Part 1 (1/2)

PUBLIC SECRETS.

BY NORA ROBERTS.

PROLOGUE

Los Angeles, 1990

SHE SLAMMED ON THE brakes, ramming hard into the curb. The radio

continued to blare. She pressed both hands against her mouth to hold

back hysterical laughter. A blast from the past, the disk jockey had

called it. A blast from her past. Devastation was still rocking.

Somehow her brain functioned to take care of little matters: turn off

the ignition, take out the key, pull open the door. She was shaking in

the late evening heat. An earlier rain and rising temperatures caused

mist to spiral up from the pavement. She ran through it, looking

frantically right, left, back over her shoulder.

The dark. She'd nearly forgotten there were things that hid in the

dark.

The noise level rose as she pushed open the doors. The fluorescent

lights dazzled her eyes. She continued to run, knowing only that she

was terrified and someone, anyone, had to listen.

She raced along the hallway, her heart beating a hard tatoo. A dozen or

more phones were ringing; voices merged and mixed in complaints, shouts,

questions. Someone cursed in a low, continual stream. She saw the doors

marked Homicide and bit back a sob.

He was kicked back at his desk, one foot resting on a torn blotter, a

phone tucked between his shoulder and ear. A Styrofoam cup of coffee

was halfway to his lips.