"This really is nice of you, you know," McCall told Hunter later that night. She had been amused by him all evening, never having seen such a domestic side to him. He had washed the sheets from the bed as he had promised. He brought her juice and toast, which was all she was really hungry for. He took her temperature again and plied her with more pills. He hadn't let her get up from the couch at all. Now they were both on the couch, same as last night, watching

some made-for-TV movie. Dee Dee was dozing on and off, but everytime she woke up he was there beside her.

"What can I say, I'm a nice guy," he told her, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"No, I mean it," McCall insisted, putting her hand on his wrist to focus his attention. He turned his head toward her and looked her in the eyes. "I feel very...taken care of. Nobody's done that for me...taken care of me...in a while." She smiled wistfully. "It feels nice. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied sincerely, kissing the top of her head. "Glad to be of service."

She leaned over and put her head on the arm of the couch and her feet in his lap. "Don't bother waking me when this is over. I haven't been paying much attention anyway." He looked at her, confused for a minute.

'No, no, go on upstairs,"he urged her, guessing she didn't want to assume she could sleep in his bed again. This won't be much longer. Pretty soon we get to find out who the killer is."

"You sure?" she asked. The couch was comfortable, but stretching out in bed sounded like heaven.

"Yeah, go on up. I think I know who done it. I want to see if I'm right." He grinned at her. "Go on. Take some aspirin first. Can't have that going to waste."He turned back to the TV, seeming intent on finding out the ending.

"All right, thanks, "she said, standing up. "Good night, Hunter." She walked upstairs, yawning. When she got to the bedroom she saw that the clothes she had gotten soaked in were folded on the dresser. He had re-made the bed earlier and even had turned it down for her.

Smiling to herself she went into the bathroom and washed her face. She took off the sweatshirt she had lived in all day and put on the shirt from yesterday. It felt cool and fresh against her skin. She looked around the bathroom and found a brush that she quickly ran through her hair. Not a huge improvement, but it made her feel better. She turned on the bedside lamp and turned off the overhead light. Climbing in, she pulled up only the sheet to cover herself with.

Her eyes closed as soon as her head hit the pillow.

"Amazing,"she thought, "how tiring being sick can be." She thought she heard him come up the stairs, thought she heard him turn off the light and get into bed, thought she heard him whisper "Sweet dreams," and kiss her on the cheek. But she might have already been asleep.

McCall woke up to the sound of thunder. When she opened her eyes she saw Hunter standing near the window, looking through the curtains. A flash of lightning lit up the predawn sky.

"So did the weather channel predict this?"

Hunter turned at the sound of her voice. As a matter of fact, they did, yes." He walked back to the bed and climbed back in. "It would seem, even at 5:30 in the morning, that you're feeling better.

"That depends on whether or not you're going to kick me out of this nice warm bed," she said drowsily.

"I told you, McCall, you're not going anywhere until we find out how that gun got in your car,"he replied, rolling over on his side to face her. He rearranged the pillows under his head.

"I was choosing to ignore that whole incident, thank you very much."

"Deal with it, honey. Now that I've nursed you back to health, I'm not letting you get whacked by some wacko."

"You're a regular Florence Nightingale," she replied dryly. Then, after thinking for a minute, "You really think someone might be following me?"

"Well, if he, or she, just picked a car at random, hoping it would get to you eventually, that person should go buy a lottery ticket. I'd say that someone's been keeping tabs on you.

"Great. Just what I need. A secret admirer who just happens to collect murder weapons and send them as gifts."

"It would be better than some of the other guys you've dated," Hunter observed.

"Geez, kick me while I'm down." She closed her eyes. "It's too early to worry about this." Hunter watched her as within 5 minutes she fell back asleep. He dozed for another hour or so, finally deciding to get up and start reading the work he had brought home. Maybe he

would discover something that would ease both their minds.

McCall found him sitting at the kitchen table when she came downstairs. She was wearing the clothes she had arrived at his house in.

"I took a shower and think I might actually be human again."

"Glad to hear it. You want some breakfast?" He got up and poured two glasses of orange juice. "I was about to make some oatmeal."

"Oatmeal? Ick."She made a face. "I only like it in cookies." He shook his head at her in obvious disgust. "The juice is fine." She reached for a paper from the folder. "Find anything interesting?"

"Not really. Why don't you call the station and see if they've found out anything about your car. I'm going to hit the shower." Twenty minutes later he returned. McCall was scribbling notes as she talked on the phone.

"So, your guys are finished with it and it's totally fixed? Wonderful!" She glanced up at him as she listened to whoever she was speaking with. "I may come by and pick it up today, or I may just get a ride in to work tomorrow. Thanks very much." She hung up the phone and turned to him. "They didn't find any prints on the car except yours and mine,"she informed him. "There was a slight scratch on the window glass that's down inside the door. As far as they can tell, the lock was probably opened with a coat hanger, just like if someone had locked their keys in the car. Part of the metal scratched the glass, but you would never know if you weren't looking

for it."

"So whoever left this for you was probably not worried about getting caught. It would have taken at least a couple minutes to get your door open. And if anybody noticed, there was a perfect explanation. Keys get locked in cars all the time."

"So let's go see if anyone noticed."

As Hunter pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall, he considered the stores. A Great Clips, not open today since it was Sunday, and probably not open past 9 at night. The Chinese

restaurant offered some possibilities, if any workers had been outside on break or gone home late that evening. An engraving shop was closed and its hours ended at 6, so that was out. But a copy center was open 24 hours and had plate glass windows across the front of

the store with an unobstructed view of the parking lot.

"Let's start there," Hunter said, pointing to the copy center. They went inside and flashed their badges to the two clerks on duty. Neither of them had worked on Friday evening, but were willing to give them the name and phone number of the person who had. The Chinese restaurant had several employees who had been there Friday evening, but none of them had noticed anyone hanging around the parking lot.

"Let's do this," McCall suggested. "Since you're making me stay at your place…"

"For your own good," Hunter stated firmly.

"Can we at least swing by my house so I can pick up a few things? You can call…" she looked at the name and phone number that had been written down for them, "Stuart Carmichael while I pack." They entered her home cautiously, and checked all the rooms, but nothing seemed to be out of place or unusual. Both relaxed a bit as McCall went to her bedroom to get some things together. Hunter picked up the phone and dialed the number they had been given.

In her bedroom, McCall assembled a pair of jeans and a couple of shirts, a more professional outfit to wear to work the next day, and grabbed a bag she kept packed with essentials such as brushes, make up, and the like. She placed everything into a small suitcase, tossed in a book she had just started, and went back into the living room. Her partner had just hung up the phone.

"Mr. Carmichael was somewhat helpful,"Hunter told her. "He does recall seeing someone on the parking lot around 10:00 that evening who was hanging around, as he put it. Mentioned he was sort of surprised because usually it's teenagers out there, but this person was, how did he put it? Not the general hooligans who are normally disgracing the property. He didn't get a clear look, but at least we have a general description." He looked at his notes. "Less than 5' 8" tall, slender build, dark hair…"

"That narrows it down,"McCall said sarcastically.

"And he's fairly sure it was a woman."

"Fairly sure? What does that mean?"

"I asked him that exact question," Hunter replied with a proud smile. "Without going into the rant that I got from him, basically the hair was what he thought to be too long for a man, but not long enough for his liking on a woman."McCall rolled her eyes. "I'm just giving you his opinion, not mine," Hunter was quick to point out. "And it would fit with the rest of his general description. Not enough to get a sketch artist on, but we've got somewhere to start."

"That description fits at least a third of the women in this town," McCall lamented. "It even fits me."

"Well, I'm working on the assumption you did not put the gun in your own car,"Hunter replied.

"Thanks for that vote of confidence."

"You're welcome. Now, let's get you out of here. If this woman found your car, she can probably find your house too."

The two detectives picked up a pizza before returning to Hunter's house. After eating, they both read through the information they had so far on the case.

"Did Mr. Harris's secretary get you his travel schedule yet?" McCall asked.

"Ah, yeah. It's here somewhere." Hunter dug through the small stack of papers. "Here you go,"he said, handing it to her. McCall studied it for several minutes and then flipped back to a previous page in her notes.

"This is kind of strange," she began. "Most of his business trips are in the Midwest."

"Right, Hunter interrupted her. "Chicago and Indianapolis."

"And he's gone to Seattle twice, and Dallas three times," McCall continued, "but he also went to St. Louis once. Only once. And one of the teachers at the school," McCall continued to scan her notes, "mentioned that Samantha had visited Denver with her husband a few months ago."

"Three months ago, from what this says,"Hunter suggested as he read the travel schedule over his partner's shoulder.

"I agree. So why take your wife along on this one trip, that was only 1 night, to a city you don't usually visit? If I were going to get away for a week-end or something, I'd probably want to go somewhere more familiar."

"Maybe they wanted to see the town. Discover new places, meet new people," Hunter intoned theatrically.

"Maybe," McCall considered. "But I'd like to know more about his business agenda for that trip." She put the papers down and leaned back on the couch. The simple events of the day had left her drained. "That will have to wait until tomorrow. Right now I'd like a nap."

"You've slept the whole week-end away!" Hunter protested. "I know, I know, you're still in the recovery process," he conceded as she glared at him. He moved the papers that were between them on the couch and set them on the end table. McCall grabbed the pillows

that she had moved to the floor and put them under her head. Yawning, she stretched out as best she could with him still taking up a good portion of the couch.

"You going to ask me to move?"

"I'm not about to give you the satisfaction,"she replied curtly. "You're the one who's insisting I stay here. You want me on your couch or in your bed?" Quickly realizing what she had said she pointed a finger at him. "Don't answer that." He raised his eyebrow suggestively and she closed her eyes, giving in. "You are maddening." She put her feet in his lap and rolled onto her side.

Hunter waited for her to fall asleep and then turned on the television, keeping the volume low so as not to wake her. He reviewed in his mind what he knew about the case. He was less

concerned with them finding the killer, than finding whoever had been following McCall. Whoever might still be following her, he seemed to feel that the whole thing was a big inconvenience, nothing really to be too concerned about, and he intended to keep it that way.

Later that evening, Hunter was driving back to his house from his mother's. They had just finished the monthly family meal. McCall had said she had a headache and didn't feel like going along. After giving her more aspirin and instructions not to leave his house, he left

her there, much to the dismay of his mother. To make up for her absence, he had agreed to take home enough leftovers to feed them for a week. His mother had sent them specifically for Dee Dee. The car was beginning to smell like an Italian restaurant.

As he pulled up to the house he noticed the lights were off, but could detect the faint bluish glow of the television. The front door was locked, as he had left it, and with all the leftovers he decided to knock, rather than struggle with the key.

"Hey McCall, open up!" After a few more pounds on the door, a light went on inside the house.

"Sorry, I must have fallen asleep again," she said as she opened the door. "What is all this?"

"This load is because my mother is disappointed you didn't join me," he said, setting several containers into her outstretched arms. "What's still left in the car is because you've been sick and need to rebuild your strength."

"There's more?"

"You underestimate my mother," Hunter informed her as he returned with another armload of containers. "If I didn't take all of this she would have been over here in an hour with chicken soup to take care of you herself."

"You told her I was sick?"

"Only after she didn't speak to me for an hour after I told her you were staying here but didn't come along. It was a last resort, trust me." He walked into the kitchen and began putting the containers into the refrigerator. " You have to eat something because she will be calling me tomorrow to find out how you're doing. I am not going to disappoint the woman." McCall looked at all the food and shook her head.

"Okay," she said, knowing she had no choice. "Where's something simple? I don't know that I can handle too much of your mother's wonderful cooking right now. Not that I don't appreciate it,"she added.

"I think theres spaghetti and meatballs in this," he said, handing her a green bowl. "She always keeps that pretty plain for the kids. And I know she gave me at least two loaves of garlic bread." He scanned the refrigerator. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"I'll just stick with this," she replied, indicating the spaghetti. She got out a plate, scooped some onto it, and put it in the microwave for a couple of minutes. "Do you want something to drink?" she called into the other room where he had relaxed in a chair.

"Sure, bring me something." She carried the plate and drinks into the room and carefully handed one of the drinks to him.

"Thanks."He let her sit down and take a couple bites before he started speaking again. "You know, one of my cousin's wives mentioned the case we're working on."

"Really?" McCall blew on a forkful of spaghetti. "Tell your mom this is delicious, by the way."

"She'll be glad to hear it. Yeah, anyway, my cousin Kevin, well actually he's my second cousin, I think, his wife, Lisa, knew her. Grew up together, had lost touch, and got reacquainted in the last couple years. They had plans to do something yesterday and Lisa ended up calling the house when Samantha never showed. The brother answered and told her."

"So is the husband not back in town yet?"

"I don't know, Lisa just talked to the brother, who she also knew."

"Small world."

"I haven't told you the best part yet. Lisa said how surprised she was the first time she met Samantha's husband. All through high school Samantha had dated a guy named Scott. They were engaged right after high school and Scott went away to college. Guess where?"

"Tahiti," McCall answered.

"Denver. Now Lisa lost track of both of them a year or so after graduation, but as far as she knew, they were still together. So after she meets Samantha's husband, she asked Samantha about Scott. Said Samantha refused to say anything about it other than it ended a

long time ago."

"So now you're thinking I'm right about the Denver trip."

"Maybe," Hunter conceded. "The odds would have to favor you being right about something one of these days."

"If I had more than one bite left of this spaghetti you'd be wearing it right now," warned his partner.

"Good thing you cleaned your plate, otherwise I'd have to tell mom." He stood up and took her plate into the kitchen. "You're not going to fall asleep on me in the middle of an interrogation tomorrow, are you?" he called to her.

"I don't think so," she replied. "But if we do have to chase down any bad guys, you're on your own."