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backseat beside his own well-worn suitcase.
    â€œWhat’ve you got in there, concrete?”
    She glared at him. “A woman has to pack a lot more than an extra pair of socks, Professor.”
    They both climbed into the van, and he revved the engine. “I thought Chelsea was nothing but a bunch of junkyards,” he said as he steered up the driveway and back onto the street.
    â€œIt used to be,” Tamara said, “but this section of the town is really rather pretty. You can get a wonderful view of the whole city of Boston from the park in front of the veterans home.”
    Nodding, he asked, “How do I get to I-95?”
    â€œNorth or south?”
    â€œSouth.”
    â€œYou’ll have to go back into the city, then down to Quincy. Follow I-93.”
    â€œOkay.”
    As he threaded through the streets, heading for the interstate, Tamara asked, “Where do you intend to go, Professor?”
    â€œLuke. Call me Luke.”
    She nodded. “Okay. As long as you don’t call me Tammy. My name is Tamara.”
    â€œYou made that clear back in the hospital,” he said.
    â€œSo where do you intend to go?”
    â€œPhiladelphia.”
    â€œPhiladelphia?” she echoed, surprised. “I would think you’d head for Canada, get over the border.”
    Luke shook his head. “I’ve got friends at the University of Pennsylvania. Former students of mine. They’ll take us in and help us get the meds and other chemicals we need for Angie.”
    â€œOh. I see.”
    â€œBesides, you have to go through a customs station to enter Canada. I don’t want to be stopped by some guy in a uniform with a missing-person alert in his hand.”
    Tamara nodded. “That’s right,” she said, her voice going hollow. “We’re fugitives, aren’t we?”
    â€œNot yet, maybe. But as soon as my daughter finds out I’ve taken Angie, we will be.”

 
    University Hospital
    â€œ B UT SHE CAN’T be gone!” Lenore insisted.
    The head of the hospital’s administrative staff sat stiffly behind her desk, Angela’s discharge papers spread before her. She was a large, gray-haired, motherly figure, inured to the emotional eruptions of patients’ relatives.
    â€œShe was discharged this morning in her grandfather’s care,” she said softly, placatingly. “All the forms are correctly filled out.”
    â€œBut we weren’t told!”
    Shaking her head, the chief administrator pawed through the papers and pulled out the consent form that Lenore and Del had signed.
    â€œYou gave the power of discharge to your father, Mrs. Villanueva, when we admitted Angela.”
    â€œBut he didn’t tell me he was taking her out of the hospital!” Lenore screeched. “Where’s he gone? Where’s he taken my baby?”
    The door to the administrator’s office burst open and Del strode in, his face a thundercloud.
    â€œI got here as soon as I could, Norrie,” he said, rushing to her and kneeling beside her chair.
    â€œDad took Angie out of the hospital,” she bleated.
    Getting to his feet, looming over the administrator’s desk, Del demanded, “How could this happen? We’re the child’s parents, for Christ’s sake. You can’t just let her be taken away without notifying us.”
    The administrator could see that nothing she might say would placate these two. The hospital’s in the clear, she thought. All the forms are correctly filled out. If the grandfather took the child without telling her parents, there’s nothing we could do about it. It’s not our problem.
    But Del Villanueva was standing in front of her desk, furious, radiating dangerous rage.
    Looking up at him, the administrator reached for her phone. “Let me call the hospital’s chief executive; he’s the man in charge.”
    *   *   *
    O DOM WEXLER’S MAIN job,