My word," Eddie said. "On my life, I swear that to you, Hilda Suarez Talercio."

There was no saying why him using her full name made her believe him, but it did. "Okay. We'll do it."

"That's good of you. And hey, we're gonna see you guys for the Fourth of July picnic, right?"

"Yeah, see you then!" Hilda managed to keep the cheer up until the call ended; then she and Bobby stared at each other for a long moment. "I didn't realize 'for better or for worse' covered this kind of thing."

Bobby shook his head. "We're both in the van?"

"He said it was safe."

"Yeah, it's safe. I would never have said okay to anything that wasn't safe – you know that, right?"

"I guess."

The look they shared told him that he knew what she knew now. That he hadn't left because it wasn't easy to leave. That your family could tie you to things you would never have dreamed of. And loving somebody meant being along for the ride, even if the ride was in a van transporting possibly stolen goods.

As they began walking toward the van that had been dropped there for pickup, Bobby gave her an uneasy smile. "Look at you. All tricked out in your black secret agent gear."

"Stop it." Hilda realized she was smiling too. Yeah, she still felt uneasy about this – but she wasn't angry with Bobby, at least not anything like as much as she had been. Family came first, after all, and if some of your family got mixed up in craziness … well, you might have to deal with a little crazy. She'd had to deal with MODE, hadn't she?

Okay, not the same thing. But still. Hilda wasn't leaving her man over this, not by a long shot.

"What were you gonna do in all this black?" Bobby had started to grin, sensing the worst of the crisis had past. "Go running after the van, flip up onto the roof like Sydney Bristow or something?"

"You wish I ran around in little rubber dresses like Sydney Bristow."

"Never too soon to start planning a surprise for our anniversary – "

oooooo

As the van pulled up to the heliport gate, Yoga bounded up to the back, boosted herself off the bumper and effortlessly slid atop the roof. The gates opened, and she held on as her ride drove through, confident her black clothing would conceal her in the darkness.

These days were supposed to be over for me, she thought wryly. Only for you, Fish.

Then again, it was kind of good to know she still had it in her.

So, she knew now you could get past the security gates. Yoga had made the leap skillfully, but during the day, with traffic coming in and out, even someone with less expertise would be able to pull it off. That only meant that sabotage was possible, and in itself proved nothing, but it was good to know.

As soon as the van's occupants (mechanics, she thought) went inside the main building, Yoga slipped down to the pavement. Noiselessly she backed herself up to the structure itself; security cameras were likely to pan the perimeter, rather than the closest areas. Her eyes, accustomed to this task, quickly picked out each of the cameras and assessed what the likely blind spots would be. One of those blind spots was right by the side of another fenced enclosure – the pad itself, where the helicopters sat at the ready.

Slowly, deliberately, she walked through that blind spot, right to the far side of that enclosure. And there, at the bottom, was a triangle of mesh that didn't match the rest – shiny silver, instead of the time-dulled fencing of the rest.

They'd just repaired the fence within the past several days.

Like they would if somebody had cut their way in.

And Yoga could think of one good reason someone might have done that.

She whistled a low note. "Fish is gonna be in one hell of a mood tonight."

oooooo

From the far corner of the office, Daniel watched Betty's celebration party rage on. In some ways, it was miraculous to see: The same fashionistas who had scorned her a few years ago were now dancing beside her, sharing her joy, and unashamed to admit they were going to miss her. Even Wilhelmina had strolled through earlier, sharing a few apparently sincere words with Betty; whatever she had said had made Betty grin with pride.

In other words, every single person at MODE was able to be happy for her, except him.

Daniel felt like pond scum. Worse: Pond scum that was going to die alone. How could he have been so stupid? He kept trying to think of ways to save the situation, but none came to mind that didn't seem presumptuous or bossy or any of the other things Betty hated so much.

So he was stuck there, watching her dance between Marc and Amanda, her glittery gold jacket glinting with every move she made. She was like a Fourth of July sparkler: simple, joyful, bright.

I've lost her, he thought. I've really, truly lost her.

And the worst part was that he'd lost her by failing to be the better man she'd always inspired him to be.

Then Daniel realized: Even if I've lost her, I can still be that man. I want to be.

Something settled over him, a mood unlike any other he'd experienced during the past two weeks – sad, yet strangely comforting. He wasn't going to keep reviewing his many mistakes. He wasn't going to be angry with Betty for wanting something else for her future, or for not wanting him along with it. He wasn't going to mope around and avoid the issue any longer. No, he was going to be that man.

This was probably the "acceptance" part.

As Pink's song began winding up, Daniel finally walked out of the shadowy alcove where he'd been hiding out and gestured toward the photo editor who was playing DJ for the party. She turned down the volume just as the song ended, and though a few dancers groaned, more of them looked up, which gave Daniel a chance to hold up his hand and call for everyone's attention.

Betty was one of the last to turn. Her wide, surprised eyes made Daniel feel as if he'd torn open inside – God, was she actually afraid of what he would say? – but no. He wasn't going to concentrate on his fuckups. He was only going to think about what needed to be said, and say it.

"We're here tonight to bid goodbye to Betty Suarez," Daniel said, surprised that his voice remained even. "She began at MODE as my assistant – but she helped me in ways that went far beyond fetching coffee or scheduling appointments. Within weeks of her arrival, I knew she was smart … even brilliant. Always cheerful. Always kind. I think we all learned fast just how important she was to this place, to all of us. At any rate, I learned how important she was to me."

Almost how important. If he'd learned exactly how important, earlier on – but no. He wasn't going to give in to regrets right now. This moment was about Betty.

She stood there, totally still, as clear to him as if she were framed in a spotlight. The overheated room and her wild dancing had mussed her hair, and a few strands stuck to the sweaty skin of her cheek. But Betty's eyes were wide and dark, her gaze as serious as it had ever been.

"Betty has helped me as an editor, and me as a person, in more ways than I can possibly name here, or maybe even understand. I think she's done that for all of us. So as hard as it is to watch her walk out these doors, and out of our lives, we have to be glad for her. Be proud of her, moving onward and upward, always. Betty, I hope you get everything you ever wanted, and that all your dreams come true. You deserve that and more. Just know that you'll always be remembered. You'll always be missed. Love you. Goodbye."

Everybody began clapping and cheering, and plastic champagne glasses were raised across the room. The DJ pumped up the volume again as someone pressed a flute of bubbly into Daniel's hand; he gulped the drink down in a couple of swallows, then started to head for the door. He'd done what he needed to do, paid Betty the tribute she deserved. Now he needed to stop raining on her parade and take his bad mood somewhere else, like his new apartment, where going through endless boxes marked JUNK at least kept him busy.

But as he reached the edge of the party, a hand caught at the sleeve of his jacket, and he turned to see Betty there – grooving to the beat the whole time. "Where are you going?" she called over the racket. And she was smiling at him. Really smiling. Daniel hadn't known how badly he already missed her smile.

"I was – " What was he going to say?

It didn't matter; Betty towed him back onto the dance floor, right there with her and Marc and Amanda. "Will you just dance already?"

So maybe they were just friends. It wasn't what he wanted, but it was worth a hell of a lot. So Daniel threw himself into it, bouncing along with Marc and Amanda and Betty, all of them thrashing their heads side to side with the beat.

When it came to Betty, he was ready to stop worrying about what he could get. He just wanted to know what she needed. Whatever that was, he would be.

oooooo

As the party wound down, Betty made her way to her office … her former office. It was empty now of the gerber daisies and photos and everything else that had made it hers. Slowly she took her ID out of her jacket pocket and dropped it on the desk. From now on, she would only be a visitor here. Her time at MODE was truly over.

From the doorway behind her, she heard Daniel's voice. "Hey. Headed out?"

"Almost." Betty turned to see him, framed in the shadows. His shirt collar was loose from the dancing, and as he leaned against the doorjamb, she could make out the entire outline of his body. Just the nearness of Daniel sent a welcome shiver through her, and Betty knew then – as she'd always known, really – that the change in her emotions for him was no illusion. "Thanks, by the way. For what you said in there."

"It's no more than what I should've said from the start."

"I threw a lot on you at once. I get that now."

Daniel shrugged. "Yeah, but that's not exactly an excuse for starting fires."

The memory of the blaze on his desk made her smile; something she'd thought of as an outrage had already become funny to her. "That was kind of … special."

"Sorry about that." He ran one hand through his scruffy hair. "Not just the fire, though, you know, mainly the fire. But also for not understanding how important this was to you. For not supporting you, even if you – chose something else. That's the least I owe you."

Betty cocked her head as she sat on a corner of her desk. "Daniel, did you really never understand? – I couldn't have dated my boss. Not ever. That wouldn't be right. My getting another job wasn't about choosing something else. It opened up a lot of new possibilities for both of us. Or that's how I saw it, anyway."

Watching the realization dawn on his face would have been hilarious, if she hadn't seen the pain written there too. "I feel – really stupid now."

"Don't. We need to be clearer with each other. Both of us." She smiled at him softly. "From now on, we need to do a better job of talking to each other."

Daniel watched her for such a long time that she began to wonder if he'd heard her wrong. Then he said, expression shifting into wonder, "From now on?" She nodded. "So I didn't, um, blow it completely?"

So, he hadn't given that speech at the party to get her back. He'd said it completely unselfishly. That was – endearing. "Let's say you still have a chance to get back on my good side."

He took a few strolling steps into the office, hands in his pockets. The worried crease between his eyebrows had smoothed, and Daniel's eyes now held a kind of light that made her feel warm and soft inside. "What would a guy have to do to get on your good side?"

"Tell you what." Betty nudged the cardboard box full of her stuff with her elbow. "Start by carrying this down to the taxi for me, and we'll take it from there."

oooooo

Daniel carried her box down to the taxi.

He rode to her apartment with her, the two of them side by side, knees brushing against each other, laughing about different hookups and incidents at her goodbye party. Every single time their eyes met, she felt it like an electric shock. Or a deliciously cool breeze. Or a sparkly, brilliant kind of light … like fireworks.

Then he took the box in his arms and walked with her to the front stoop of her building, and by then, Betty's heart was pounding.

"So," Daniel said. "This box is pretty heavy. Maybe I should take it upstairs for you."

"I don't know." She leaned against the wall, rolling her ankle so that her shoe slipped back and forth against the step. "That's a few flights up, you know. You might get tired. You'd have to stick around and rest for a while."

"More than a few minutes," he agreed. "A few hours, maybe."

Or all night, Betty thought but didn't say. She didn't have to speak it aloud. Just looking at Daniel told her he was thinking the exact same thing.

A zillion questions flooded her mind at once – are we ready for this? Is jumping in this fast a good idea? But we're definitely ready to make out, right? – but she reminded herself that the main thing was that they spend some time together. Figure out what they were going to be to each other from now on. And tell each other the truth.

"Come on up," she said, and oh, there were no words for the heat in Daniel's eyes –

A car came racing along the street, faster than the usual traffic of taxis crawling along looking for addresses; that was what got her to glance away from Daniel. Because she glanced over in time, she saw the car slowing suddenly, and something dark protruding from the window.

And almost too late, realized what that was.

"Look out!" she cried, tugging Daniel down with her as gunfire erupted and bullets began slamming into the door. Daniel pushed her closer to the wall, covering her body with his, but the assault was already over. As the car sped away, tires squealing, their eyes met.

"Jesus Christ," Daniel said, pulling her even closer to him. His breaths were coming as short and fast as her own. "What the hell just happened?"

"I don't know."

All around them, car alarms were going off, people were glancing out their windows, and other passers-by were starting to freak out. Within minutes, the police were on the scene, and neighbors were demanding answers. Marc, Amanda and Tyler all arrived home from the party and sat on the stoop with them, providing some minimal comfort.

"I put some of the chocolate from the party in my purse," Amanda said, putting a handful of slightly mushy foil-wrapped candies in Betty's hand. "Here."

"Thanks," she sighed. A few feet away, a police officer lifted her good-luck bunny with a pair of tongs; a bullet hole showed clearly through its pink chest. Then it was dropped into an evidence bag and sealed. "I just can't get over it. A drive-by shooting, in this neighborhood?"

"We're okay. Nobody was hurt." Daniel rubbed her shoulder, a touch she found deeply reassuring – but then his cell phone went off, startling both of them. He swore lightly under his breath. "Still jumpy. Okay." Quickly he answered. "Hello?"

The volume was set loud enough for Betty to hear Claire Meade's voice. "Daniel. Are you at Betty's party? I don't want to disturb you."

"The party's over," Daniel said. "And how."

Before he could explain further, Betty heard Claire continue, "Listen. Yoga and I have made a fairly upsetting discovery." She shared a look with Daniel, who held the phone out, the better for them both to hear. "It looks as if our little plunge into the Hudson two weeks ago wasn't an accident. Someone appears to have broken into the helipad, and possibly sabotaged the helicopter."

Betty's mind leaped forward, making the connection so fast she would have doubted it – if there were any room for doubt, but there wasn't.

"The helicopter was sabotaged," she whispered. "And tonight – that wasn't a random drive-by."

Daniel had begun shaking his head no, though she knew he believed her. "It can't be."

"It can," Betty insisted. "Daniel … someone is trying to kill you!"

oooooo

Next episode: "The Unusual Suspects"

(Songs: "I'm Coming Up," Pink; "Don't Rain on My Parade," Lea Michele; "Rolling in the Deep" by Adele.)