Robby gulped deep breaths and looked down at the hooker, who scuffled her bare feet on the concrete and managed to roll to a spread-legged sitting position. The woman stared mournfully at the long dirty skinned patches on her knees, the ruin of her hose. There was a cut on her chin, and it dripped fresh crimson beads on her blue dress.

“Ow,” she said. “Shit. Goddamn shit.”

Robby had her mouth open to ask where she’d lost her shoes, but the sound of that voice—she took a deep breath to flush the shakes out of her system, turned her back, and started walking. The hell with the hooker and her shoes.

She didn’t get far before she heard fabric tearing and looked back to see the hooker lurch to her bare feet. The dress hem slouched wearily in the front, dangling strings like jellyfish tentacles.

“Hey!” the hooker yelled again, pointing vaguely at her. “Hey, you—robot—ah—”

Robby flinched and ducked her head, staring determinedly ahead. People stared in her direction-past her toward the hooker, who was probably weaving in pursuit. It seemed so damn undignified to run—not to mention dangerous, if any cops were around. She was only a block from the warehouse and safety, but still—

Ahead, a police car slid greasily around the corner and cruised in her direction. Good. They’d reel in the hooker, dry her out … by morning she’d have forgotten all about—

“Hey, stop!” the hooker yelled. Her voice cracked, and it sounded like she was crying. “Hey—please—hey—lady, you gotta—hey, you, thief, I’m talkin’ to you!”

Robby did not—quite—stop in her tracks. She made a tight circle of steps and walked back in the hooker’s direction, thinking calmly, I can’t kill her, if I kill her, they’ll arrest me. Maybe I can just hurt her a little.

She stared at the hooker as she walked toward her, the drowned-cat mink hanging half off her shoulders, the torn dress, the bare feet. Pathetic as a big-eyed drunk clown.

When Robby was within a few steps, the hooker said in a lost quiet voice, “Please don’t leave me.”

For a second the world tilted, and Robby was back in a Dublin train station, and the words were something she’d said as she’d reached out to her father for the last time. She took Velvet’s arm more gently than she’d meant to.

“Okay,” she heard herself say. “Okay. Just be quiet.”

Behind her she heard car doors slam, and looked around at an approaching Dallas cop; his face had a wary thousand-yard stare. His partner waited behind the wheel of the cruiser, looking a little too interested. A white flash of panic zigzagged painfully through her body.

Easy. Easy. She found a smile somewhere, shook out the wrinkles, and put it on for him.