“Miss O’Toole,” she nearly shouted into the mouthpiece.

“Erin?” a familiar voice inquired.

“Mitch? Is that you? I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks,” she exclaimed, and felt a pang of regret that she had answered the phone so harshly. “How are you?” she asked with genuine interest.

“I’ve been better,” was the matter-of-fact reply.

“Oh, Mitch. I’m so sorry,” she began, suddenly at a loss for words. What could she say to him? Any condolence sounded foolish.

“I know, Erin,” he replied as if he really did understand that she still cared for him and considered him her friend.

There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation, before Mitch cleared his throat indecisively and stated the reason for his call. “I was wondering if you would like to go to lunch with me today?” he inquired.

“Oh, Mitch, I’d love to, but I’m absolutely swamped,” Erin replied as she gazed at the stack of unanswered telephone messages that had been growing on the corner of her desk.

“Too busy for lunch with an old friend?” he joked, but the humor fell flat.

“Of course not. It’s just that…well, Kane is out of town, and everyone here is down with the flu—including the computer.”

There was a harsh laugh on the other end of the line. “Yeah, well, I get the message” was the curt retort. “Some other time…”

Indecision tore at Erin. She knew that today was the day of Mitch’s arraignment hearing, and she also knew that if the judgment was turned against him, it was unlikely that she would see him again for an indefinite period of time. Kane wouldn’t approve of a meeting with Mitch; Erin was sure of it, and yet he had no control over her friendship with Mitch. For once her reason was cast aside as she thought about the lonely man on the other end of the telephone line.

“Oh, Mitch,” she said suddenly. “I’m sure I can meet with you today,” she choked out. “I’ll just have to make some room.”

“Good!” Was there excessive relief in his voice? “How about Shorty’s at one thirty?”

“Perfect,” she agreed lamely, and felt herself something of a traitor.

The few short hours until her agreed rendezvous with Mitch flew by, and with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, Erin set out on the short walk to a local pub known for its specialty: barbecued spareribs. Located in an older hotel in Pioneer Square, Shorty’s had become a favorite with some of the employees of the bank, as much for its earthy San Francisco atmosphere as its flavorful food. Erin had been to the restaurant bar with Mitch several times in the past, but today, under the shroud of the allegations against him and the twisted set of circumstances surrounding them, she felt apprehensive about the lunch. Don’t be silly, she chided herself. This is the same old Gay Nineties restaurant, and he’s the same old Mitch. Don’t let any of this talk of embezzlement go to your head. But still her stomach knotted, and without thinking, she pulled her pewter raincoat more closely around her throat and shook off a chill that ran up her spine.