He shoved the articles back into the bag and started through the crowd. For the first time since the incident began, he remembered that he’d left Debbie standing in the midst of strangers, witness to a part of his world that he’d learned not to share. He began to trot, anxious and uneasy. She would probably be either mad or frightened or a combination of both. A slow, sick feeling began to grow inside him. I don’t want to lose her. And then reality surfaced. He couldn’t lose something he didn’t have.

*  *  *

Cole had been off and running before Debbie registered the fact. She’d had one moment’s swift surge of panic, knowing that he was in pursuit of a thief, and then remembered that he did this for a living.

The elderly woman who’d been robbed had fallen to the street, and her husband was kneeling at her side, trying to comfort her.

The crowd of people parted and watched. A few offered help. But Debbie could see that the elderly man was concerned with more than the fact that his wife’s bag had just been snatched. Debbie shifted her beach gear to a better position and headed for the couple.

“Are you all right?” she asked as she dropped her bag and beach towels and knelt at the old man’s side.

She missed nothing of the woman’s pale, clammy complexion. A fluffy white halo of hair framed her features. Heavy slashes of blush traced the high bony structure of her face and enhanced the lack of color beneath. Her thin, knobby knees protruded out from under her culotte skirt. The indigo tracing of aging veins was evident beneath her fragile skin. A tiny trickle of blood was running down her leg. Her matching, tropical floral overblouse that had been knotted loosely at her waist was caught and twisted beneath her arm. Debbie gently rearranged the lady’s clothing.

The old man looked up at Debbie, his pale blue eyes wide and watery beneath the fragile, wire-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose.

“Florence has a bad heart.”

The statement made Debbie cringe. She stood up, scanning the crowd for the hot dog vendor who’d whipped out a phone earlier.

“Hey!” she yelled. He looked her way. “I think this lady may need an ambulance.”

He nodded and grinned. Out came his briefcase.

“Now, Florence,” Debbie said, as she knelt back down. “Do you have medicine with you?”

“It was in her bag,” the man said as tears began to run silently down his face.

There was nothing to do but wait for help to arrive and keep the couple calm.

“Help will be here soon, Florence,” she said, and patted the little woman’s leg. “My name is Deborah Randall. I’m from Oklahoma. Have you ever been there?”