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  Cabel cringes. “I can’t help it. I can’t stand the thought of that creep touching you, Janie. What if something awful happens to you? God, I just hate this.”

  “I know.” Janie pushes up on her elbows and sits up. The last thing she wants right now is a fight. Changes the subject. “Is Ethel back home?”

  “Yes, she’s in the driveway.”

  “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.”

  Janie leans against him. Strokes his thigh with her fingertips. “Why do you put up with this?”

  Cabel relaxes and twirls a string of Janie’s hair. “Well, duh. Because one day you’ll be really rich and famous, I bet. Your own TV show, people throwing money at you just to get you to change their dreams.

  I’m holding out for the money. After that I’m outta here.”

  She laughs. “Did I tell you I benched one-twenty in PE today? And then I called Coach Crater an asshole.”

  Cabel roars in laughter. “He is an asshole. And one-twenty is probably a national record or something. That’s almost more than you weigh.”

  “The national record is more than two hundred for my age and size category. But I’ll take it.”

  They talk for an hour, and then Cabel heads home. Tomorrow they’ll meet again in Captain’s office.

  After Cabel leaves, Janie pulls out her chemistry book; curiously searches through a chapter; uses her cell phone to peruse the Internet for an hour or so, until she finds the information she’s looking for on date-rape drugs; and goes to bed.

  March 4, 2006, 9:00 a.m.

  Baker and Cobb join Cabel and Janie in Captain’s office. Janie meets

  Cobb and says hello again to Baker.

  Captain goes through the schedule for the evening. Janie will arrive at six p.m. along with another girl. The rest of the guests will come at seven.

  Captain gives Janie a thin, sexy cigarette lighter, one of the newly popular, old-fashioned flip-top kinds. “It’s not a real lighter, Janie. If you flip the lid open, it sends a distress signal to Baker and Cobb outside the house. They’ll call your cell phone first, just in case it’s an accident, and don’t panic if that happens. Answer if it happened by mistake. But just try to keep the lighter in your pocket, and it’ll be fine.

  If you don’t answer your phone, they’ll move in and call you once again. If you do not pick up, they will come in for you.

  “In other words, if you’re in trouble, flip open the lighter lid. Put your cell phone on vibrate and wear it in your underwear if you have to, but you must answer that phone if nothing’s wrong. If you do not answer, they will assume trouble is afoot. Is that perfectly clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Janie says.

  “Good. Let’s talk about drinking. Believe me, Durbin’s going to be watching that everybody has a drink in hand.”

  Janie looks at her suspiciously. “You’re not going to arrest me or anything if I have a drink in my hand, right?”

  Captain raises an eyebrow. “Not unless you do some thing stupid. But

  I think you should carry around a beverage, yes, so nobody gets suspicious. I don’t encourage drinking on the job, though.”

  “Okay…and no setting my beverage down at any time, right? No keg, no punch bowl, no mixed drinks.”

  Captain nods, impressed. “You’ve done your homework on date-rape drugs, I see. Good job.” She pulls a small package of date-rape drug testers from her desk drawer and hands them to Janie. “Are you familiar with these?”

  Janie smiles, reaches inside her bag, and pulls out an identical package.

  “Excellent.” Captain nods. “Cabel. What’s your job?”

  “Watching in agony, sir.”

  Captain suppresses a smile. “I’d make you stay home if I didn’t know you’d sneak out, anyway. While you are watching in agony, feel free to take note of anyone who comes or goes that’s not on the list.”

  “Thank you,” Cabel says meekly.

  “Baker and Cobb, you clear on procedure?”

  “Yes, sir,” they say together.

  “Great. You two may go.”

  Baker and Cobb slap Janie on the back, like she’s one of the guys, give her the thumbs-up, and head out. Janie grins.

  Captain turns to Janie.

  “Tonight is not the night to get sucked into any drunk person’s dream.

  Try and steer clear if you can. If you can’t, we’ll deal with that later. I do understand you can’t control the actions of other people, so don’t panic if it happens and you get stuck.”

  Janie nods.

  “And be safe. Follow your gut. You’re smart. You have a terrific sense of intuition. Use it like you have in the past, and we’ll all walk away just fine. All right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Any questions?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Call me if you think of any,” Captain says. “And, Janie, I have never been more serious. Use that panic lighter if you need it. Don’t be a martyr and don’t think you can handle this job alone. We work as a team. Got it?”

  “Got it. I’m ready, sir.”

  “And a reminder. This could be nothing more than just an ordinary party. Our goal is to find and arrest a sexual predator. Not to bust the guy for serving a few drinks to minors. We can always get him next time for that. Like I said, use your intuition and judgment.”

  “I will.”

  “Cabel. Any questions?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Get on out of here, then. I’ll see you sometime in the next twenty-four hours, I expect. Damn, I hate this job.”

  10:09 a.m.

  Janie makes her crème-de-menthe bars and puts them in the refrigerator, and then makes lunch. Cabel stops by and mopes around uselessly, unable to talk about anything. Janie finally sends him away.

  “Be careful, baby,” he says, kissing the top of her head.

  Janie’s quiet.

  And he’s gone.

  2:32 p.m.

  Janie lights her relaxation votive candle and sits still on her bed, clearing her mind, meditating. Preparing herself. She mentally runs through her profile sheets. All the events that led up to today. And then her mind strays to Stacey’s car dream. She goes through it, step by step. She knows there’s a connection between the dream and Mr.

  Durbin, but how? Did Mr. Durbin actually rape her? Janie thinks about

  Lauren. Wishes she could have focused on the faces in her party dream, but they were blurred beyond recognition. And if Lauren has nightmares about the party, why doesn’t she have qualms or reservations or downright contempt for the host? Why didn’t the anonymous caller follow up with another call to Crimebusters

  Underground?

  She dozes for an hour, asking herself to figure out the connection between the dreams and this party tonight.

  Herself says no.

  When she wakes up, Janie takes a shower and puts on tight jeans and a low-cut V-neck sweater. She adds a hint of makeup and ties her hair back, low, in a ribbon, leaving a few wisps out to frame her face. She grabs a snack and a glass of milk, making quick work of them, and brushes her teeth. Puts on some lip gloss.

  It’s showtime.

  5:57 p.m.

  “I’m pulling up to the house. I’ll see you after,” Janie says.

  “If you get a chance to call me…safely…you know…” Cabel’s voice is anxious.

  “I will if I can. Love you, Cabe.”

  “Love you, Janie. Be safe.”

  They hang up. It’s a warm night for early March, and the snow is gone, leaving muddy yards, puddles, and potholes everywhere. Janie parks on the street, double-checks her pockets, grabs her dessert, and takes a deep breath, then strips off her coat and tosses it on the passenger seat next to her. Never hurts to have an excuse to get out of the house. She bought a pack of cigarettes earlier and leaves them in the coat pocket.

  Janie closes her eyes momentarily, gets into her charac
ter, and gets out of her car. She sees the tail end of Baker’s “soccer-mom” minivan down the street, and he flashes the brake lights at her. For some reason that makes her feel tremendously more confident, and she smiles in his direction, knowing he can see her with his high-powered binoculars.

  Cobb is stationed on the next street, with a partial view of the back of the house. She doesn’t look for Cabel, but she knows where he isaround the corner.

  She slams her car door and walks up the driveway to Mr. Durbin’s front steps, hoping Stacey shows up soon. She knocks and hears footsteps. Mr. Durbin opens the door and ushers her in.

  “Hey, Janie,” he says, letting her in and closing the door behind her.

  “Looking good, Mr. Durbin,” Janie says with a grin, glancing around.

  He’s rearranged the furniture, set up extra folding chairs, and added two card tables to the great-room area.

  “You too, Janie,” he says, looking her up and down. “You can call me

  Dave outside of school, you know.”

  She turns and gives him her full attention, and watches his eyes move to her chest. “Dave,” she repeats. “I should probably keep this refrigerated,” she says, indicating her dessert. “Mind if I poke around your kitchen so I know where to find things? I figure I can help you out with the food and drink distribution once everybody gets here.”

  “Be my guest,” he says. Not a hint of apprehension.

  Strike one, Janie thinks. He follows her and shows Janie where he keeps extra dishes, glasses, silverware, and napkins.

  “The fridge is packed pretty tightly,” he says, “but there’s room on the bottom shelf, if you move a few beer bottles around.” He stands behind her while she bends over and shoves her dessert inside. “You want a beer or something? I’m making punch, too.”

  “Are you having one?” she asks.

  “Sure.”

  On the fridge, holding—what else?—two snapshots of Mr. Durbin himself, is a magnet. The magnet, with the Fieldridge Crimebusters hotline number. Janie’s heart pounds. He screwed himself, she realizes, thinking of the blurred, anonymous person in the kitchen, making the call.

  Swiftly, Janie pulls out two bottles of beer and Durbin shows her where the bottle opener is, when from the hallway comes none other than Mr. Wang. He’s barefooted and his hair is wet.

  “Mr. Wang,” Janie says, controlling her surprise. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Ms. Hannagan,” he says with a nod.

  Mr. Durbin grins. “So formal, you two. Chris, Janie,” he says. “Janie, you want to grab a beer for Chris? I’ve got to get this punch going.

  Chris came early to help me with the tables and chairs, and then we ended up in a rather competitive game of one-on-one. Basketball,” he adds.

  “I see. Well it’s very nice to see you, uh, Chris.” She winks and he looks nervous.

  “Likewise, Janie.”

  Janie hands Mr. Wang a beer. He looks around the room to see what needs to be done, and finally, rather helplessly, he goes to the stereo and starts rummaging through the CDs. “I’ll take my usual spot as the

  DJ,” he says.

  The doorbell rings, and Stacey lets herself in with a shriek of “Woo hoo!” Janie raises her eyebrow.

  “Hey, Stacey,” Janie says when Stacey brings her Crock-Pot to the kitchen’s island.

  “Janie!” Stacey smells like beer already. “Are you ready to party?”

  Mr. Wang has Coldplay on now, and he cranks the volume. “Now I am,” Janie says, holding up her beer. Wonders how wild the party has to get before Mr. Wang moves to hip-hop.

  She takes the paper cups and beverage napkins to the great room, where Mr. Durbin is pouring a bottle of cranberry juice into a punch bowl that already has a clear liquid in it. He adds a bottle of Ruby Red Squirt to the mixture as Janie sets up the table display, and then he goes to the sink to get an ice ring, and plops that in as well.

  Janie opens the package of napkins and lays them out in a spiral design. “What goes on the other table?” she asks.

  Mr. Durbin stirs the punch with a ladle. “I figured we’d put some munchies out there. You want to be in charge of keeping that going?”

  He takes a cup and pours a little of the punch in it, tasting it, nodding approval.

  “Sure. I saw some stuff on the counter. I’ll get serving bowls and put those things out here.”

  “I have a little apron you can wear if you’d like,” he says under the noise of the music, so only she hears it.

  Janie raises her eyebrow and glances at him. He’s grinning.

  Stacey comes over to the punch table. “Is this the same stuff you made at the last party, Dave? And if it is, I should probably test it, don’t you think?” She gives him an innocent look.

  “Absolutely,” he says, pouring a glass for her.

  Janie goes to the kitchen and begins to distribute the munchie items into various-size bowls. When she takes them to the table, Mr. Wang is downing some punch too. “How about it, Janie?” Mr. Durbin offers her a glass.

  “After my beer,” she says with a grin. “What’s in that stuff, anyway?”

  “Just a little vodka. You can’t even taste it,” he says.

  “But you can feel it.” Stacey giggles.

  Mr. Wang is beginning to loosen up now, and by seven p.m., Mr.

  Durbin, Mr. Wang, and Stacey are bantering comfortably.

  Janie takes advantage of the moment to pour some of her beer into the sink before the doorbell starts ringing. It doesn’t stop for the next hour.

  She plays hostess.

  8:17 p.m.

  Everyone has arrived, and the party is beginning to pick up speed.

  Janie works the kitchen, arranging the dishes as people bring them in.

  She spreads the dining table with the appetizers, and at one point, uses the excuse of looking for an extension cord to scout around the other rooms in the house.

  She’s in his office/den off the kitchen when Mr. Durbin finds her.

  “Whatcha doin’, hot stuff?”

  She turns and grins, hiding her guilt from snooping. “I’m looking for an extension cord, so we can keep all the appetizers warm. Do you have one handy?”

  He’s standing very close. “Downstairs,” he says. “Come on, I’ll show you,” he says. His voice is sexy.

  She licks her lips, looking into his eyes. “Show me the way,” she says, pointing with her beer. Her heart thuds heavily at the thought of going downstairs with Mr. Durbin.

  The door to the basement is through the kitchen. It’s a finished basement, with a full bar, big-screen TV, and two giant fluffy-looking couches. Janie follows Mr. Durbin through a door into a workshop with a small worktable. On it sits a Bunsen burner and several flasks and beakers. On the shelves above it are a variety of chemicals. Janie strolls over to it and rapidly checks them out. “Oh cool! I want a lab table in my house,” she whines.

  He comes up behind her and puts his hand lightly on her waist. His thumb rolls gently, back and forth on her side. She leans into him slightly as her eyes scan the shelves.

  And then he’s taking her arm and pulling her with him. “I gotta go mingle,” he says. They climb the stairs, to where the music is loud again. “Here’s the extension cord,” he says, handing it to her. “Come on, you need to have some fun now. Get out of work mode and enjoy yourself. It’s a party, for Chrissake.” He grins and pinches her ass.

  “Get some of this punch, Janie,” he says, holding up his empty cup. “I promise you, you’ll lighten up and have a great time.”

  He sets his cup on the kitchen counter, and after Janie has the network of plugs configured, so that nobody could possibly trip over all the cords, she glances around, grabs the cup, and makes a beeline to the bathroom.

  There’s a line. She doesn’t want to wait.

  She slips down the hall, peers into a dark bedroom, and sneaks inside, locking the door. Turns on the lamp on the dresser, and pulls a package out of her p
ocket. She rips open the package, takes out a round paper circle, and tips the near-empty cup, so a single drop pauses on the rim of it and splashes on the paper.

  She rubs it in and waits.

  Thirty seconds, and it’s dry.

  And nothing happens.

  She takes a second paper circle and tries again.

  Still nothing.

  “Hm,” she says. She crumples up the papers and shoves them into her pocket, replaces the package to the other pocket, grabs the cup and her beer, and goes back out to the party.

  Janie tosses the cup in the trash and peeks inside quickly. Two empty fifths of Absolut lay at the bottom of the trash bag. She closes the wastebasket and washes her hands. She can hear the students, louder now, laughing and dancing.

  9:45 p.m.

  Janie’s bored. And dying of thirst. All the soda is in open two-liter bottles left unattended, and maybe she’s paranoid, but Janie doesn’t trust the tap water because it has one of those filter things on it. She looks at the warm, half-full bottle of beer in her hands. Knows it’s probably the only safe thing in the house, since it hasn’t left her hands from the moment she opened it.

  Many of the guys have gone downstairs to watch basketball, and a few girls too. But most of the girls are swaying and laughing in the great room, and Mr. Wang is entertaining them with his dance moves. Four girls sit on the floor playing Texas hold ’em. The food has hardly been touched. Everybody has a beer or a cup of something in hand. Janie stabs a meatball with a toothpick and nibbles at it. It’s delicious, but only succeeds in making her even more thirsty.

  And then Mr. Durbin emerges from the kitchen with a fresh bowl of punch. He makes a general announcement, and half the girls gather around, holding out cups. He generously ladles punch, and he pours one for himself, and Mr. Wang too. Mr. Wang, sweating from dancing, downs his punch and lifts his cup to Janie, who sits on the couch making small-talk with Desiree. Desiree is nicely half-drunk, not too slobbery, and Janie has really learned to like her. She’s smart and funny.

  Mr. Wang pours a second cup of punch and brings it over to Janie.

  “For you,” he says. His black eyes are shiny. He sits next to Janie and leans back, closing his eyes.