Robin stood, spread her arms, and squeezed me around the waist. Her head pressed against my chest. She smelled of hardwood and perfume, and her curls tickled my chin. I lifted a handful of auburn coils and kissed the back of her neck. She's a charitable five three but has the long, swanlike neck of a fashion model. Her skin was hot, slightly moist.

"How'd it go?" she said, putting her hand in my hair.

"Uneventful."

"No problem from the inmates, huh?"

"Nothing." I held her closer, rubbing the taut musculature of her shoulders, moved down to delicate vertebrae, magical curves, then back up to the clean line of her jaw and the silk of her eyelids.

She stepped away, took my chin in one hand. "That place made you romantic?"

"Being out of there makes me romantic."

"Well, I'm glad you're back in one piece."

"It wasn't dangerous," I said. "Not even close."

"Five thousand murderers and no danger?"

"Twelve hundred, but who's counting."

"Twelve hundred," she said. "How silly of me to worry." At the last word, her voice rose a notch.

"Sorry," I said. "But really, it was fine. People go to work there every day and nothing happens. Everyone seems to think it's safer on the wards than out on the streets."

"Sounds like rationalization to me. Meanwhile, that psychologist gets stuffed in a car trunk."

"There's no indication, so far, that her work had anything to do with it."

"Good. The main thing is, you're back. Have you eaten yet?"

"No. You?"

"Just juice in the morning."

"Busy day?"

"Pretty busy, trying to finish that mandolin." She stretched to her full height. She had on a red T-shirt and denim overalls, size six Skechers. Small gold hoops glinted from her ears. She took them off when she worked. Not planning to return to the studio.

"I'm hungry now," she said. "Hint, hint."

"Let's go out," I said.

"A mind reader!"

"Just call me the Answer Man."

We gave Spike a chewbone and drove to an Indian buffet in Santa Monica that was open all afternoon. Rice and lentils, kulcha bread stuffed with onions, curried spinach with soft cheese, spicy eggplant, hot milky tea. Some sort of chant played in the background-a single male voice keening, maybe praying. The two ectomorphs in the next booth got up and left and we were the only patrons. The waiter left us alone.

Halfway through the pile on her plate, Robin said, "I know I'm harping, but next time you go somewhere like that, please call the minute you get out."

"You were really that worried?"

"Ax murderers and vampires, Lord knows what else?"

I covered her hand with mine. "Rob, the men I saw today were submissive." Except for the bearded fellow on the yard who'd come toward me. The fight in the hall. Plastic windows, S&R rooms.

"What makes them submit?"

"Medication and a structured environment."

She didn't seem comforted. "So you learned nothing there?"