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that had brought her to him. Holding her now, offering her a silent kind of comfort, he recalled the first time he met her, when she arrived four months before with the marshal from Chicago in that unmarked car. She had been frightened and vulnerable. He’d found it hard to believe her to be the journalist who had so systematically, so single-mindedly probed an arson conspiracy. That was before he’d gotten to know her. Through the months of July and August he’d witnessed her dedication firsthand, tracking her day after day to the library, aware of the other days she spent, holed up in her apartment preparing to teach in the fall. When she set her mind to something, she went after it determinedly. He respected her tremendously. He also respected the susceptibility that now reduced her to tears.
    “It’s only natural, Carly,” he said soothingly, as he rubbed her back. The other nice thing about their relationship was that he could hold her, even dote on her, without misunderstanding. He was happily married and loved his wife. Carly knew this, seemed able to relax with him all the more for it. Never once had either of them felt threatened. Theirs was a rare friendship, one that went well beyond the rules of his trade. He knew that wherever she went, whatever she did in life, they’d keep in touch. They were truly friends.
    “You’ve lived through something most people would only dream about if they tried to sleep on a stomach full of Guido’s supersubs with fried onions, hot peppers, diced pickles and salami.”
    She answered with a groan. “It’s not funny, Sam. I don’t have to eat anything and I have nightmares.”
    “Still?” He drew back to look at her face. “You’re not sleeping again? I thought that was better.”
    “Oh, it is usually. It’s just…once in a while…I really shouldn’t complain.”
    “Do you want something for it?”
    “No! God, the last thing I need is something to knock me out. Then I might never know if someone had broken in until he was on top of me.”
    “Carly!” Sam gave her a punishing glower. “That’s exactly the kind of thinking that’ll get you into trouble. No one is going to come after you.” He deliberately enunciated each word. “No one is going to break in.”
    “Then why am I in this program?” she countered, matching his glower with the fire of her own as she took a step back and blotted her cheeks with her hands. There was nothing like healthy debate to stem tears. “If there was no threat, I’d still be Robyn Hart living in Chicago working for the Tribune .”
    “Your reasoning only goes half way. As Robyn Hart, you would be in danger. That’s why you were admitted to the program. On the other hand, now you’re Carly Quinn. No one knows that, or where you live, or what you do. That’s the whole point. You have a new identity, a new background, a new life. Take my word for it, Robyn Hart has vanished. We’ve taken care of that. And we know what we’re doing.”
    Carly eyed him, feeling guilty even as she cornered him. “That wasn’t what Michael Frank said.”
    Sam stared for a minute, then raised his eyes to the ceiling in frustration. When he looked back down, his expression was one of regret. He should have warned her. “You saw the program last Tuesday.” No wonder she’d been upset. That garbage would have been enough to frighten even the most uninvolved of viewers.
    “How could I help it? It was advertised for a week, blasted all over the evening news.”
    “You didn’t have to watch.”
    “Come on, Sam. How could I not ? It was an intensive study of the Witness Protection Program, of which I am a part. I was curious.”
    “And you believed all that crap?” he growled. “I can’t fathom that. You’re an intelligent woman, Carly. You’re media , for God’s sake! You should know how the facts can be twisted, how they can be selectively used to make one point or another. Television is a medium of exaggeration, and that show