Now, though, different concerns, adult ones, stood in her way. Primarily the fact that, no matter how glad Tom might be to see her and chitchat, she didn't feel she presented a very romantic picture. Over the years she had rounded out quite a bit, in fact, that had been one of her ex's prime complaints, put none too delicately toward the end. A few hesitant efforts at dating had similarly resulted only in direct hits on her self-esteem. (Well, except for the black orderly who had told her how much he liked white women with junk in the trunk. He was quickly transferred.) It was hard for her to think that a ruggedly-good-looking self-made man like Tom would exactly be interested in a dumpy bureaucrat, which is how she thought of herself when she really wanted to get herself down.They were finishing up and, again, starting to say polite words of parting when Tom again made an unexpectedly blunt move. "You should come visit me in Wyoming," he said.She looked at him, a little shocked, and. Someone--a customer, pimp--had clocked her a good one and left a bruise. That's why she was on the streets, and why Steven hadn't seen her before. She wouldn't be able to see her usual clients--rich business types, probably--like that, but the punters here wouldn't care.Steven was so proud of his deductive prowess he stopped paying close attention to his surroundings. His foot nudged against a discarded beer bottle and knocked it over with a clatter that sounded--to Steven--as loud as a siren."Who's there?" The girl turned and stared in his direction.Steven ducked back behind the corner and pressed his back flat against the wall. He squeezed his hand around the narrow object in his pocket. He held his breath. Even though his heart sounded like a drum to him, he knew only he could hear it. Wait. Be quiet. Give it a few moments and the girl would put it down to her imagination playing tricks on her."Come out. I know you're there."No, she didn't. She was bluffing, trying to sound bold.
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