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Spencer's frantic search amusing. He was grinning.
        Spencer glanced back along the rain-swept street. Deserted.
        One more pocket. Yes. He pressed the deactivating button on the key chain. The security system issued an electronic bleat, the locks popped open, and he clambered into the truck.
        As he tried to start the engine, the keys slipped through his wet fingers and fell to the floor.
        "Damn!"
        Reacting to his master's fear, no longer amused, Rocky huddled timidly in the corner formed by the passenger seat and the door. He made a thin, interrogatory sound of concern.
        Though Spencer's hands tingled from the rubber pellets that had stung them, they were no longer numb. Yet he fumbled after the keys for what seemed an age.
        Maybe it was best to lie on the seats, out of sight, and keep Rocky below window level. Wait for the cops to come… and go. If they arrived just as he was pulling away from the curb, they would suspect he was the one who had been in Valerie's house, and they would stop him one way or another.
        On the other hand, he had stumbled into a major operation with a lot of manpower. They weren't going to give up easily. While he was hiding in the truck, they might cordon off the area and initiate a house-to-house search. They would also inspect parked cars as best they could, peening in windows; he would be pinned by a flashlight beam, trapped in his own vehicle.
        The engine started with a roar.
        He popped the hand brake, shifted gears, and pulled away from the curb, switching on windshield wipers and headlights as he went. He had parked near the corner, so he hung a U-turn.
        He glanced at the rearview mirror, the side mirror. No armed men in black uniforms.
        A couple of cars sped through the intersection, heading south on the other avenue. Plumes of spray fanned behind them.
        Without even pausing at the stop sign, Spencer turned right and entered the southbound flow of traffic, away from Valerie's neighborhood.
        He resisted the urge to tramp the accelerator into the floorboards. He couldn't risk being stopped for speeding.
        "What the hell?" he asked shakily.
        The dog replied with a soft whine.
        "What's she done, why're they after her?"
        Water trickled down his brow into his eyes. He was soaked. He shook his head, and a spray of cold water flew from his hair, spattering the dashboard, the upholstery, and the dog.
        Rocky flinched.
        Spencer turned up the heater.
        He drove five blocks and made two changes of direction before he began to feel safe.
        "Who is she? What the hell has she done?"
        Rocky had adopted his master's change of mood. He no longer huddled in the corner. Having resumed his vigilant posture in the center of his seat, he was wary but not fearful. He divided his attention between the storm-drenched city ahead and Spencer, favoring the former with guarded anticipation and the latter with a cocked-head expression of puzzlement.
        "Jesus, what was I doing there anyway?" Spencer wondered aloud.
        Though bathed in hot air from the dashboard vents, he continued to shiver. Part of his chill had nothing to do with being rain-soaked, and no quantity of heat could dispel it.
        "Didn't belong there, shouldn't have gone. Do you have a clue what I was doing in that place, pal? Hmmmm? Because I sure as hell don't.
        'That was stupid."
        He reduced speed to negotiate a flooded intersection, where an armada of trash was adrift on the dirty water.
        His face felt hot. He glanced at Rocky.
        He had Just lied to the dog.
        Long ago he had sworn never to lie to himself. He kept that oath only somewhat more faithfully than the average drunkard kept his New Years Eve resolution never to allow demon rum to touch his lips again.
        In fact, he probably indulged in less self-delusion and