"If it's serious," he murmured, "let me know how I can help."

"Help with-" But he was gone, too, scurrying away with unusual speed as if Mallory were carrying a fatal virus-which, for all she knew, she might be. A virus transmitted by squadrons of foot-long mosquitoes that traveled in formation, like the ones in St. John's. Mallory fought down an urge to go back to her apartment, take two aspirin and check in the next morning. Instead, she forged onward into her office suite and looked warily at the administrative aide whose services she shared with Cassie and Ned.

"Good morning, Hilda," she said firmly, daring the woman to say anything out of the ordinary.

"You're back!" Hilda said in a loud whisper, clasping a hand to her ample bosom. "Bill Decker wants to see you immediately."

"How does he know I'm here?" Mallory whispered back. "And why are we all whispering?"

Hilda raised her voice to a low drone. "He doesn't. On Friday he called every thirty minutes to ask if I'd located you yet, and every thirty minutes I reminded him you were on vacation, and… and… I lied!" She rolled her eyes heavenward. "I told him you'd refused to tell me how to reach you."

"Hilda!" No wonder Bill was hysterical. "He knows I'd never, never do that!"

"I just wanted you to have a vacation for once in your life-" The phone buzzed. "Oh, hell, I bet that's him again."

Hilda never swore. What was making everyone so tense?

"Yes, Mr. Decker," Hilda was saying, her calm restored by her little outburst. "She, ah, she-" Hilda darted a quizzical glance at Mallory.

Mallory nodded. "Tell him I just walked in. Two days early," she couldn't help adding. Something was out of kilter, and she couldn't deal with life when it went out of kilter.