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intersection in its normal pattern. Pedestrians crossed with the light on one street, waited for the signal on the other. Apparently, I wasn’t interesting enough to keep his attention.
    I pulled my purse higher on my shoulder and prepared for the trek to the car, now five blocks away. And then I saw it.
    Time somehow became both frozen and supersonic. It was over in seconds with no room to react, yet it all happened at a sluggish crawl in which every detail was clear and sharp.
    On the corner facing me walked an average man wearing an average blue suit. His appearance was neat and trim, with the exception of his unzipped fly. With each step, his pants gaped open, giving the world a peek at his tighty-whities. Funny. I didn’t think anybody wore those anymore. I would have had him pegged as more of a boxer-briefs kind of guy. Good thing he wasn’t going commando, or he’d be flashing his sausage at all of Sausalito.
    He appeared frazzled and consumed with the argument he was having on his cell. Without checking for traffic, he stepped off the curb.
    Coming up the street past me was a Marin Transit bus. It was double length, attached in the center by a bendy, accordion-like connector. Its cheerful green stripe raced across the intersection en route to the next stop.
    Man and bus didn’t see each other. I wanted to warn them both, but the slow motion of the scene had caught me, and I couldn’t move.
    Brakes screeched in high-pitched agony a hair before the thunking crunch of a body being sent airborne. The man was tossed like a softball across the lane and into oncoming traffic. His limp form collided with the windshield of a silver Audi and flew back to the foot of the bus. Glass shattered, people screamed, cars braked and rear-ended the cars in front of them.
    Fast and slow met in the middle, and time resumed its normal pace.
    I blinked, and the paramedic was there, crouched over the body. Chaos hummed up and down the street as people climbed out of their cars and stepped out of shops, repeating the same questions in an ancient ritual of human emergency.
    What happened? Did you see that? Are you all right?
    The questions and panic washed past me as I watched the gorgeous emergency worker. He moved the back of his hand across the victim’s mouth. I had little first-aid knowledge, but I thought this was an odd way to check for a pulse—though judging by the angle of the man’s head, no way was there life to be found. The paramedic pressed his ring against the bloody lips of the dead man and gave a slight pull. From across the street I couldn’t be certain, but I thought I could see something connecting the body to the ring. And then I couldn’t see anything at all as dead guy and hot rescue worker were swallowed up in the crowd.
    Pain. Fear. Panic.
    Emotions slammed into me from all sides.
    Horror. Disgust. Grief.
    My headache exploded, and the faces around me swam in a blurry haze.
    Irritation. Guilt .
    I turned to flee into the shop and walked into the arms of the strange man in the cheap velvet smoking jacket.
    Hunger.
    I had enough time to hope for a soft landing before I fainted.

Chapter Three
    If a woman faints in the movies, she is often out for hours, usually waking on a comfy settee where someone is tending to her with a cold cloth and a glass of water or brandy. This is not how it played out for me.
    When I opened my eyes, less than a minute had passed, and I was still marginally upright. Dark velvet that smelled like too much man-perfume encased me. I struggled to be released and stand on my own.
    “Ah, here she is,” my captor/rescuer said. His voice was deep and rich like chocolate mousse. He loosened his hold on me, retaining a concerned grip on my elbow. “Are you all right to stand or shall I carry you?” A liberal dose of amusement mixed with his concern.
    My head pounded and I was having difficulty stringing his words together into meaningful sentences. “I’m good. Fine,” I said, hoping