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11:22 A.M.

"Want another coffee?" Rob said. "No thanks."

"Corn muffin? They're really good here."

They were seated by the front window of a tiny luncheonette on East Thirty-third. The noontime rush was still half an hour away so they had the place almost to themselves. The rich, heavy aroma of chicken soup filled the air; the peppery tang of hot pastrami wafted across their table.

"No. Thank you." A sudden thought broke through the haze that enveloped her. "They're 'good here'? You recommend them?"

"Yeah. Could use a touch more sugar, but they're almost as good as mine."

A fond memory forced its way through the gloom— Friday nights in Rob's apartment as he buzzed around the kitchen, heedless of how his amateur chef act clashed with his tough cop image, watching him follow a recipe just so far and then deciding he could improve on it, usually with disastrous results.

"You really ought to have something to eat."

"You sound like my mother."

"Fine. Listen to your mother: Eat something."

Kara allowed herself to smile. "Buzz off, Mom."

"Okay. You still smoke?"

"No. I quit years ago."

"Mind if I do?"

"Yes. I'm surprised you're still puffing those things. They're poison."

"Buzz off, Mom," he said.

Kara smiled and surrendered to the memory of how she had fallen for Rob soon after she'd arrived in the city. They met in a room full of men, in McSorley's Old Ale House, a formerly men-only tavern that had recently been forced by the courts to serve both sexes. Kara had been braver and less wise then—the Central park incident was a long way off. She'd led Kelly down to one of the toughest parts of the Bowery just so she could have a beer in that old bastion of male exclusivity. After a long wait they each were served two mugs of porter—McSorley's sold them only in pairs. Some of the men present made some rude comments, but most just stared, as if she and her sister had crawled out from under a rock. One of the starers was Rob.