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By Root 1318 0

covered with piles of raked autumn leaves. A wind was rising, she saw. They'd had no time to bag them up. The dark wind would whip them all over the yard again.

She looked at the houses still lit up across the street. So many families-kids and parents, pets, getting ready for bed. Maybe telling stories to their kids? And she thought of Bowie Richards, FBI Agent Bowie Richards, and of herself, Ms. Erin Pulaski, Polish-Irish-American dance teacher and private investigator, who'd severely crimped the bottom line, for at least a year, of two major drug companies.

She hoped there was a dark wind blowing for those conscienceless men. She hoped it would blow on them for the rest of their lives.

She heard a car pull into the driveway. It wasn't the low roar of Dillon's magnificent Porsche, it was the smooth sound of Bowie's rented Taurus. Where was the Shop 'N Go? What had taken him so long?

Life, she thought, waiting for the front door to open, held great promise. Who could have guessed all this would happen when she took the huge, and really stupid, risk of breaking and entering into a CEO's office? Life was amazing. She wouldn't even go to jail. That in itself was amazing enough.

Bowie came in, something in his hand. He closed and locked the front door, set the alarm, and turned to face her. He wouldn't show her what he'd bought, but he was grinning.