I hesitated, racking my brain, then the light began to dawn.

"Officer Urbanski? Is that you?"

"Yes," she admitted lightly, "Officer Urbanski."

"Can I help you in some way, Officer Urbanski," I said, grinning into the phone.

"I think you can," she said. "I'm looking for a caucasian male, 25 to 30 years of
age, physically fit, heterosexual, sense of humor, not too ugly. He has to be
somebody who's not a cop groupie, but not intimidated by cops or strong women."

"Weeeelll," I said, "I fit that description, Officer Urbanski. Were you
considering coming to San Francisco to take me into custody?"

"I was hoping I could come down there, and we could take each other into
custody," she laughed. "That is, unless your friend in Portland would object."

"No, no," I said. "Ruth and I are just old friends. Would next weekend fit your
plans?"

"I already have a seat reserved on a flight Friday afternoon," she admitted, "AND
a hotel reservation."

"I like a woman with a sense of adventure ... and caution," I said. "I'll buy us
dinner Friday night and we can get acquainted. If you hate my guts, there's
always Fisherman's Wharf."

"I was hoping you'd say that," she laughed, "most guys get scared off when they
meet me ... professionally."

"I enjoyed meeting you, Catherine" I said truthfully, "but I didn't think you
enjoyed meeting me."

"Call me Cathy. You're right, I was pissed. But my partner convinced me I was
overreacting," she laughed ironically. "I tried to look at things objectively and
finally decided it was worth calling you. I'm used to rejection, after all."

I told her she had a great laugh and I was glad she called. Then I got her flight
and hotel information and we said goodbye. I was still standing with my hand on
the phone, thinking of Cathy Urbanski, when the doorbell rang.

I didn't immediately recognize the attractive, dark-haired young woman on my
doorstep, but she looked very familiar so I let her push past me into my
apartment. I closed the door and followed her into the living room.

"Do you recognize me?" she said, turning to face me with an odd, tense expression
on her face. She dropped her overnight bag and began to unfasten her coat.

I hesitated warily, "Naomi K-------?"

"Yes," she said, standing tall and defiantly throwing open her coat.

Except for her shoes, Naomi was nude, skin flushed, nipples pointing stiffly. Her
long legs were visibly shaking.

She tried to speak, but couldn't.

"Don't worry," I soothed, opening my arms. "I know what to do."