When Lightning Strikes

Lainie cleared her throat and reached down for her mismatched luggage. "Well, I better run or I'll miss the plane."

Judith gave her a sad, understanding smile. A look that said too much from a woman who never would. "Don't forget, kiddo, if anyone asks you who you are on the plane, make up a name. We don't want your readers to know that Alaina Costanza is a foulmouthed, spike-haired, tattooed slob with a carton of Marlboro Lights sticking out of her handbag."

Lainie grinned at the familiar advice, knowing it was only half a joke. Her downtown, tough-girl look was a far cry from the media image of a romance writer. Oversized sweaters, holey Levi's, and cowboy boots weren't exactly the outfit du jour. " 'Bye, Jude."

Jude's smile dipped a fraction; her gaze turned serious,

5

maybe even a little sad. " 'Bye, hon. I'll be waiting for the Lightning manuscript."

The two friends stared at each other for longer than they should have; perhaps it was only a second too long, but Lainie knew instantly that it was a mistake. She sighed. Christ, she hated good-byes. She stiffened and tossed Jude a half-assed smile. "Not long, you won't."

"Safe flight. Don't ... drink too much."

Lainie made a harsh, defiant sound that was meant to be laughter, but even to her own ears sounded more like a snarl. "Is that possible?"

Jude's attempt at a smile made Lainie feel even worse. 'Take care of yourself these next two weeks. Don't fall so deeply into your book that you don't have a life."

"I wish to hell I could fall that deeply in, Jude."

Judith reached for her. "Oh, Alaina .. ."

Lainie lurched backward before Judith could touch her. Resettling the garment bag's wide nylon strap on her narrow shoulder, she gave Jude a cocky grin. "Well, gotta run. 'Bye, Jude."

" 'Bye, Lainie."

Lainie straightened and headed toward her gate.

Judith watched Lainie walk away. The younger woman's body was perfectly erect, her back ramrod-stiff, her legs pumping in that no-nonsense, ground-gobbling march that was her usual gait. Her narrow shoulders were drawn up high and held stiff, her left elbow was pressed protectively against her waist, as if she were afraid to accidentally touch or be touched. Somehow, even as she moved through the sea of hurried travelers, she was a woman distant and alone.

For years, Jude had watched her friend contain real life within the parameters of a blue screen. Except for

6

motherhood, writing was all Lainie had, all she claimed to want. The work was a refuge for Alaina, a safe place where she could control fate.

"Please ..." She mouthed the single word, wondering what she could ask of the God with whom she so rarely spoke. "Watch out for Alaina. Let the book take care of her until Kelly gets back."

The book. Jude shook her head, frowning. It was so little, so damned little. But without Kelly, it was all Lainie had.

Bainbridge Island, Washington

Lainie stood at her bedroom window, staring out at the dark, rain-drenched night, trying to be brave and failing miserably. Water hammered the pane in an endless, pounding heartbeat. Wind howled through the huddled, quaking stand of dogwood trees that bordered her small lot. Every new gust wrenched off another fistful of summer-green leaves, sending the tender branches tumbling through the stormy night. Beside her window, a maple tree shuddered at the onslaught, tapping a long, gnarled wooden finger against the glass.

Lainie brought the cigarette to her lips and took a drag. The sharp, unpleasant taste of the smoke scalded her throat and lungs. When she drew her hand back it was shaking so badly, it sent a spray of fluttering ashes across the hardwood floor.

"Damn," she cursed, glancing quickly around for her ashtray. She found it, overflowing, on the piano, and stabbed the cigarette out.

A drink, she thought suddenly. She needed a good, strong drink. She stumbled through her living room and reached for the bottle of Jack Daniel's she kept stashed behind the stereo. She wrenched off the top and took a

7

long gulp. The liquor burned a path down her throat and puddled, hot and pulsing, in her stomach. For a second, a brief, fitful heartbeat, she felt almost warm. Then the cold began to creep in again, curling around her heart, chilling her deeper than her bones, chilling her to her soul.

She took another huge swallow and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. After about three more drinks, a pleasant, familiar lethargy stole through her bloodstream, easing the cold burden of fear.

She set the bottle down with a sloshing clank and padded to her bedroom, sitting on the edge of her unmade bed and pulling the pile of blue flannel sheeting around her body. She hugged herself and slumped forward, staring dry-eyed at the floor. God, she hated rainstorms .. . and being alone.