Final Breath

up for anyone else at seven o'clock in the morning. Ms. Sydney Jordan, to what do I owe the pleasure?'

'Caitlin?' she said, even though she recognized her voice. She needed to make sure. 'Is that you? Are you okay?'

'Yes, I'm doing great, Sydney,' she replied. 'Are you okay? You sound a little keyed up. My caller ID shows a 206 area code. Isn't that Seattle?'

'Yes--'

'Well, it's four in the morning there. What's going on?'

'Someone from New York just sent me a fax with this illustration of how to give the Heimlich maneuver. I thought you might know something about it, Caitlin.'

'No, I'm sorry, I--'

In the background, Sydney heard a doorbell.

'Just a second, Sydney,' Caitlin said. 'I've got someone at my door--'

'No, wait, wait!' she interrupted. She couldn't help thinking that perhaps this phantom stalker was just now paying Caitlin a visit. 'Are you expecting somebody?'

'Yes, my neighbor, Debi,' she said. 'We always take the subway together. Just a sec...'

Biting her lip, Sydney listened to her opening the door. 'Hi!' she heard Caitlin say to her friend. 'The coffee's ready. Guess who I'm talking to, Deb? Sydney Jordan!'

'Oh, come off it,' Sydney heard her friend say.

'Here, Sydney Jordan, say hello to Debi Donahue.'

'Hello?' Caitlin's friend came on the line. 'Sydney Jordan? For real?'

Sydney sighed with relief. 'Hi, Debi Donahue.'

'Oh my God, it's really you. Hey, is Sloan Roberts really as handsome in person as he is on TV?'

'Gimme,' Caitlin was saying in the background. 'Pour yourself a cup and open the doughnuts.' Then she came on the line. 'Sorry, Sydney. Anyway, I didn't send you a fax. I don't know anyone who would either. I can ask around in my class and at the high school.'

'That's okay,' Sydney said. 'But you're doing all right? Did the TV appearance lead to any nutcases calling you or stalking you? Sometimes that happens.'

'No, in fact, thanks to your Movers and Shakers piece, my class is twice its size. And remember how just after the segment aired we started getting all these donations? Well, I just found out last week, we have funding for the next three years.'

'Well, that's terrific news,' Sydney said. 'Listen, I don't want to keep you, Caitlin...'

As she wrapped up the conversation, Sydney told Caitlin to be careful, but she didn't say why. Caitlin would be taking the subway with her friend, and then she'd be teaching the CPR class at Chelsea High School in SoHo. She would be all right for the next few hours. Maybe she wasn't in danger after all.

After hanging up, Sydney wandered back to her office and started picking up the scattered papers from her Choking Detector file.

The network had assigned her to do this story because the rock star Via had choked on something while dining at a trendy SoHo vegan restaurant. One of the waiters had saved her with the Heimlich maneuver. Via couldn't be bothered with an interview, and Sydney had found the waiter to be not a very good subject--photogenic as all get-out, but slightly vapid and dull. She'd scrapped most of his interview footage and instead focused the piece on Caitlin, who had taught him the Heimlich and CPR in her class. At the time, those classes were about to be canceled due to lack of funding. Sydney had kept Via in the forefront of the piece, stressing that if it wasn't for Caitlin's class, the pop star would have choked to death.

Sydney found the contact number for the lifesaving waiter, whose part in the video short had been reduced to thirty-five seconds. His name was Troy Bischoff. If that strange fax wasn't about Caitlin, perhaps it was alluding to the death of the other Mover & Shaker in that segment.

It was 7:15 New York time, and Troy was a waiter who worked at night. He was probably sleeping, but Sydney took a chance and phoned him anyway. After four rings, an answering machine clicked on, and then a recording: 'Hi, this is Troy and Meredith,' the man and woman said in unison, cracking up a little. 'We're out--and about--so leave a message! Ciao!' The beep sounded.

'Hi, I'm calling for Troy,' Sydney said. 'This is Sydney Jordan. Sorry to be bothering you so early. Troy, I was--ah, thinking of a follow-up piece to that segment I did for On the Edge last October. I wanted to talk with you again. Could you call me as soon as you get this message? I'd really appreciate it...'

Sydney left her home and cell phone numbers, then clicked off the cordless. She set the phone on her kitchen table, and sat on one of the tall stools.

Though a lousy interview subject, Troy had enjoyed the attention. It hadn't been very nice to lying to him and getting his hopes up, but Sydney figured her proposing to him another shot on network TV would prompt a quick callback.

Unless Troy was already dead.

Sydney stared at the cordless phone in front of her. The manager at Kinko's had suggested she call the police. Where, in New York? And what would she tell them? That she wanted them to investigate who faxed a Heimlich maneuver instruction sheet to her in the middle of the night?

Joe was the only one she could turn to. He had friends all over. He probably knew another cop in New York who owed him a favor. He could find out if there were any new developments in the investigation of Angela Gannon's apparent suicide. Most important of all, if she told Joe about what was happening she wouldn't feel so all alone in this.

She glanced at the microwave clock: 4:18 A.M. Joe was up, probably showered already. For normal workdays, he always set his alarm for 6:07. That was her birthday, June 7th. She wondered if he'd changed his wake-up time since she'd left.

Grabbing the phone, she dialed her old home number. Strange, she'd just made two urgent, potential life-or- death situation calls, but this one made her the most nervous. Sydney's mouth was suddenly dry. She counted the ring tones.

After the third, she heard someone pick up on the other end: 'Hmm, yes, hello?'

It was a woman's voice.

Sydney quickly hung up.

Dazed, she set the cordless phone on the tall cafe table's glass top. Sydney couldn't move. The woman had sounded as if she'd just woken up.

Sydney checked the last number dialed. It was home, all right. She hadn't misdialed. Even after everything that had happened she couldn't picture him in their bed with another woman.

She didn't think Joe would return the call unless his friend told him about the hang-up, and he checked the caller ID. He told you he didn't want to hear from you, she reminded herself.

She truly didn't expect Joe to call her.

Yet for the next half hour, Sydney did nothing but sit and stare at the phone.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Meredith O'Malley lumbered up the stairs, lugging her medium-size suitcase, her purse, and a bag full of books she'd taken from her old room at home, among them, her high school yearbooks. She couldn't wait to show them to Troy.

Twenty-eight years old, Meredith was plump, with a sweet, dimpled smile and beautiful, wavy red hair. She'd just spent the weekend from hell at her parents' house in Pittsburgh. Her mother had driven her crazy. The only silver lining was that once she started telling Troy some of her mom's latest insanities, she'd be laughing about it. Maybe she'd get lucky and find that Troy had been unlucky last night. She didn't want one of Troy's 'breakfast club' conquests hanging around the apartment this morning.

Meredith hoped to find him still in bed and very much alone. Then she'd crawl under the sheets with Troy and they'd talk the rest of the morning. Maybe after that, they could go out for brunch together. They both had the day