Meanwhile, in a Parallel Universe...

He grips me around my waist, then brushes back my hair. "No, not at all. That's why I just

treated you to dinner and can't wait to take you back to my place. Despite your legal problems, I always sensed that you were special, that you had unrealized potential."

I tear up as he pulls me to him. Then he begins to kiss me. Good thing I wore panties, 'cause my juices would be running down my legs. He grinds his pelvis into mine, then shoves his hand down my panties and squeezes my butt. "I could make love to you right here," he says. "And maybe I would if not for the risk of arrest."

I laugh. "Yeah, it wouldn't look too good for someone in your position to get hauled into jail for indecent exposure."

He takes me back to his house, a cute brick ranger in the suburbs. It's actually bigger than it looks from the outside, with three bedrooms, two full baths and an eat-in kitchen. I figure he's going to push me into the master bedroom right away and then do what people do in bedrooms besides sleep. But no. Instead, he pulls out two glasses from the kitchen cabinet. "White Merlot okay?" I nod, then he pours us some from the fridge and then we take seats on his backyard patio. I've had the darker Merlot, a drier wine than this sweeter stuff, but the White kind is fine with me, not least because I'm sharing it with Kip out in the sort of balmy evening weather I could take all year.

We sit close on cushioned iron chairs. Reaching out, I take his hand. "This is nice, Kip, my idea of romance."

"Mine too," he says. He then turns away, looks lost in thought. Minutes later, he says. "This is so weird."

"What is?"

"Oh, the fact that we were practically strangers when you were on my caseload and now we're sharing a glass of wine, being intimate. Quite a leap."

I take a sip. "I'm okay with it, hope you are."

He turns, leans in and kisses me. "Of course. You asked me before if I REALLY liked you. Well, I do, and not just because I find you sexy, but because I'm so impressed with how far you've come, how you've overcome adversity and taken a positive path in your life. You seem happy despite all the bad stuff you faced growing up. You seemed that way when I supervised you. You're a true survivor. How do you do it?"

I shrug. "Somewhere I heard that happiness is a gift that some people are just born with. I don't know, Kip, I just try to stay optimistic, try to keep an eye on the next horizon. Some people dwell on the couldas, wouldas and shouldas, imagine what their life would be like if this or that happened or didn't happen. Me, I focus on what is and try to make the best of it." I pause to let him think about what I just said. "Anyway, I'm glad you're so impressed. Now let's get back to the sexy part." I throw a leg over his leg, then hike up my dress.

He starts massaging my tawny thighs. "Yum, smooth as velvet," he says. Then he begins to work his way up toward my crotch. I tell him to keep going and he does, first tickling his fingers over my panties, then slipping a finger inside. "Geez, you're getting wet, already. Shall we repair to the bedroom, Miss Hofstadter?"

"I'd say that's a fine idea, Agent Wachter."

He begins to undress me as we stand beside his bed. No guy ever undressed me like this. Either they ripped at my clothes or I undressed myself. Slow and gentle, he zips down my dress, then unsnaps my bra, then takes down my panties. In seconds, his own clothes are off and then, still standing, he holds and kisses me. "You're a terrific girl, Melissa," he says.

I think, 'No, I'm just an average chick, just an average chick trying to keep her shit together, nothing special.' But I don't argue with his opinion. I simply say, "Thanks, I'm with a terrific guy."

He's got one terrific erection, that's for sure! I stoop down and put my mouth around it. "You're doing a great job," he says, "but I'd rather come inside you."

I stand as he opens his night table and pulls out a box of condoms. "Not necessary," I say, telling him I'm on the pill. Further foreplay isn't required for me—I'm wet to the max. Regardless, I don't stop him when we lie down and he goes to work with his tongue, working his way down from my boobs to my pussy. "You're delicious," he says. "You taste as great as you smell."

Ohmygod, inside and out, this man makes me feel so good, I can barely stand it! I cry out, "Where have you been all my life?"

"Waiting for you to get off probation."

"Worth the wait?"

"Well worth the wait."

After guiding him inside, words escape me. I can only make noises. Grunts and groans is the language I speak. I'm as hot as a steaming iron, but I'm also feeling secure from his tender loving care, the tender, gentle way he makes love to me, the way he kisses me, the way he moves. This guy's got rhythm, rhythm and stamina, great stamina. Well, so do I. He picks up the pace and I go with him. No way I'm going to just lay there letting him do all the work. I throw my pelvis up to his. My boobs bounce and shake. My anvil meets his jackhammer. Our sweat mingles and slurps. Thrust thrust! Wham! Bam! Slam! Oo-wee, baby, what a ride!

"Damn, girl," he cries, "I always had a feeling you were good. But not this fucking good!" He climaxes only after I do. "Ladies first," he jokes.

"Okay, but in round two, feel free to go first."

"Round two?"

"Um, yeah. There will be a round two, right?"

He licks my tummy and plants light kisses on my breasts. "I love your presumptuousness, Melissa. Of course they'll be a round two, maybe even a round three. I'm even hoping you'll stay the night and then join me for breakfast at the Double-T."

"Invite accepted," I say.

Kip keeps his word and then some. There is a round two, then a round three, and then blissful sleep next to this amazing man. Well, almost blissful. I awaken in the darkness of early morning, shaking from a nightmare about Frank. In the dream, I'm running away from him, or at least trying to. My leaden legs can hardly move and I'm screaming. Then...I'd rather forget what came next. I reach out for Kip to comfort me, but he's lost to the world. It takes me close to an hour to fall back asleep.

My plans to spare Kip my nightmare fall through over breakfast when he notices my "glum demeanor," as he puts it. "You're obviously terrified over what he might do."

"You've got that right!"

"Okay, promise me one thing. If he gets in your way again, that first you'll call the police and then me."

Grinning, I say, "How about you first and then the police?"

He sighs. "Whatever you think will work best. Just be careful, vigilant like I said, okay?"

I begin to lighten up. My Western omelet is delicious and I'm with someone who I'm beginning to think I'll be seeing a lot more of. Presumptuous me, I know, but when Kip drops me off at my apartment, his loving words and goodbye kisses lead me to believe that we're thinking alike. "Maybe we can meet for lunch this week," he says. "I really can't wait to see you again. And while we're on the subject, are you up for a trip through Skyline Drive in the next couple weeks?"

I enter my apartment, happier than I've been in a long time, feeling like I'm on Skyline Drive already. If Merva thinks I was giddy last week, I can just imagine what she'll say when she sees me at work on Monday. Life is good and getting even better.

*****

Me, fall for Melissa Hofstadter? Preposterous. Sure, I find her sexy, but never did I dream of becoming emotionally involved with the girl. Yet that's exactly where I feel myself going. Last weekend was fabulous. I check my calendar to see when I'm free for lunch this week. Then I call Melissa's cell. No answer. She must be at her cashier station, checking out customers, I surmise. I'll try later.

Lunchtime finds me driving toward a local deli to pick up food I called ahead for. They have delicious soups and sandwiches, and maybe that's where I'll take Melissa later this week. Before I get there, I can barely process the "breaking news" I hear on the radio. There's been a shooting at Target, the same Target where Melissa works. Pulling over, I call her cell once again. Still no answer. Risking a speeding violation, I take off for the store, anxious to the point of feeling sick—sweaty palms, churning stomach, the shakes. Twenty minutes later, I pull into the parking lot. The place is a mob scene, flooded with cops, news people and onlookers. Yellow crime tape surrounds the building. I jump from my car and get close enough to see medical people wheeling someone out on a gurney toward an ambulance.

Target employees are easy to spot by their red tops. One of them, a young black woman, is crying. When she tells me what happened, when she tells me it's Melissa on that gurney, I run forward. "That's my girlfriend!" I yell to the burly cop who tries to stop me.

"Sir, you need to let them do their job," he snaps. He holds me back as I crane my head over his shoulder. An IV runs into Melissa's arm. Her eyes are open and she's moving slightly. Thank God! I shout to one of the medics, practically begging him to tell me where she's headed. GBMC he tells me. It's less than five miles away and enjoys an excellent reputation. Moments later, after she's whisked away, I learn that Frank Gratz is in police custody. That's good news but I can't help but wish that he had turned the gun on himself.

*****

I'm too busy checking out customers to see him coming. The next thing I know, Frank is standing by my register, glaring at me with that evil smirk of his. He doesn't say anything and I'm too frozen with fear to react when he whips the snub-nosed .38 from his pants pocket and pulls the trigger. Please, God, don't let me die here, I think as I lay on the floor. My right side burns like hell and my head is spinning. Screams fill the room, but they sound muffled, as if they're coming from far away. I don't remember anything else until the medics have me on a stretcher, wheeling me to the ambulance. A medical woman not much older than me, talks to me on the way to the hospital. "Hang in there, honey, stay with me," she says, almost pleading. She's doing a great job. I mean, I could be dead instead of drifting in and out of consciousness. Thoughts of Kip float through my mind. Does he know and will he be pissed at me for not being "vigilant" enough? And what about our planned trip to Skyline Drive?

They wheel me into surgery right away. Then comes the anesthesia and then nothing but blackness. I'm still groggy in the recovery room when my surgeon comes in and tells me how lucky I am. The bullet he took out missed my vital organs. "You'll make a complete recovery," he assures me.

Friends and family visit, including Kip. "I forgot to duck," I tell him, recalling what President Reagan said after that deranged man shot him. "I hope you're not pissed at me for not being vigilant enough."

He holds my hand, bends down and kisses me. "I'm pissed, all right, but not at you. If Frank Gratz suddenly appeared, I'd strangle him to death."

A week later, I'm home. My mom helps in my recovery. At one time, she wanted nothing to do with me. Truthfully, the way I rolled back then, I can't blame her. She now says she's proud of me; we've made our peace. Kip helps, too. He brings me carryout, even fixes a few meals. He's a much better probation agent than he is a cook, something I tease him about, while also telling him how grateful I am.

Come summer, I'm back to my old-new self—back to work, back in the gym, back to enjoying life. However, I'm not exactly the same person. Even though it looks as though Frank might be in the slammer for life, feelings of paranoia weigh me down. Friends say I suffer from post-traumatic stress; they urge me to seek therapy. My medical plan picks up half the costs, Target the other half.

"You're the consummate survivor," Kip tells me as we cruise, top down, through Skyline Drive on this beautiful summer day. "By the way, I'm starting to fall in love with you. Just thought you should know."

I brush away a tear. "I'm way ahead of you, Kip. I've been in love with you for awhile. I kept it to myself, afraid it might scare you." He chuckles, says he doesn't scare that easy.

We cruise on, our hair blowing in the breeze, taking in the beauty of this majestic land, the trees and wildflowers, the deer we pass and the mountains, lush and green, their summits bathed in rays of sunlight that peak through the clouds like beacons from heaven. Religious I'm not. Still, I can't help but think that I could have been up there—or maybe somewhere else—instead of sitting next to this man, this wonderful man who makes me feel so special and so wanted and so grateful to be alive.