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convey to anyone that she is missing. You must phrase your enquiries to suit this purpose."

Lincoln's expression hardly changed. "Just how much do you want me to find her?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Cort snapped back.

"Your're tying both my hands behind my back," Lincoln said bluntly. "If I can't even ask someone if they've seen her, how can I possibly make progress?"

"That's your problem," retorted Cort. "Our retainer will be very generous. We expect a very discreet level of performance from those who work for us. We expect the best-and we pay for it."

Lincoln nodded. Cort reached into his pocket and brought out a check. He slid it across the top of the desk. Lincoln had to fight to keep the emotion out of his face. It was enormous! He'd have had to work two years for the Police Department to make that amount of money.

"There'll be your expenses on top, of course," Cort's smile was amused and Lincoln hated him even more. It was enough to have to work for the man, but to have to know that the other knew how much he needed this job was downright humiliating.

"She never did drive herself before," said Poole, the old, grey- haired black who manned the gate in the late afternoon at the studios, "which is why I remember her going off."

"Must have given you a surprise, eh?" Glen Lincoln chuckled.

"Why?" the old man bristled. "I seen them all, you know. I seen every big star come through this gate."

"Yeah," agreed Lincoln. "But how did you know it was her? Every girl in the world dresses like Angie Saunders these days."