"I'll listen. It's got to be her, though. Give me the address." She hesitated a moment after he did then, "Would you like to meet me there? I think I could probably make it in an hour, or an hour and a quarter to be safe. We could ask around see if anybody in her building or the neighborhood has any idea what's going on with her. Maybe somebody's seen her." "I was supposed to head into the office, but nothing could keep me away," he declared with enthusiasm. A patrol car was speeding by in the opposite direction, siren blaring. She waited for the noise to subside. "Great. I'll try for an hour. Unless the traffic really gets crazy. You never know what to expect at the GW Bridge, even in the middle of the day." She clicked off the phone, then checked the number in the front of the black address book and punched it in. The phone rang twice and then an answering machine started. The voice making the announcement sounded thin, tiny, and fragile. Just hanging on. It was the verbal equivalent of the loopy handwriting on the letter, a transparent attempt to bolster nonexistent courage. "Hi. I'm away for now--I can't say where--and I'm not sure when I'll be back. But you can leave a message or whatever, in case I get a chance to pick them up at some point. Or you don't have to. That's okay too." What an odd thing to say, Ally thought. It's like she s trying not to sound too needful. But it was definitely the Kristen Starr. The slightly ditzy tone was right there. Next came a long series of beeps as the machine proceeded to rewind. This is surreal, she thought. I'm about to leave a message for a person who's God-knows-where. While the machine beeped, she tried to rehearse what she wanted to say, to make it as non-threatening as possible. Finally the machine stopped rewinding. "Kristen, hi, my name is Ally Hampton. You may remember I did an interior-design job for you when you lived in Chelsea. CitiSpace? I just met your mother. She got your letter." Should I tell her about the gun accident? Ally wondered. No, she's weirded-out enough already. "Your real name is Kristen Starr. You seemed a little confused about that in your letter to her, which I read part of. You'd been at the Dorian Institute in New Jersey. Listen, it's really important to me, and to your mother, that you get in touch. I'd like to help you if I can, because from what I saw of your letter. . . Anyway, let me give you my cell phone number. If you pick this up, you can call me anytime, night or day. It's--" "How did you get this number?" a frightened voice burst through. Ally recognized it, though it was nothing like the one she remembered from the confident, brassy TV personality that Kristen used to be. "I just got away and came here. And right after I got here, someone called my machine and then hung up. Are you tracking me? Who are you?"