Kerry pulled off to the side near the interchange ramp, ignoring the bustling traffic and opening the top of her Mustang convertible as the warm, damp breeze blew in. The sunset painted its hues as she watched, the dusk in the east causing the lights to emerge while the last rays put stripes across the highway. It smelled like rain, and the breeze cooled, brushing humid tendrils across her arm where it rested on the windowsill. It was beautiful, and now the tears came, and she let them, rolling down her face as a snatch of music blew by, rich with a Caribbean beat.

She sat there until the sky darkened and the orange phosphor lights kicked on, bathing the highway in a surreal light and dimming the stars overhead. Then she reluctantly started her engine and pulled out into traffic, debating a moment, then choosing an exit a few minutes later and turning east.

The lights dimmed as she headed out over Rickenbacker Causeway, crossing Virginia Key and passing the old Dinner Key auditorium. She’d attended a dawn Easter mass here last year, and it held fond memories for her as the rising sun and the fresh spring air had brought new meaning to the holiday.

Kerry traveled across the second long bridge out to Key Biscayne, the first in the long chain of barrier islands which guarded the Florida coastline and extended down to the last one, Key West, which was the southernmost point Tropical Storm 49

in the United States. Out here, even the ecology was different, and Kerry had taken a liking to the beachfront Crandon Park, which she now pulled into and got out of her car.

The sand was soft and crunched gently under her shoes as she trudged toward the water, passing a jungle of sea grapes which rustled in the evening air. The ocean made a soft hissing as it ran up onto the shore, the onshore breeze bringing a heavy salt tang to her nose as she found a weathered bench and dropped onto it.

It was so different here. She sighed and took in a deep breath of the thick air. She could see the soft white of the breakers over the sandbar just offshore and the blinking lights of ships coming into the port. A green and red path lined the navigation channel to her north, and right now a cruise ship was making its stately way in, riding across the waves like a well-lit castle. Here there were so many different kinds of people, and attitudes. You don’t like the culture? Wait five minutes, was a local saying. It was a mixture of Caribbean and South American, native and immigrant, exotic and bedrock Old South.

She could, in a drive of an hour, visit a western rodeo, an Indian reservation, Little Havana, Little Haiti, Old Florida, or the glittery vista of Miami Beach.

So different, so much more open and accepting than the closed world she’d grown up in.

Her fingers played idly with the rough wood, rubbing large grains of sand between them as the salt air left a perceptibly dry feel on her skin. She stared between her feet, leaning over and picking up a brown and white speckled shell, perfectly shaped, which sat in the palm of her hand, its gently ridged surface rippling under her fingertips.

Maybe she could find another job. If she did it quickly, she could say it was intentional, and by the time her parents figured out what had happened, it would be over with, and she’d be settled into a new position. Who knew?

Maybe she’d find something even better than what she had. Robert would give her an excellent recommendation, and Susan had mentioned a recruiter, one she really liked.

But first she had to get through Monday, and she held no illusions that little Ms. Cruella de Bitch would help them out in any way. They’d probably find the goon squad there again in the morning, making sure they didn’t steal the pencils on their way out.

Remembering her friends’ optimistic voices was a very lonely feeling. She hoped they’d forgive her for raising their hopes and not being able to deliver what she’d promised herself she would. That final plan would have worked too.

Yes, there were cuts, fifty-one people in fact. But one hundred and seventy two would have been kept, and been productive. She’d made sacrifices everywhere, including training, office furniture, benefits and prospective raises, the new phone switch they’d been planning, and the subsidizing of the snack machines. It would have been tight, and not as comfortable as it had been, but…

But.

Kerry threw the shell into the wind, watching as it dropped into the thick, cream-colored sand. All for nothing. She walked to the water’s edge, letting the lapping tide darken the toes of her shoes and stared out at the uncaring 50 Melissa Good Atlantic until a large, fat raindrop struck her arm. With a sigh, she turned and made her way back to the car, the scent of rain hitting the sun-warmed pavement rising around her as she reached it.

She was all the way across the causeway and had picked up the highway before she glanced down and spotted her gas gauge. A soft curse emerged as the red light winked at her implacably, and she looked around for the nearest exit. “Damn.”

Northeast 2nd Street was the closest choice, and she headed down the ramp, turning left as she got to the light and moving down the quiet, back streets on the verge of the city. She had to stop at the next light, and the engine sputtered. She glanced around, then headed through the light as it turned green, but it sputtered again, then died, and she wrestled the car over to the side of the road as she lost power steering.

“Just my day.” She sighed and let her head rest against the wheel, listening to the rain drum down on the convertible roof. Outside, dark forms ran to take cover in the overhung doorways of the silent buildings, their occupants gone home for the day. To her right loomed the highway, and she could hear cars rushing by, leaving the city proper to its transient nighttime denizens.

She considered where she was, and realized there were no gas stations within several miles of her. Even those closest would mean a walk through the rain across the tracks, or through downtown, not the best of choices for a young woman alone at night.

Another thought hit her. She’d left the office without her briefcase, which meant she didn’t have her wallet, any identification, or her credit and ATM

cards. She dug through her change tray and discovered she had exactly three dollars and sixteen cents, sufficient for enough gas to get her back to the office, but not enough for a cab to get to the gas, and her Filofax with numbers for everything, including AAA, was sitting on her desk.

She let out a breath, then dug out her cell phone. A quick try to Colleen’s house went unanswered, and the two or three she knew from memory of her work colleagues did the same. Of course. It was Friday night. They were all out.

She looked at the phone in disgust, then realized a piece of paper was stuck to the clip in the back. She pulled it out and stared at the number written on it, then let it fall to the seat beside her. She drummed her fingers on the console, then leaned forward and peered through the rain, to where several of the dark figures were standing, seemingly watching her.

Her eyes went to the piece of paper again, and she picked it up. “Well, that bitch owes me a phone call to the auto club, at least,” she muttered, then dialed the number. “I’ll call her stooge and have him send over a couple of gallons of gas.”

It rang four times, and she almost hung up before the ringing stopped, and a crackle indicated an open line.

“Hello.” The quiet voice was almost unrecognizable.

Kerry hesitated, startled, and then cleared her throat. Oh damn. Doesn’t it just figure this is her blasted number? “Hi…um, never mind.” Unable to go through with asking for help from a woman she’d just told off an hour and a Tropical Storm 51

half ago, she hung up.

The rain drummed harder, and she almost missed the soft sound of her phone ringing. Surprised, she glanced down at it, then pressed the talk key.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Stuart?” Dar’s voice was more familiar now, and held a cool, questioning tone. “Is there something you wanted?”

Well, Kerry sighed, a t least she’s not telling me off. “This is kind of stupid, and I…well, I didn’t know this was your phone, really. I was just looking for someone to make a call for me. I’m…I don’t have my phone book with me.” It felt very awkward.

Momentary silence from the other end. “So, what’s the number?”

Kerry hesitated. “Well, I don’t…I don’t know, is the problem. I’m kind of stuck, and I need the auto club.” She bit the bullet and went on. “Look, I ran out of gas, and I just need them to bring me a few gallons so I can get back to the office.”

“Oh.” Dar seemed to consider this. “Where are you?” Kerry told her.

“That’s not a good area,” the executive commented.

“I know,” Kerry answered. “It’s pretty creepy right now.” She paused.

“Thank you for not hanging up on me.”

Another long silence. “Until I process my work list on Monday, you’re still an employee of mine. You used my company cell phone. Something happens to you now, and you’ve got grounds for a pretty big lawsuit.”

Kerry was at a loss for words. “Wh-why would you assume I’d do that?”

“You assume the worst of me, I figure I should return the compliment,”

Dar replied. “Hold on, I’m getting the number.” The sound of a second phone was barely audible in the background.

Kerry was too tired to be angry. “All right. Well, thank you for making the call for me,” she answered softly. A motion caught her eye, and she glanced out of the windshield, which was fogging a little from her breath.