An Attraction to Murder
By Pamala Rush
*****************************************************
This story is the product of an idea by a member of the Diagnosis
Murder Appreciation Society to which I belong. The first part is a scene 
that she had in her head for a long time and didn't know what to do 
with it, so I grabbed it and ran with it. The rest is simply what I saw 
when I read it. Please enjoy.

P.S. I know the woman is violent. I may do a sequel with her to explain why she is the way she is. That is, IF I get enough positive 
feedback about her.
******************************************************

	A big burly thug herded Mark, Jesse and Amanda into a room 
in the back of a warehouse at gunpoint. The room was empty and 
windowless, as a matter of fact, there were no outlets from the 
room of any kind except the door where the thug now stood, 
eyeing them with a look that said he wanted to shoot them now. 
He snarled his disgust at not being able to waste them where 
they stood and turned away, slamming the door behind him, the 
lock clicking into place. 
	Jesse tried the door for some kind, any kind, of chance of 
getting the door open. He turned and looked back at Mark and 
Amanda with a shake of his head.
	The room had a lightbulb hanging from one of the beams in 
the ceiling, but it didn't give off much light. The three 
doctors could still make out a still form lying on the floor in 
a far corner. He was lying face down in a pile of dirt that had 
been long neglected, something that they had noticed prevailed 
in the warehouse as they had been hustled through it.
	The man didn't move, but he seemed a bit too familiar for 
Mark's comfort. His shirt was torn and his back covered with 
bruises and cuts. His head rested on his left arm, but Mark 
could see that his hands were still handcuffed. When Mark saw 
the watch on his right wrist, chills went up his spine.
	"Wow," Jesse remarked. "Someone made them even madder than 
we did."
	Mark didn't say anything. Amanda and Jesse looked at him. 
Even in the low light they could tell he had gone ghostly white.
	"Mark, what is it?" Amanda asked with worry.
	"Dear God, it's Steve," Mark said. He was suddenly broken 
out of his momentary paralysis and at his son's side in three 
long strides.

**Two Days Earlier**

	The woman sat in a chair across from her husband, bound and 
gagged with padded bindings. Another woman stood above her with 
a pair of black leather gloves on and a gun in her right hand. 
She lifted the gun to the woman's right temple and pulled the 
trigger.
	"Where's my money?" she demanded from the man across the 
desk. 
	He picked a briefcase up from the floor and placed it on 
the desk. "As asked for. Two million dollars," he said. "Happy 
now?"
	"Not quite," she said and raised the gun again. It rang out 
two more times and the man slumped over his desk. "I said no 
witnesses," she said as she lowered her hand again.
	She took the bindings off the dead woman and placed the gun 
in her hand. With the briefcase in hand, she looked back at the 
carnage that she had cold-bloodedly created and left the room.
	Back at her van, she peeled her leather gloves off and 
placed them in the case with the stacks of money. She slid it 
under the front seat and glanced down at her watch. The maid 
would be back by now and finding the bodies right about...
	A scream came from the window leading to the office where 
she had murdered the two millionaires.

	Steve stood outside the Drisco Mansion watching a woman 
green bib overalls painting trim a light blue. Her red hair was 
in braids that hung halfway down her back.
	The mansion was the scene of a murder/suicide. The young 
beautiful Marla Drisco had gone into her husband's office and 
shot him twice in the head then sat down in a chair and shot 
herself through the right temple. The scene had been a horribly 
bloody one; Amanda was still inside trying to make sure she had 
gotten all on the pieces.
	Steve was waiting for the woman to come down from the 
ladder so he could ask her if she had seen or heard anything. 
Upon noticing him, she put the brush in the paint bucket that 
was hanging from the long extension ladder and slid down with 
her feet on the sides of the ladder. She landed in front of 
Steve and turned to face him before taking the earphones from 
her ears to hang around her neck and stopping the music blaring 
from the tiny speakers.
	"Something wrong?" she asked.
	"I'm Steve Sloan, Homicide," Steve said as he showed her 
his badge and identification. "Are you Mara Daniels?"
	"Yeah," Mara said. "What's up?"
	"I want to ask you a couple of questions," Steve replied, 
putting the wallet away. "First of all, why are you still 
painting the house?"
	"I was paid in full and in advance," she replied. "I figure 
I've been paid for the job I might as well finish it."
	Steve nodded at the answer. It made sense. "Did you happen 
to hear anything unusual?"
	"You mean besides the gun shots?" Mara asked then shook her 
head. "Nothing. I didn't even hear the shots." She held up the 
earphones. "I like my music really LOUD."
	Steve smiled slightly with a shake of his head. She was 
pretty young. He'd guess in her mid to late twenties. "Then how 
did you hear the maid scream?"
	"I was changing CDs," she replied. "I heard her scream and 
ran inside to see what was wrong. She was shaking so bad that 
she couldn't move."
	"So you reported it?"
	"Is that what she told you?" She asked so Steve nodded. 
"Well, that's right."
	"Did you look into the room at all?" Steve asked.
	She shook her head. "I figured that it must be something 
really awful, considering the way she looked, so I asked her 
what was wrong first. When she told me, I called the police."
	"You don't seem too upset," Steve said. "Two people died in 
the house you're painting."
	"Well, I didn't know them except for my working, and I 
didn't see the bodies or anything," she said. "What would I have 
to be upset about?"
	Steve blinked. "I don't know."
	Amanda came up behind Steve and told him that she was 
finished. "That was probably one of the worst scenes I've ever 
seen," she said.
	Steve nodded at the woman and turned away to talk to 
Amanda. The girl climbed back to the top of the ladder, grabbed 
the paintbrush, and resumed her painting, neglecting to put the 
earphones back on.
	"Mrs. Drisco shot her husband then sat down and shot 
herself," Amanda said. "I'll know if there's more to it when I 
do an autopsy."
	Steve nodded. "Great, let's get going."
	He glanced back at the woman on the ladder before he got 
into his car. As he drove off, Mara turned and watched him. Then 
she slipped the earphones back on her head and hit the play 
button before resuming her painting.

	Steve walked into the doctor's lounge where Mark, Jesse and 
Amanda were waiting around the table with cups of coffee. Steve 
stopped for a cup himself before sitting down to show them what 
forensics had found in the room. He tossed the plastic bag down 
on the table as the janitor came in the room to empty the 
trashcans.
	"A cigarette butt?" Jesse asked.
	"Neither one of the Drisco's smoked," Steve pointed out. 
"The maid doesn't smoke either."
	"Is that lipstick?" Mark asked as he placed his glasses at 
an angle on his nose. He looked closely at the item in the bag 
before handing it back to Steve.
	"Mrs. Drisco didn't even wear that color," Steve said. "I 
checked."
	"So you think it might have been a double murder?" Jesse 
asked as the janitor passed behind him to get another of the 
room's three trashcans.
	"I don't know," Steve replied. "I've talked to the maid, 
the cook and the butler, and even the gardener. Jay Drisco 
didn't have a mistress and neither one of them had any other 
family. I'm at a loss."
	Mark had a thoughtful look on his face as he watched the 
janitor empty the third and final trash can. "Who else was 
around this morning?"
	"The painter," Steve told him. "She didn't hear the shots."
	"A woman? What color was her lipstick?"
	"I can't remember if she was wearing lipstick. "I would 
expect that she wasn't since she was working on the house," 
Steve told him.
	"We would have noticed if she were wearing lipstick that 
red," Amanda pointed out.
	"Wait," Jesse interjected. "Why would she still be 
painting? The owners of the house had been murdered."
	"She said that they paid her in advance," Steve explained 
as the janitor left the room.
	"That would make sense," Mark commented. "But it just seems 
strange that she would hang around like that. I could see coming 
back the next day...." Mark shook his head.
	"She might have been in a hurry to get the job done," Steve 
said with a shrug.
	"Nonetheless," Mark said. "I'd like to get a look at the 
scene if possible."

	Lips covered with a bright red lipstick were wrapped around 
the butt of a cigarette. Slim fingers with nails painted the 
same color as the lips reached to the mouth and wrapped 
themselves around the cigarette to hold it while the woman 
sucked a mouthful of smoke from the stick. She took the 
cigarette from her mouth and leaned back in her chair.
	She was dressed in a tight leather skirt that exactly 
matched the jacket she wore over an opaque shirt. Her feet, 
which were covered by a pair of spike heeled shoes, were resting 
on the antique oak desk next to an ashtray which had several 
butts circled in red lipstick in it.
	She was waiting; had been waiting for some time. The 
warehouse office that she was in seemed to be waiting as well. 
The person she had been waiting for finally came into the 
luxuriously decorated office. He was a burly man, the janitor 
from Community General Hospital.
	"You screwed up," he told her.
	Instantly she was out of the chair with a gun at his 
throat. "I _NEVER_ screw up," she said. "Now tell me what you 
found so I can kill you."
	"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean it the way it 
sounded."
	She cocked the gun and the man winced before she decided to 
let the matter drop. "What did you mean, then?" she asked as she 
lowered her gun and dropped back into her chair.
	"Sloan found a cigarette butt circled with lipstick," he 
told her. He picked up a but from the ashtray. "One a lot like 
this."
	The woman scowled. "Damn, I knew I forgot something when I 
met Drisco this morning."
	"He's going to do a bit more poking before he closes the 
case," the man said.
	"Keep an eye on them," she told him. "If this Sloan gets 
suspicious of me, let me know."

	An hour later, Steve and Mark got to the Drisco Mansion 
where Mara was painting away at the trim on the front door. She 
had her earphones hanging around her neck and the pair could 
hear music blaring from the speakers.
	When she saw them she smiled. "Hello, Detective Sloan. 
What's up?"
	"This is my father," he introduced. "Dr. Mark Sloan, Mara 
Daniels."
	Mark reached out to shake her hand, but she held it out to 
him palm up instead. It was covered with the blue paint that she 
was painting with and Mark noticed nicotine stains between the 
first and second fingers. "Wet paint," she commented.
	Mark grinned. "I understand."
	"Be careful," she told them as she pushed the freshly 
painted door open so the could go in. "I wouldn't want you to 
ruin your suits."
	"We'll be careful," Steve said as he brushed past her. She 
smelled like cigarette smoke.
	"I was just wondering," Mark asked before following Steve. 
"Do you smoke?"
	"Why do you ask?" she said as Steve turned to give his 
father a strange look.
	"You smell like you've been smoking," was Mark's reply.
	"I'm quitting," she replied. "I'm down to half a pack a 
day."
	"Good for you," Mark said as he went on by.

	"What was that about?" Steve asked his father after the 
reached the study. Blood still marred the floor and tape 
outlined how Drisco's body was found on the desk.
	"Nothing," Mark said. "Just a thought."
	Steve nodded, but Mark had him thinking, too. "You're 
thinking that the butt we found might have been hers."
	Mark nodded. "Possibly. She may have been in the office 
this morning waiting for Mr. Drisco to give her the pay she 
spoke of. Maybe she was smoking by the window and blowing the 
smoke outside."
	Steve shook his head. "It was found over by the desk. And 
what about the red lipstick that it had on it?"
	"I don't know," Mark replied. "I don't think it was a 
murder/suicide."
	Someone behind them cleared her throat. "I'm finished for 
the day," Mara told them. "I gotta lock up before I go."
	"Of course," Mark said. He and Steve scooted out of the 
room and out the front door to Steve's car. 
	Mara carefully locked the still wet door behind her and 
piled the ladder on top of the white van with a sign that said 
"Perry's painters" on the side before putting a wooden box with 
her paint and brushes into the side door. Mark and Steve watched 
as she drove away.
	"There's more to that girl than meets the eye," Mark 
commented.
	"Do you want me to have a background check done on her?" 
Steve asked.
	Mark nodded. "As soon as possible."

	"I think that Lt. Sloan's father, the good Dr. Mark Sloan, 
is getting wise to us," she said. The woman was in the same 
clothes she had been in earlier, leather miniskirt and jacket, 
in the same office, talking to the same janitor from Community 
General.
	"I wouldn't know," the man said, lounging on the couch.. 
"But I think the detective is getting a bit wise, too." She 
looked back at him from where she sat at the desk, legs resting 
on the antique piece of furniture. "I heard them talking about a 
background check they had done on you."
	She picked the burning cigarette from the ashtray and took 
a long drag before putting it out. "I think that maybe I should 
have a little talk with Dr. Sloan. See what he found out."
	Sitting up, she pulled a knife from the top drawer. "I 
think I may just need stitches," she said as she sliced across 
her left hand with the blade, creating a deep wound in the 
flesh. Blood began to seep from the wound. "Get me a towel, 
would you."
	The burly man pulled himself from the couch and into 
another room. By the time he got back she was out of her leather 
and into a yellow sundress, her red-gold hair falling down 
around her shoulders.
	"Man you're fast," the man said. "Even with one hand."
	She smiled a sarcastic smile at him. "Just shut up and get 
me a wet washcloth. I forgot to wash my face."
	When he brought the wet cloth back, she scrubbed the 
make-up and red lipstick from her face. "Now, stay here. I'll be 
back." She wrapped the towel around her still bleeding hand and 
left the room.

	Mara came running into the hospital emergency room only to 
run headlong into Mark. Blood was seeping through a towel which 
she had wrapped around her left hand. Some of the blood had 
gotten on the front of the yellow sundress she was wearing and 
she was crying almost hysterically.
	"Mara what happened?" Mark asked her.
	"I was peeling potatoes," she said. "The knife slipped and 
I cut my hand."
	"I'll take a look at it," Mark said as he led her into one 
of the rooms. He sat her down on a bed in the nearest empty exam 
room and unwrapped the towel. "This is pretty bad for just 
peeling potatoes."
	"It was a new knife," she replied through her tears. "I 
guess it was a lot sharper than I thought."
	"I'd say so," Mark commented. "It looks like it's going to 
need stiches."
	Mara winced. "I suppose you're going to need to give me a 
shot to numb my hand."
	Mark nodded. "I'm afraid so." He looked in her eyes to see 
the first genuine emotion he had seen in them since they met. 
"Do you have a problem with that?"
	"I am deathly afraid of needles," she replied.
	"I'm sorry about that, but unless you want me to stitch it 
up with it..."
	Mara winced again. "I'd rather have the shot."
	Mark gave some orders to the nurse that was standing by and 
went to a nearby cupboard for some sterile pads and antiseptic. 
Carefully, he began to dab at the cut until he could see it 
well.
	"I don't think anything is damaged," he told her before 
going on. "You know, my son did a background check on you 
today."
	"Is that so?"
	"You certainly get around, don't you?"
	Mara nodded as the nurse returned with a tray of things 
Mark would need to stitch Mara's hand up.
	"Must have been hard losing your parents like that at 
sixteen," Mark went on as he picked up the syringe full of 
deadener. "Then to be accused of murdering them yourself." He 
shook his head.
	"I know," she said. "I lived it."
	"Then New York, Dallas, Miami, Denver," Mark listed as he 
took her hand in his left hand. "A lot of different places. Do 
you want to look away or close your eyes?"
	Her eyes were already closed. "Just get it over with," she 
said through clenched teeth.
	Gently, Mark administered the shot and put her hand down on 
the cloth he had placed over her lap to give the medicine time 
to work.
	"You know, there were several unexplained suicides and a 
couple of unsolved murders during the time you were in each 
city," Mark said. "Did you hear about them on the news?"
	As her hand began to numb, Mara seemed to grow calmer. "I 
was working."
	"I'm sure your were," Mark replied as he picked up a needle 
and thread.

	"The address I got for Perry's Painters is a warehouse down 
by the docks," Steve said to his father, who was on the other 
end of Steve's cel phone. "I'm going down to check it out."
	"Be careful," Mark said.
	"I will," Steve replied then he hit the button which ended 
the call. 
	He stood in front of the warehouse next to his car and 
looked up at the broken windows. Tweny four hours had passed 
since his father had had the little chat with Mara Daniels as 
Mark was patching up a wound that he had said looked like it was 
self inflicted.
	"I don't see how anyone could cut themselves that badly 
with a paring knife," he had said. "No matter how sharp."
	Steve had promised to be careful, but if this woman had 
really killed her own parents, how sane was she?

	"Detective Sloan is here," Buck, the janitor from Community 
General, said from a chair next to the window.
	The woman stood up and looked out the window, watching as 
Steve talked on the phone. She thought for a minute before she 
signaled another man across the room. "Go make sure he can get 
in," she ordered.

	Steve tried the knob, and found that the door was unlocked. 
He drew his gun before slowly opening the door. Something didn't 
feel right here. The warehouse was stacked with boxes and a set 
of stairs led to a room which was over his head. He wove his way 
through the boxes towards the staircase, but was stopped before 
he could get there.
	He felt the cold hardness of the gun on the back of his 
neck. A burly man whom he recognized from Community General 
stepped from behind a stack of boxes. "I'd suggest you drop your 
gun," he said.
	Steve let his grip loose and the gun swung from his finger. 
The burly man took it and stuffed it in the back of his jeans 
before gesturing for Steve to go ahead. "I'd raise those hands 
if I were you," he said. "My partner gets trigger happy 
sometimes."
	Steve started forward, weaving through the boxes, all the 
while with the gun in his neck.
	Buck directed Steve through the boxes and to a room in the 
back. "Open it," he ordered. "Keep face forward."
	Any hope of seeing his mysterious captor was gone. Steve 
opened the door and went into a dim windowless room. One light 
lit the room as it hung from the beams.
	The person behind him made a slight noise. A woman's hand 
came from behind him with a pair of handcuffs, nails painted a 
bright red. As a matter of fact, it was the same color red as 
the lipstick that had been on the cigarette butt he had found at 
the Drisco mansion. Steve looked over his shoulder at the woman 
behind him. Mara Daniels stood in a leather jacket and 
miniskirt; red lipstick matching the nailpolish decorated her 
lips.
	"Hello Sloan," she said. "Hold out your hands so Buck can 
put the cuffs on."
	Steve did as he was told. "What are you going to do with 
me?"
	"I haven't decided that, yet," she said. "I may keep you, 
or I may kill you. I'll decide tomorrow."
	Then she shocked him by planting a kiss on his lips.
	"You want us to leave him here?" Buck asked when the kiss 
ended.
	"Yeah," Mara replied. "Beat him first." She turned to walk 
away then stopped. "But don't mess up his face."
	"Whatever you say," Buck said as she walked away.
	Buck planted his fist into Steve's stomach eliciting a 
grunt from him.

	"Steve hasn't been home all night," Mark told Amanda and 
Jesse as they sat in the doctor's lounge. "I talked to him last 
night and he was checking out this warehouse where Perry's 
Painters is supposedly based. I haven't heard from him since."
	"Did he tell you where this place is?" Jesse asked.
	"Down by the docks was all he told me," Mark replied.
	Amanda took him by the hand. "I'm off. Why don't we go take 
a drive down by the docks?" Buck the janitor came in to empty 
the trash cans.
	"Sure," Jesse agreed. "I'm off too. We could go look for 
Steve's car." The janitor abruptly left.
	Mark nodded. "Let's go. I'm tired of being worried."

	"So, Sloan's dad and friends are starting to get curious," 
Mara said into the phone. "Don't worry, Buck. We'll be ready for 
them."
	She looked over at he other thug. "Buck's on his way back 
from the hospital. Make sure Detective Sloan is secure and get 
ready for some more guests."
	As the thug hurried off to comply, Mara sat the cordless 
phone back on its charger and looked at the bandaged hand that 
she had purposely cut. Mark had done a wonderful job stitching 
it up. Flexing it gently created some pain, but Mara relished 
the pain. It reminded her that she was still alive.

	Mark parked his car near the warehouse and next to Steve's 
car. The engine was cold and it showed no signs of having been 
driven in several hours.
	"This looks like the place," Jesse said as he got out of 
Mark's car.
	"Maybe we should call for backup," Amanda said.
	Mark nodded and pulled his cel phone out of a jacket 
pocket. After a short discussion with the captain at Steve's 
precinct, he hung it up. "They're on their way," he told the 
others.
	Mark leaned against his car to wait for the backup and 
looked down at the ground.
	"Uh, Mark," Jesse said suddenly. "I think we should go 
inside.
	"That's not such a good..." Amanda began before halting mid 
sentence.
	Mark looked up to see Buck the janitor from Community 
General standing befor them with an angry expression and a gun 
in his hand.
	"Inside," Buck gestured. "You're expected."

	Steve hung between consiousness and unconsiousness all 
night. He was aware of the cuts on his back and his torn shirt 
but not much else. His wrists were raw from where the handcuffs 
had rubbed them. Mara's goon had put them on too tight. If he 
ever got the chance, he was going to have to teach the man what 
he was doing wrong.
	What was he thinking? He had to get out of here before Mara 
decided she didn't want him after all. How was the big problem. 
He wished he had some help, but all he did was slip back into 
unconsiouness once again.
	What seemed like minutes later but was really hours, he 
began to regain consiousness. He heard an all to familiar voice 
saying, "Dear God, it's Steve." He tried to tell him he was 
awake, but all that came out of his mouth was a small groan.
	"He's alive!" Jesse exclaimed.
	"You'll be all right, Steve," Mark said. "Help is on the 
way."
	Carefully, Mark rolled him over, and Steve finally found 
his tongue. "I'm OK," he said.
	"What happened?" Mark asked.
	"She was waiting for me," Steve replied. "I guess I'm lucky 
I'm not dead, considering."
	"Considering what?" Amanda asked as she helped Mark out of 
his suit jacket and rolled it up to put under Steve's head.
	"Considering that Mara Daniels is a cold-blooded killer," 
Steve replied.
	Mark glanced back at Jesse and Amanda. "How did you find 
that out?"
	"She practically told me," Steve told the trio that was 
still hovering over him.
	"I did. Didn't I?"
	Everyone turned to see Mara standing just inside the door. 
"Not in so many words of course," she went on. "But in actions." 
She tossed a set of handcuff keys which Mark caught easily. "You 
can unlock him now," she told him.
	Mark had Steve out of the handcuffs in record time and 
helped him to his feet. "Now what are you going to do?" Steve 
asked.
	Mara ignored the question and walked up to him. "You know, 
Buck is really very dedicated to his job," she said. "I told him 
not to touch his face, and there's not a mark on it." She 
touched his chin. "I really wanted to keep you, but now I 
can't." With that she kissed him long and hard. Then she left 
him to rub his wrists.
	"Why do you always get the gorgeous ones?" Jesse asked.
	"She a killer, Jesse," Steve said, not looking back at his 
friend.
	"I was kidding," Jesse said.
	"I know you were, Jesse," Steve said with a glance back at 
him. "I was just reminding you of who, and what, she is."
	Jesse didn't reply, only nodded. "Let's just see if we can 
find a way out," Steve went on.

	"No, we have to leave it," Mara replied to Buck's question 
about the antique desk. "Just pack the clothes and small stuff 
and whatever else we can fit in the van. Their backup is going 
to be here soon."
	"Are going to waste them?" Buck asked.
	Mara grabbed him by the shirt front. "We are not 
gangsters," she told him. "We are professional hitmen. We do not 
leave wittnesses. Our four friends are wittnesses. Therefore we 
will be *eliminating* them." She let go of his shirt. "Now get 
busy."
	She lit up a cigarette and sat down behind the desk. She 
still couldn't decide whether she wanted to kill Steve Sloan or 
not, even though she had already told him he was as good as 
dead. The thing was, she had this weakness for blue-eyed blonde- 
haired men. That weakness was apt to get her arrested this time.
	As for the others, well, if Sloan had a weakness for them, 
so did she. She had had her heart torn out when her parents had 
been brutally murdered by her brother, a blonde-hair blue-eyed 
brother, and it was made even worse by his betrayal. His killing 
had begun her career as a hitman.
	"I know I'm going to hate myself for doing this," she said 
as she crushed out the cigarette. She got up adjusted her 
leather, pants today, and headed downstairs to where Buck was 
loading the van.
	"You done?"
	"Yeah," Buck replied. "We gonna do it?"
	"No," Mara replied. "We're not."
	"You're letting youre weakness get to you again, aren't 
you?"
	Mara stuck the gun in his face. "Yeah, but you don't have a 
problem with it do you?"
	Buck held up is hands in a gesture of defeat and headed to 
the room where the Sloans and their friends were being kept.
	Mara pulled her gun from the waist of her pants and began 
to unlock the door. "This is your lucky day..." she began.
	Someone grabbed her wrist and wrapped an arm around her 
neck. The next thing she knew, her gun was no longer in her hand 
and she was being held tightly from behind by Steve Sloan. "I 
agree," he said. "It is my lucky day."
	Buck started to pull his own gun out and Steve aimed Mara's 
at him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Steve said. Buck 
held up his hands and Jesse took his gun away.
	"If you were going to leave them alive you should have just 
left them locked up," Buck said angrily. "You are such an 
idiot."
	Mara struggled to get out of Steve's grip. "I would have 
thought you wouldn't be that strong after the beating Buck gave 
you last night," she said.
	"Yeah, well, I got a good night's sleep," Steve replied.
	The sirens could now be heard off in the distance.

	Two police were putting Buck into a car as Steve and the 
others watched from the open door of an ambulance. They brought 
Mara out in handcuffs and began to put her in a car as well. 
"Hold up," Steve said to the officer who held her arm.
	The officer stopped and turned Mara towards him. Mara 
looked at him defiantly.
	"Under different circumstances we might have been friends," 
Steve said. "Or more."
	Mara's appearance softened. "I know," she said."If I 
weren't a hitman."
	Steve nodded then bent down to kiss her. When the kiss 
ended, he nodded at the officer who finished putting Mara in the 
car.
	He walked back to join his father by the ambulance and 
shook his head. "Why is it that I always get attracted to 
killers?"
	"I don't know, son," Mark replied.