Huggy's restaurant was low-key tonight with easy conversation and soft R&B music.

Seated on stools at the bar, Starsky and Hutch watched in pride (if not a little amusement) as their sons swaggered in wearing their new police uniforms.

Female heads turned in their direction, come-on glances, flirty tongues, causing grins to spread across the fresh, eager faces of Davis and Kent, who looked to be thriving on the attention beneath their blasé demeanor.

Starsky chuckled out loud to Hutch. "God, were we that cocky?"

Hutch sipped his beer. "You were."

"And you weren't?"

"I was the cute charmer."

"Cute and horny, you mean."

"I was cute. You were horny."

Davis and Kent nodded a greeting to their fathers.

"Hi, Dad," they said together.

Hutch raised his glass of beer. "Join us?"

Kent looked around as if his father were speaking to someone else. "You mean us?"

"Of course we mean you."

"But . . . " Davis was on the verge of sputtering, and, not to mar his virile, nonchalant image, leaned toward his father's ear. "Dad, we're in uniform."

Starsky whispered back. "You're not on duty. It's okay."

Davis looked at Kent in silent communication. Finally, regretfully, Kent said, "You know that, and we know that, but everybody in here doesn't know that."

Hutch looked at Starsky. "I don't remember being that pure."

"You weren't."

"Hey," Kent consoled, "how about we take you up on it later tonight?"

"Hold it," Davis winked to Kent, "should we uniformed officers not be consorting with Internal Affairs? Might give us a bad name at the precinct."

"Yeah," Kent grinned. "I think we should keep our distance."

Hutch smiled. "You boys are too big for your britches."

Davis laughed. "That's what all the girls say."

A dimpled blonde with a cheerleader figure approached the bar and snuggled in between Davis and Kent.

"My friend and I," she said nodding to a shapely redhead at their table, "wanted to inform you that we're on the um . . . " She pressed her bosom against Davis' arm. ". . . most wanted list, and wondered if you'd be interested in . . . " She ran her tongue around the rim of her flirtatious mouth. " . . . grilling a couple of suspects?"

Starsky cleared his throat and was suddenly interested in looking at his watch, while Hutch looked heavenward and whistled a small tune, but both were clearly enjoying the scene.

Kent blushed while Davis pressed himself ever-so-slightly against her. "Well um . . . that sounds very tempting, but my partner and I have other plans."

Her eyes ran up and down Kent's tall, blond frame. "I bet you do."

"Raincheck," Davis told her, but she was already returning to her table.

"What are your other plans?" Starsky asked him.

"Me," said a girl's soft voice behind them.

They looked around to see Tasha Brown approaching them in a short, clingy dress which was black and accentuated her trim but curvy body.

"Honey Bear," Davis and Kent said in the same voice as they both kissed her on the cheek and offered her their arms.

She poked them in the ribs. "You guys. I'm too old for you to be calling me that nickname now."

"BIRTHDAY GIRL OVER HERE!" Kent announced to the room.

"BIG EIGHTEENTH!" Davis added.

The cheerleader blond and shapely redhead threw jealous, spiteful looks in Tasha's direction.

Huggy joined them, slipping a dainty gold locket around her neck. "Happy birthday, baby," he said kissing her neck. "You sure you want to spend your big night with The Hardy Boys?"

"Hey," Kent grinned to Huggy, "we've been waiting for this all our lives. Right, Frank?"

"Well, at least two years." Davis put an arm around her. "You know you want us. You can't resist us. You'll never want another man after tonight. Didn't I tell you that girls can't resist a uniform?"

"Whoa there, fellas," Huggy teased. "You're getting a might carried away."

Tasha grinned. "I can handle these two ponies, Daddy."

Huggy looked from Kent to Davis. "You just make sure you take care of my little girl."

"Oh, we will," Davis assured with a lecherous arch of an eyebrow.

Kent scolded his brother with a look. "We really will," he told Huggy. "She's our Honey Bear."

Huggy winked at Starsky and Hutch while speaking to Kent. "Now why do I trust a Hutch just a wee bit more than a Starsky?"

"No fair," Starsky complained. "Starskys always get the bad rep."

"Don't worry," Tasha said as she led her dates toward the front door with Davis on her left arm and Kent on her right, "I'll bring them home with their reputations intact."

Starsky, Hutch, and Huggy raised their glasses as the younger set made their exit.

"Eighteen," Huggy said almost sadly, his eyes on the door long after they were gone. "Graduates from high school next week. On to nursing school. Bright and shiny as a penny."

"Sweet girl," Starsky told him. "Is Mama Bear coming to her graduation?"

"Well, Starsk, seein' as how you were gone and all for all those years, you never got to know the Missus Bear. She missed kindergarten graduation, band recitals, junior high graduation, talent shows, beauty contests, awards ceremonies, school plays, and the like. Her interior decorating took her all over the world. Didn't have time for the little domestics, if you know what I mean. At first I'd make up excuses for Tasha, cause it hurt me to see my little girl hurt, you know? I'd tell her that her mama was sick, or that she missed her plane, or that her credit cards were stolen and she didn't have any money to fly. Whatever. And then one day Tasha told me to quit fakin', that she didn't like what her mama had turned me into, which was a liar. So I quit makin' excuses for her mama. And you know what her mama sends her in the mail yesterday?"

Starsky and Hutch just looked at him.

"A fifty dollar bill in a card that says, Happy Graduation, Tasha. Sorry I can't make it, but I have to negotiate a decorating job at a chain of fine London hotels. Call you when I can." He drank his beer. "Kira had her faults, but she never missed Kent's big days."

"Nope," Starsky said softly into his glass. "Just Davis' life."

Huggy closed his eyes. "Oh, man . . . sorry, Starsk."

Hutch squeezed Starsky's forearm.

Starsky's smile was a little bitter. "Our choice in women leaves a lot to be desired."

"Hey," Hutch said as he looked down. "It wasn't all bad."

Starsky's smile was turning sweeter. "Couldn't have been. Look at those kids."

Hutch looked toward the door again, seeing two attractive women in nurses uniforms approaching the bar.

"Speaking of choice in women, Starsk . . . "

"I'll take the blonde," Starsky said rising to his feet.

"I'll take the brunette," Hutch said rising too.

As they walked toward the ladies, Hutch nudged Starsky's arm. "Think we'd have a better chance if we were wearing a uniform?"

"My favorite guys," Tasha said as both Davis and Kent pulled her chair out for her at the nice French restaurant. "The brothers I never had."

They had changed from their uniforms--Kent into black corduroys and a white shirt, Davis into faded jeans and a dark blue shirt.

"Brothers?" Kent asked in disappointment. "Is that what we are to you?"

"Well . . . sexy brothers," she amended.

"We'll change your mind," Davis assured her. "The night's not over yet."

After dinner, they took her to a movie, where she sat between them, both having an arm around her. Whenever one of their hands wandered too far up her leg, she smacked it and giggled, "Shoo, fly."

After the movie, they took her dancing, and both danced with her.

"Thanks, Frank," she whispered with her arms hooked comfortably around Davis' neck as they slow-danced. "This is the best birthday I ever had."

"Anything for you," he whispered back, his hands sliding down her back and briefly touching the swell of her behind, then back up again.

Kent rose from his place at their table and tapped Davis politely on the shoulder. "May I cut in?"

Davis stepped back and allowed Kent to step into the dance.

Tasha smiled up at him, allowing her hand to slide down his shoulder and arm in a new way. "Joe, you treat me like a princess."

"You are a princess," he told her as his lips brushed against her hair. "Our princess."

For a moment they stopped dancing and stood embracing in the middle of the floor, their eyes closed, losing themselves in the music and the mood.

"Psst," came a drunken whisper in his ear. "Nigger lover."

Kent reacted so fast he didn't even see who it was that had made the remark. He simply turned and gripped the man's throat in one hand, driving him back against the wall and holding him there, squeezing hard.

"Apologize to the young lady,"

"Gah---kah---"

"What was that? Couldn't quite hear you."

Everyone on the dance floor stopped to stare.

Davis put his arm around Tasha and turned her away from the sight of the man.

She put her head on his shoulder. "God," she whispered.

"Gah---kah---"

Kent released the man's throat and the man leaned over, holding his throat and gasping for breath. "Sorry," he rasped.

"Look at her when you say it."

The man raised up and looked at Tasha. "Sorry."

Kent grabbed the man by his hair and pulled him toward the front door, then slung him outside.

Applause met him as he made his way back to the table. And Tasha hugged him with tears in her eyes.

"I love you," she whispered, and pulled Davis into the hug too. "I love you both."

It was after midnight when Davis and Kent drove Tasha home and escorted her up the stairs to her apartment.

"Thanks, guys," she smiled at them. "Thanks for everything. I'll never forget this night." She squeezed Davis' hand first. "Safely home. Rep still intact." Then Kent's hand. "And my honor defended. What more could a girl ask for?"

At the same time Kent kissed her right cheek while Davis kissed her left.

"Now when you go off to college in the fall," Kent told her. "You find a guy that'll treat you like we do."

"And we'll check him out," Davis added. "Make sure he's worthy."

Davis and Kent turned to go down the stairs. "Goodnight, Honey Bear," they said together.

She watched them leave.

"My boys," she sighed as she fished around in her purse for her key.

They were . . . what?

Achingly beautiful.

Sexy, sensual.

Playful, sincere.

Volatile, serene.

One together.

"Frank and Joe," she mused with a shake of her head.

She found the key and slid it into the---------

"Nigger."

That terrible liquor whisper. And a heavy, sweaty body pressed along the length of her, crushing her, his hard erection rude if not cruel against her, his callused, rough hands kneading, poking, pawing, pinching, grabbing, twisting, hurting her tender, young skin.

"You want to put out with two white boys?" the whisper came panting into her ear. "Let's make it three."

She opened her mouth to scream but his hand clamped it shut, closing off the only link between herself and help.

He smashed her face into the wall and the last sound she heard was her dress ripping from her body.

Closing time at Huggy's.

There were a few lingering customers. Davis and Kent were pleased (if not amused) to see their fathers sharing an intimate drink with the two attractive nurses in a corner booth.

Huggy was wrapping up, counting the money, paying his waitresses and sending them home while polishing the bar, all at the same time.

Starsky and Hutch smiled and raised a hand to their sons.

The nurses smiled and waved too.

Kent helped himself to a draft beer and drew one for Davis.

"Huggy," the young blond said, "we knew better than to go home without a de-briefing."

"Got that right, my boy."

Davis pulled his car up alongside Kent's curb to let him out.

"See you in the morning, Kent."

Kent looked at his watch. "It's not one yet. Want to come in and look at this new profiling software of mine?"

"What profiling software of yours?"

"Yeah, I'm going to ask Captain Shaw if we can use it at the station. And I have another program of different facial features and physical descriptions that'll help sketch artists when they're doing their sketch interviews with people."

Davis stared at him. "This is your software?"

Kent shrugged. "Of course."

"YOU developed it?"

Another shrug. "Of course."

"'Of course'? Not everybody does that kind of stuff, Kent. That is too cool. Sure I'll look at it. Come on."

Both got out of the car and went inside Kent's apartment. The blond sat at the computer desk in the living room, pulling a program up on the screen.

"Let's call dad and Hutch," Davis said. "They'd love to see this."

"They'd be asleep."

"Not if they took their lady friends home."

Kent grinned. "You got a point there, Frank. Call."

Davis moved to the phone, and that's when he heard the sound at the front door.

A soft sound of movement.

Davis almost dismissed it as imagination, but then Kent looked toward the door too.

"What the hell?" Kent asked as he rose from his desk and walked toward the door.

When he opened it he stumbled back into Davis and would have fallen if Davis hadn't grabbed his arm.

Tasha was huddling on her knees in the doorway, her dress shredded and hanging in black, blood-stained strips on her naked, barefoot body. Her trembling hands attempted to keep the torn pieces of material around her breasts as she hugged herself and sobbed, bleeding from too many places--a rip in her scalp where he'd jerked her hair, a bloody nose, a cut lip. And a small puddle of blood on the floor between her legs.

"Oh God!" Kent choked as he sank to his knees beside her.

Her swollen eyes. He had punched her in the face again and again.

Her hands violently shaking as they reached for him, her puffy lips split and quivering.

She couldn't speak. Her mouth worked to say something but no sound escaped her constricted throat. Her eyes pleaded, begged, for something. For it to be anything different. For yesterday. For a bad dream. For escape.

"Shock," Davis whispered, and ran for a quilt in Kent's bedroom.

Kent's arms reached out to encircle her, but he didn't quite know how to hold her.

The damage was all over her, and he didn't want to hurt her anymore than she already was, and he'd never seen her nude before, or on her knees, or bleeding, or mute.

He held her as gingerly and as carefully as possible.

"Oh God," he breathed over her head to Davis, who was putting the blanket around her shoulders. "Who did this? Why would somebody? What--"

He was holding her tighter now but didn't realize how hard.

"Help me," she mouthed silently without a voice. "Please."

"Oh FUCK!" Kent cried into her hair as he rocked her. Rocking himself as well as her, shaking with rage.

Davis had never seen his brother so distraught. It physically hurt him to see Kent so devastated, and Davis was appalled at the intensity with which he could feel his pain.

"Kent, don't," he pleaded as he put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Please. Let's help her. We gotta help her."

Kent finally nodded, trying to compose, and he and Davis gently moved her inside the apartment, Davis calling the police and ambulance, Kent helping her to the sofa, lifting her into his arms and carrying her when she could no longer walk.

He settled her onto the sofa and sat with his arm around her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered over and over. "Tasha, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She was only able to press her wrist against her mouth.

He saw where she'd broken a polished nail or two fighting her rapist.

"I'm calling Huggy," Davis said as he began punching the number on the cordless phone.

"No!" came her startled, warbly voice. "Please!"

Kent held her closer. "Sshh. Honey, he has to know. He's your dad. He'll help you."

She shook her head no. "Kent, please! He always told me to be careful! If I hadn't . . . if I hadn't worn that dress!"

Davis stopped dialing and put the phone down, then came to Tasha and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his.

"Tasha, listen to me. You didn't do anything to deserve this. It's not about your clothes, or how sexy you are. You could walk stark naked down the street and nobody has a right to touch you or hurt you."

Her chin trembled as she searched his dazzling blue eyes for the truth.

"He raped me!" she wailed as she reached for him.

Davis put his arms around her and rubbed her back. "I know, honey."

"Daddy!" she sobbed into his shoulder. "I want Daddy!"

Kent nodded and reached for the phone, swiping at his eyes and clutching his short blond hair. In his distress, he mis-dialed twice and had to start over.

"Huggy?"

At first Kent's voice betrayed only a fraction of the agony he felt.

"Uh . . . Huggy? It's Kent. Uh . . . you better . . . " He broke down completely and he sounded like a little boy having a tearful tantrum. "You better get over here to my house right now! Tasha's hurt!"

He clicked off the cordless phone, not wanting to discuss it any further over the telephone.

Davis brought a first-aid kit over and opened it, dabbing and pressing gauze against her bleeding scalp.

Kent closed his eyes and held his hand up. "Davis, don't. We shouldn't disturb anything."

"Fuck you," Davis said calmly as he continued to dab.

Kent grabbed his wrist and spoke through clenched teeth.

"I told you to leave her alone. You want to jeopardize her case?"

"SHE'S NOT A CASE!" Davis yelled at him, and stomped to the corner where he stood brooding.

"Oh God," Tasha said covering her face with her hands. "You've never had a fight before. Don't fight over me."

Kent squeezed her closer. "We're not fighting, Tasha. We're just upset. He wants to help you and I won't let him. If the police are going to get this guy . . . evidence can't be disturbed. And since Davis and I are cops, the defense could say we tampered with it. That includes anything on your body. There's nothing I'd rather do than help you into a nice bath, tend to your cuts and put medicine on them, and then wrap you up in a big soft bandage . . . but I can't."

He licked his lips. "But I promise to make it up to you."

She still wept into her hands. "Daddy can't see me like this. He's never seen me like this."

"Hey, he loves you no matter what. You didn't do anything wrong."

She pulled the blanket tighter around. "Kent," she sniffed. "I'm not a virgin anymore. He stole that. He stole that. I didn't want to have sex with him. I was saving myself for . . . for just the right boy. It wasn't his to take."

He stroked her back. "I know."

"I tried to do everything right," she whispered. "My whole life. I was a good girl. And now . . . no man will want me."

"No," Kent told her softly. "That's not true. You're still a good girl. And there'll be plenty who will want you."

He didn't know what else to say. He knew his words were a foreign language to her. This was beyond what he could handle. He and Davis had never worked a rape case before, he'd never known a rape victim before, and this introduction was just too personal and painful. He never, ever, in his wildest dreams, expected his eyes to see Tasha any way but whole and cheerful. Unblemished. Unscarred. Untouched by the cruelest fingers of the world.

For a long time the only sound in the living room was the ticking of the clock.

He just held her.

And her initial shock was waning as sheer physical and mental exhaustion washed over her. He felt her body melting from tension to lethargy against his side. She was closing down, shutting out, turning inside herself.

Kent remembered Davis doing that--nearly collapsing with fatigue--one day after he'd vented and ranted and raged about the cruelty of his foster parents. Afterward, he'd slept for hours. Physically sapped.

Her head dipped low as she welcomed the numbing sensation.

If she could just shut it all out, pretend it never happened, turn back the clock to today. She wouldn't have gone out with Davis and Kent, she wouldn't have danced with a white boy and drawn attention from that man, she wouldn't have allowed Davis and Kent to leave until she was inside her apartment, she wouldn't have worn that short dress, he wouldn't have said anything at the dance, he wouldn't have followed her, he wouldn't have brutalized her body as if it were his PROPERTY----------!

The sound of footsteps as Huggy, Starsky, and Hutch made their way up the stairs. A small stampede.

Davis met them at the door, his face wooden and pale, his electric eyes void of life itself.

"Watch the blood," he said in a flat voice. "Evidence."

Huggy stared down at the small puddles of blood, transfixed. Starsky and Hutch looked at Davis.

Davis was blocking the doorway, his hands on either side of it.

"Give her a minute," he whispered, but Huggy, unable to, growled and pushed him aside.

Davis took his place in the corner again, hiding his face to the wall. "Raped," he whispered, and Starsky stood with him, hand on his son's shoulder and rubbing gently.

"We should have escorted her inside," Davis mumbled, then punched the wall with his fist. "We didn't take care of her like we prom . . . "

"Davis, you can't blame yourself. That man is responsible. Not you. No one else but him."

Hutch walked with Huggy to the sofa, then turned completely around and looked down at the floor, leaning heavily on his cane.

"Does she know who it was, Kent?"

Kent cleared his throat and tried to strengthen his voice as he answered his father's question. "She hasn't said."

Huggy was speechless as he slowly sank to one knee in front of his daughter, his eyes moving over her battered, blanketed body as if she were someone unfamiliar to him.

He saw the gold necklace, her birthday present from him, dangling between her hands, the locket open to reveal the picture of himself he had put inside for her.

His voice was a strained whisper.

"Baby?"

She wouldn't--or couldn't--look at him. She sank lower against Kent, and he held her that much closer.

Huggy reached for her.

"Here, baby . . . "

Her voice was only a faint little-girl whine as she hid her face against Kent's shoulder.

"Don't look at me, Daddy. Please."

His hand gently and cautiously touched the side of her face, his jaw set, blinking back tears, his eyes flinty-hard. He wanted to say something but didn't know what.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she told him as she rubbed the locket between her fingers. "I'm not your little girl anymore."

She pressed the locket to her lips, which were too raw to purse into a kiss, but she did it anyway.

Huggy took her face tenderly in his hands and kissed her forehead. "You'll always be my little girl."

She shook her head no and couldn't look him in the eyes.

"I'll take care of you, Tasha. We'll make it. Some how, some way, we'll . . . "

Hutch leaned over and touched the girl's cheek. "Honey, they'll want to examine you at the hospital, take pictures, ask you a million questions, get a description. It'll be hard, but you can do it."

She seemed to be in another world.

Uniformed officers and paramedics were now filling the room, crowding around Tasha, checking her over, asking her questions, nudging Huggy aside, who was looking around the room at all the men as if in a daze.

Not one female paramedic, not one female police officer.

All these men.

Tasha was now curled into the blanket, the material over her head, rocking back and forth, still hiding her eyes, her voice soft and muffled but saying nothing sensible.

"WHERE THE HELL IS HER MOTHER?!" Huggy exploded at the room. "SHE NEEDS HER MOTHER!"

Hutch put an arm around Huggy and walked him into Kent's bedroom, closing the door.

"Here, buddy," Hutch said as he sat down on the bed with him. "Let them take care of her for a while. We'll see her at the hospital."

Huggy leaned forward and pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead.

"What did I do wrong, Hutch? What the hell did I do to bring this on my daughter? Why'd he pick her? What did she ever do to him?"

Hutch squeezed his neck. "Nothing, Hug. You didn't do anything. She didn't do anything."

Hutch bit his tongue to keep from saying the words that threatened to pour from his mouth.

Oh, he'd say them. He'd say, "Huggy, I know this is bad, but she'll survive. She's strong, like you. And mother or no mother, she'll get through this. With our help. We'll all help her. We'll all be her mother."

But he could say the words later. They would be a slap in Huggy's face right now. What Huggy needed was to just feel the pain of it all. His words would only be sickly sweet and trite if he said them at this moment, and Hutch wanted them to mean everything to Huggy when he spoke them.

Tasha couldn't let the sweet men in her life see her on an examining table in just a paper gown, her feet in stirrups, legs apart, bracing her body for each touch, each instrument, each question.

She didn't want to spoil the image they had of her. She wanted to look attractive in their eyes, if that were possible.

So she made them wait down the hall as she endured the exam and the questioning and the pictures. Alone.

They offered to have a female victim's advocate in the room with her, but she declined.

"If my guys can't be here, then I don't want anybody else."

The doctor said she was brave, the nurse said she was brave, the shrink said she was brave, the cop said she was brave.

But she didn't feel brave.

She felt very weak and afraid.

Captain Shaw, a big-bosomed redhead with eyes like chipped green ice and the heart of a Teddy bear that she worked diligently to hide, entered the waiting room. She knew all five men well. Starsky and Hutch, because, as a young policewoman, she had looked up to the detectives, had modeled herself after them in every way she could. And was the only officer who challenged Captain Dobey on relieving Hutch of his duty when Starsky was presumed dead, and who challenged him again later when he officially closed the kidnapping case on the dark-haired half.

She knew Huggy because he had been such a key, and a friend, in most of their cases. A silent partner, giving help and friendship to whichever detective needed it the most, sometimes both at the same time, but especially when one ended up hurt or in the hospital because of the job. His presence at times unnoticed or under-appreciated, sometimes taken for granted, sometimes overlooked. But always there. Always supportive. A constant. Placing himself in danger many times, unarmed, untrained, unsolicited, just to help his friends.

She knew Davis and Kent, of course, because she was their superior, but also had watched them grow up, Kent especially, (Davis since the age of fourteen) before her eyes. As a young boy Kent had always looked so lonesome, as if something were missing from his life, when he wandered around the precinct, questioning the officers, learning all he could about police work. Borrowing books from the officers and promptly returning them as if to a library. It so, so reminded her of the early days when Starsky was missing, she'd see Hutch wander around the precinct without him, and he looked so alone, so incomplete, like an unfinished masterpiece. Beautiful but sad. And who remained a beautiful but sad masterpiece until the day Starsky returned.

And the day she saw the thirteen-year-old blond boy bring his brother Davis into the police station, she knew what it was, and who it was, that had been missing from his life. His other half. The rest of him. He wasn't as bashful, he smiled more, like a flower blossoming open. Life and joy. Davis brought out the best in him--his nurturing side, his playful side, his commitment to the values he held. And Kent brought out the best in Davis, who, she knew, had an unfortunate childhood. It was Kent who helped Davis to trust again, showed him he was worth love and risk and loyalty, danger and death, showed him that not all people were hateful and hurtful.

Kent's giving, helpful nature was just what the mistrustful, wounded Davis needed. It was give and take. Push and pull. But so natural. As if their brotherhood, their love, had been pre-determined, encoded in their genes.

And Captain Shaw knew how much Tasha meant to Davis and Kent. They had brought her to the precinct on many occasions, had tried feverishly to get her to commit to the police academy when she was old enough. But she stubbornly stuck to her nursing guns.

(Somebody has to nurse you when you get all banged up by the bad guys, she'd tell them).

"I'll talk to Tasha," Captain Shaw announced to the men in the room. "And then I'm turning the case over to two female detectives."

Davis glared at her. "You're assuming she's terrified of men now?"

"No, I'm assuming she's terrified of the rapist and she's saying she can't remember what he looks like. We have a rape case to investigate and I don't want it jeopardized in any way. If using a woman puts her even a fraction more at ease, helps her answer one more question, strengthens at least one of her memories or statements, even one detail in a description, then it'll be worth the effort."

Kent nodded. "Can't argue with that. We want that bastard caught."

"Nope," Huggy said as he looked down at the floor. "I want that bastard dead."

Captain Shaw slid a chair over to Tasha's hospital bed and sat down.

The girl, although clean, bandaged, and medicated, looked positively wiped out--too fragile for questioning, but it had to be done. If they waited until she was stronger, precious time would be lost.

"I brought some mug books," she said as she handed Tasha one of them. "And I know you don't feel like more questions right now----"

Tasha placed the mug book on the bed beside her. "I've already told the cops I don't remember what he looked like. It happened so fast, and I was scared, and . . . "

"But if we don't get this man, Tasha, he'll go on to hurt someone else. You have to help us. Help yourself."

Tasha picked nervously at her torn finernails. "I just want to forget about it."

"You can't forget about it, Tasha. You can fake it, push it aside, minimize it, but you'll never forget it. You have to deal with------"

Suddenly Tasha flung the mug book at a dresser across the room, where it knocked a water pitcher and some glasses and a box of tissues to the floor.

"I ALREADY DEALT WITH IT, OKAY?! I DEALT WITH IT ON THE FLOOR RIGHT OUTSIDE MY APARTMENT DOOR!"

Two nurses came running into the room to see what the commotion was all about.

Tasha was crying into her hands.

"Captain Shaw," one of the nurses said, taken back, "what in the world?"

Captain Shaw rose to her feet.

"I'm sorry," she said kindly to Tasha, and then to the nurses, but left the mug book on the floor.

"Jenette is here," Hutch told Huggy when he brought two cups of coffee into the waiting room.

Huggy ignored the cup of coffee Hutch was holding out for him.

"Well that's just the best news I've had all day," he seethed as he turned to see Tasha's mother entering. "What the hell are you doing here?"

She had been crying. Her business suit was wrinkled, her hair mussed, but she didn't seem to notice any of it as she ran screeching and clawing at her ex-husband.

"You bastard! How could you let that happen to our daughter?!"

Huggy was in no mood. He grabbed Jenette's arms before they could strike and held her against the wall.

"You listen to me, woman, and you listen good. I've raised MY baby for eighteen years and you have the gall to come here and accuse ME of being a bad parent? We're here for her, Jenette. She never once asked for you. She doesn't need you anymore. And you're crazy if you think I'm gonna to let you walk into her hospital room and show her what a good little mommy you can be all of a sudden. You know why you're here?"

Her chest was heaving in anger. But so was his.

"Guilt," he told her, and the word came out like a dart. "So you just try to see her. She's in a delicate way right now, and you being here's only gonna add to her heartache. Why was it her daddy and not her mommy had to tell her about the birds and the bees? Put womanly pamphlets around the house where she'd find 'em? Buy her feminine things for her, talk to her about being dumped by a snot-head boy for the first time? Why, Jenette?"

She didn't answer.

Huggy released her arms and stepped away, facing Hutch so he wouldn't have to look at her again.

"So, woman," he finished, "you just take your busy little ass on out of here and back to London, or I'll get a restraining order so fast it'll make you dizzy."

Jenette looked from face to face, then switched her purse from one shoulder to the other on her huffy way out the door.

The waiting room was silent after her departure.

It was Davis who spoke first, softly, to Huggy. "Couldn't you just give her one more chance, Hug?"

Huggy looked at the young Starsky and saw a forgiveness and hope (you longed for your mama, didn't you, Davis? You were blind to her faults and shortcomings, you were in heaven that one day you had her in your life, and you want that for Tasha too, but boy, it just can't be, it can never be, she's not you, and you're not her, and it kills me to see you wanting that so bad for her, because I know you still crave that for yourself, and you'd have given her another chance, and another, and another, and you'd have found a way in yourself to keep her pure and beautiful in your eyes) that for an instant he was ashamed.

But only for an instant.

"Sorry, boy," Huggy whispered heavily as he patted Davis' shoulder. "I have to do what's best for Tasha."

"Mind a visitor?" Hutch asked Tasha as he poked his head in the doorway of her hospital room.

The girl had the TV on but Hutch doubted she was really watching it. Just something to distract her from her real thoughts. She looked a little stronger, and a little more relaxed.

She found a small smile for him.

"Always for you, Hutch," she said quietly. "Come on in."

Hutch came into the room and saw the mug book on the floor.

"Wow," he said picking it up. "Captain Shaw said you were mad, but she didn't say you were this mad."

Tasha folded her arms across her breasts. "I told her I couldn't remember what he looked like."

He carried the mug book over to the bed. "Can I sit down?"

She gestured toward the chair Shaw had pulled over to the bed.

He sat down and held the mug book on his lap.

"The female detectives sent you, didn't they?" she asked him. "I told them I couldn't remember what he looked like, so they sent you."

"No, honey, it's not like that. I don't need female detectives telling me I need to come in here and help my sweetheart through this." He looked down at the mug book. "We all love you, Tasha, and we hate what happened to you. Since you're a girl and I'm a man . . . what I mean is, if you want me to go I will, but . . . I care about you, and if this happened to my little girl . . .I feel like you are my little girl . . . we need to catch your rapist-----"

"Stop," she said covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. "Don't say that word."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Could you maybe start with just his build? Tell me how he was built?"

She shook her head no.

"Was he white? Black? One step at a time, okay? One questioin at a time."

She refused to answer.

"Tasha, please . . . the more time that goes by . . . the less chance . . . that's what you want, isn't it? You don't want us to catch him?"

She picked at her broken fingernails again. "I'm afraid," she whispered.

His hand covered hers, and he was grateful when she didn't pull it away.

"Tasha, I've never told you this before, and I don't know if it'll make much difference to you, but I was attacked one time by some nuts who saw me consoling Starsky at Terri's grave and made what he wanted to out of it. He and his buddies beat me up pretty bad, called me things, wrote 'No fag cops' on my stomach. Threatened to hurt Starsky if I turned them in." He cleared his throat, his voice getting quieter. "I wouldn't dream of comparing your experience to mine, but I was afraid too. I told Starsky I couldn't remember what they looked like. So . . . I know a little bit about how you feel. It felt safer not telling. Safer for me. Safer for Starsky. But I was confused, Tasha. Pain and fear and shock . . . it confuses you, makes you think and act irrationally, makes you close up and do what feels safest. Not what's best. But what's safest."

Her hand was trembling on top of his. "Hutch, he'll get me. Maybe not today. But maybe a year from now? Or two? Or when he'd get out of jail? He'll be mad if he goes to jail. He won't hurt me if I stay quiet. I'm afraid he'll kill me."

"So he wins? You're willing to let him get away with it? Honey, you're denying yourself safety, and peace, and justice, and all the good things you deserve. He doesn't deserve the protection and freedom you're giving him."

"If he has to win, he has to win. I don't want to die."

He took her hand in both of his and squeezed, holding it to his lips and kissing it. "Tasha, do you know what a rapist is? It's not about sex, honey. He didn't want you for your sex. He is a man who can't relate to women in the usual, normal way. He has to control them. He thinks he has to communicate with them sexually. Forcefully. He thinks WOMEN want to communicate, always, sexually. He thinks sex is intimacy. He doesn't see rape as harmful or violent. He thinks women want that, and deserve that, and secretly ask for that. He doesn't love women or respect them, so he controls them, with sex, fear, physical power. He's actually afraid of them. He thinks men are better than women. That men get to call the shots. He's inadequate, socially, sexually, in every way. He thinks women are haughty, teasing him all the time. That they laugh at him. He doesn't think he's hurting you. Rape is arousing to him. He can't get off unless he has violent, controlling sex. It has nothing to do with your body or your sensuality."

She watched his face carefully, hanging on every word.

"He's a bag of dung, Tasha, who doesn't care one iota that he put you in the hospital and raped your mind and your soul and your heart and your personality along with your body. He is power and control. You are fear and silence. It's a dance. A pattern. He will perpetrate again and again, on innocent girls like you. Because of the fear and silence that his power and control generates. He's got you where he wants you. He expected you not to talk. He feeds on this. He's done this before, but he'll swear the girls "made" him do it, that if they hadn't dressed a certain way, made him feel a certain way, looked a certain way, acted a certain way . . . he blames you for what he did. He says it's a woman's fault if she's raped. He says she brought it on herself, and that's just not true. You didn't invite him up those stairs, you didn't invite him under your dress. He doesn't know you're blaming yourself, but if he knew, he'd be glad. He doesn't care about your body, or your tears."

"Did he . . . your attacker . . . ever come after you?"

"No. Because he's a fucking coward beneath all that violence. And so is your rapist."

A tear slipped down her cheek. "Will you help me, Hutch?"

"I'll sit with you in the courtroom, I'll teach you self-defense if you want, I'll take you to counseling, help you write the bastard a confrontational letter, go with you to the prison to tell that bastard off if that's what you want. Put an arm around you when you're afraid. I'll be by your side. And not just me. But your dad, and Kent, and Davis, and Starsky. We're all here for you. We're all your family. I know you're scared to death, but we're right here, and we won't let you go through this alone."

She raised her head. "Will you stay here with me when I talk the policewomen?"

"I won't leave you unless you tell me to."

He held the mug book out to her, waiting to see if she'd take it.

"I don't need that," she said softly. "Davis and Kent know who it is. He was the man that used a racial slur at the dance."

Davis and Kent tried to hold Huggy back when the female detectives brought the rapist into the precinct, but Huggy had gotten in a few good punches to the handcuffed man's face before the young officers could pull him away.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" Huggy roared at the suspect, who merely smirked as if unperturbed.

"Easy," Kent said as he clutched Huggy's arm.

"I'LL KILL HIM!"

Captain Shaw stormed over to Davis and Kent. "Get Huggy out of here."

Davis shot her a hot look while trying to control Huggy. "Why don't you get RAPIST out of here? Like to another precinct? Because if he stays here, I just may kill him myself!"

The female detectives quickly hustled the suspect to another room and out of sight.

Shaw jabbed her finger at Davis. "You and your partner take Huggy out of this station house right now before I suspend you."

Davis tore his badge from his uniform and tossed it at her feet, then he and Kent escorted Huggy from the station.

Huggy was losing control as he allowed them to walk him to the car.

"Oh my God," he wept as he trudged on weakening legs. "Fuck this whole thing. My baby gets raped by that PRICK, and HE gets a vacation in the pokey. It ain't fair. It ain't fair. He should die. He killed my baby's spirit. He killed it. He should go to the chair for that. She can't never get it back."

"Hey," Kent said rubbing his back. "She'll get it back. She's got spunk. Like her daddy. We'll help her get through. We'll help her get it back."

"Just don't do anything crazy like have him killed," Davis warned him. "Think we don't want to see the cocksucker dead too? We know you know people who could get to him in prison. Don't do that, Huggy. He ain't worth it. And Tasha needs you. She needs you out here with her, not behind bars. Okay? Okay? Promise us that."

Huggy could only shake his head back and forth. Since he didn't say he WOULD have the man killed, Davis and Kent took that head shaking to mean he wouldn't.

Davis and Kent testified to the incident that happened at the dance, and several witnesses from the dance hall backed them up.

The defense attorney asked Tasha to explain how she'd invited the defendant upstairs for a drink, how she'd seduced him, teased him, taunted him, right outside her front door and then told him to leave just as he was at the height of his passion, how she'd begged him for rough sex----------------- and Huggy moved out of his seat as if to go after the defendant, or his attorney, it was hard to tell who he was maddest at, but Hutch pulled him back down.

She'd been prepared for the callous questions and answered with calm dignity and honesty.

The trial itself seemed to give her strength, even though she was frightened. It helped her acknowledge the crime and violence that had been perpetrated against her, gave her a sense of power and control over her own life and circumstance.

She was relieved and pleased when the jury found him guilty. She'd heard so many horror stories from Hutch about how rapists often walked away free after their crimes because of a slight technicality.

Although her external wounds eventually healed, it was the internal ones that hurt the most, and the ones that were the hardest to mend. But she joined in a group of rape survivors, girls just like her who had been violated in similar ways, and she found understanding and support from them.

Although no one could replace the special men in her life, or the help and tenderness they gave her, she found solace and intimacy with the girls in the group. A few became fast friends she would keep for years to come.

Broken wings mending and learning to fly again.

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