"What you have right now, Perrin Kincaid, is a price on your head. Someone knows you're onto this story and they're not about to let you write it."

Perrie stood. "I've got to get back to the office."

"You're going to the hospital and then you're going to Alaska."

"My files are back at the office. I've got work to do."

"You can turn all your files over to me," Milt said. "And I'll give them to the police."

"You'll do no such thing!"

"And I sent Ginny over to your house to pack some clothes for you. After the doctors check you out, I'm taking you to the airport."

"I'm not going to Alaska," she repeated.

"Whoever shot you tonight will be looking for a second chance. And I've spent too much time turning you from a Lifestyles hack into a decent reporter to have you end up dead. You're going to Alaska, Kincaid."

She shook her head stubbornly. "No, I'm not. I'm staying right here and I'm going to break this story. Now, what do you think about-"

"The police are going to break this story," he interrupted. "After they figure out who shot you, you can come back and write it." He reached into his jacket pocket and held out an envelope. "I had a feeling something like this was going to happen. There's an airline ticket to Fairbanks in there. Joe Brennan will fly you into Muleshoe. I've got a nice safe, cozy cabin for you there. No phones, no bullets, no wise guys. Just peace and quiet. I even asked Joe to stock it with popcorn since you seem to think it's a fair substitute for all of the major food groups. I want you somewhere safe until things cool down around here."

She snatched her notepad from the back pocket of her jeans, wincing as a pain shot down to her fingers, then scribbled an errant thought about the evening's events. "I'm not going, Milt," she said, flipping through her notes. "I have work to do. I won't just sit around all day long waiting for you to call me back here. I can't."