Explanations were coming faster. It was no wonder the police wanted him
badly. They had a perfect device to use against criminals, which was all
they were concerned with, and they couldn't use it as long as the
circuit was in him. It made sense, but that kind of logic was
deadly--for him.

"I'll face it," he said. "I'll take whatever charge they hang on me. It
shouldn't be more than a few years. You can use the time to take this
damn thing out of me. Only I want a guarantee first."

She got up and stood with the light behind her. It was deliberately
intended to distract him. Under other circumstances, it would have.

"If it were a small circuit, over just a fraction of your body, I could
cut it out," she said. "But the way it is, I can't. It would kill you."

At least she was honest about it. And he still didn't know what she
meant when she had written, with his hands in the apartment, that she
would help him. He would have to find out.

"I can smash the machine," he said. "That's the other solution."

She leaned against the wall. "You can't. And neither can I, though it's
technically my machine. It's in the police department with an armed
guard around it at all times. Besides, the machine can defend itself."

He looked at her without understanding. It didn't sound right. He was
sweating under the makeup and part of it was coming loose.

"Then what did you mean when you said you'd help?" he asked. "You
promised, but what can you do?"

"I never promised to help." It was her turn not to understand. Her hand
slipped down and so did the robe.

She was lying to him, had been lying all along. She never intended to
help, though she said she would. The purpose? To lead him into a trap.
She'd been successful enough. He looked up in anger, in time to see an
object hurtling from her hand.

It struck him on the side of the head, hard. Some of the makeup chipped
and fell off, but that was less important than yanking out the tangle
gun. He fired twice, once at her feet and once at her shoulders. He had
aimed at her head, but the shot went low.

[Illustration]

Her face was still pretty, though no longer indifferent or so strong.
"What do you want?" she screamed. "Why don't you leave me alone? I can't
help you. Nobody can."

She was standing there rigid, not daring to move. The robe rippled in a
breeze from the vent and the tangle stuff gripped it and the fabric
tore. She'd stand there a few more hours and then top