The Torino skidded to a screeching halt, throwing clouds of dust around the truck that blocked its path and surrounding the red car until it was barely visible. Inside, Hutch braced himself against the dashboard, grateful that he’d been driving with Starsky long enough to avoid whiplash or a forehead cracked against the windshield during maneuvers like these.

   Exasperated, his partner thumped the steering wheel of the Torino. "We had him!" he spat angrily, glaring at the truck that had cut them off from their pursuit. Fortunately, looks really couldn’t kill, so the driver survived to wave an apologetic hand out his window and pull the truck out of the detectives’ way.

   "Well, at least we know he’s still alive," Hutch pointed out, with a sense of reasonableness that he really did not feel. He glanced around at the alley, which now seemed to be clear. "C’mon. Let’s cruise around and see if we can pick him up."

   He knew it was a futile suggestion, but both of them needed to do something.

   Muttering under his breath, Starsky nevertheless turned the key in the ignition. The big car roared to life, and he threw it into reverse, preparing to back out of the small dip in the road and point them in the direction Callendar had been heading.

   At that moment, the radio beeped to life, followed quickly by the voice of the dispatcher: "Zebra Three, Zebra Three...I have an urgent message for Sgt. Starsky from Dr. Judith Kaufman."

   Starsky braked for a moment as both he and Hutch glanced down at the radio in surprise, then up at each other. Starsky shrugged and took his foot off the brake, depressing the clutch and shifting the Torino into first. "You take it," he instructed. "I’m busy."

   Hutch lifted the microphone. "Control, this is Hutch. Starsky’s a little occupied right now...can’t you give me the message?"

   "Negative, Zebra Three," the voice came back. "She asked specifically for Starsky."

   Lifting an eyebrow, Hutch glanced over at Starsky, who shrugged again. "Somethin’ I should know?" Hutch said teasingly.

   "Got me," Starsky responded, turning the Torino out of the alley. He pulled over to the side of the road and took the mike. "Control, this is Starsky. Go ahead."

   "Dr. Kaufman asks that you contact her immediately. Land line."

   Yet another look passed between the two detectives; this was getting weirder by the minute. "She couldn’t tell you that?" Starsky said in bemusement, then pushed the button again. "Can’t you patch me through, Control? We’re in pursuit of suspect..."

   "Negative," the radio voice repeated, growing a little bit testy. "Land line - - Dr. Kaufman made that very clear."

   "Control..." Starsky began, but Mildred cut in.

   "Can’t tell you anymore than that, Zebra Three," she said crisply. "I’m just the messenger. Control out."

   "What the hell - -?" came from the passenger seat as Hutch frowned down at the radio.

   "My sentiments," Starsky agreed. He glanced up, saw a pay phone about a half block away, and turned off the Torino’s engine. "Be right back."

   "I’m comin’ with you," Hutch said, yanking at the handle on his side of the car and shoving the door open.

   "Aw, c’mon, Hutch," Starsky said with an exaggerated wink and wiggle of his eyebrows. "Can’t a guy get a little privacy?"

   "You both shoulda thought of that before she sent her message over the air," Hutch pointed out, joining his partner on the sidewalk.

   They reached the phone booth and Starsky dropped a dime in the slot, then punched in the number of the City Hospital. Grinning at his impatient and perplexed partner, he leaned against the back of the booth and asked the operator for Judith. Seconds later her professional but decidedly weary voice came onto the line.

   "Starsky, Judith," he said, his tone amused. "Didn’t I tell you not to call me at work? Now Hutch suspects somethin’..."

   "I’m sorry for all the mystery, Dave," Judith said tightly, and her tone and the use of his first name instantly chased the smile from Starsky’s face. "But I’ve been talking to Meredith, and I have some bad news."

   "Whatever, you got it," Starsky assured her. "What is it?"

   Outside the booth, squinting in the bright sunlight, Hutch was watching his partner intently.

   "Is Hutch there?"

   Starsky’s gaze darted up to his partner and immediately away before Hutch could catch his eye and pop those eyebrows up in a query he wasn’t ready to answer. Casually, he responded, "Yeah."

   "Is there some way you can...get rid of him somehow?"

   Starsky was beginning to have a bad feeling about this. His eyes flicked back up at Hutch and this time held. "Hey, partner...how about a cup of coffee?"

   "What?" Hutch’s face registered utter amazement. "Starsky...are you nuts?"

   The dark blue eyes met his. "Do me a favor, buddy," Starsky said, and his voice had a final, quiet tone that said he would not be argued with. "Don’t ask questions. Just do it."

   With a snort of disgust, Hutch threw up his hands, then wheeled and started down the sidewalk. Spotting a small diner across the street, he veered off and loped through the traffic, the speed of his stride communicating just how annoyed he was.

   "All right, he’s gone," Starsky told Judith, watching the tall figure disappear into the tiny storefront. "Now, you wanna tell me why all the cloak and dagger shit?"

   Though he had a feeling he knew.

   "I don’t know any easy way to tell you this, Dave," Judith said, her words growing thin and strained with exhaustion and emotion. "Since we don’t know the precise incubation period of the virus, we’ve been going back periodically and checking the samples we took at the beginning. Meredith just told me that one of those samples has come up positive." She paused, then continued, her voice trembling. "It’s Hutch, Dave...Hutch is infected. He’s got the virus."

   All the air was immediately sucked out of the phone booth.

   Starsky was profoundly grateful that Judith had insisted he send Hutch away. For just that brief moment, he could let his face and his body experience the full impact of her news. He sagged against the booth wall, throat working, hand clenched around the receiver. Images flashed through his mind, of Jake’s collapse, of the tortured breathing and obvious pain of the pickpocket they’d collared at the airport, of the swift and certain death of every individual who’d caught this thing so far.

   "David..." came Judith’s voice, as if from the end of a long tunnel. "Starsky? Are you still there?"

   "Yeah," Starsky breathed into the phone. "Yeah, I’m here."

   "He’s got to come in, right away," she said urgently. "And you need to be tested again, just to be sure."

   "Yeah," Starsky repeated.

   The rush of pain and fear fled, leaving utter numbness in its wake.

   "David? David?" Again, Judith’s voice plucked at him from the other end of the phone, reminding him that he couldn’t falter now...that, now, in fact, the situation was intensely, intimately, inescapably...personal.

   "Yeah...yeah, Judith, we’re on our way," he managed to say, swallowing a lump that felt like a cantaloupe in his throat.

   "Dave...do you want me to..."

   Her voice faltered, and Starsky remembered the exchanges that had already passed between his partner and the intelligent, somewhat shy physician. There had never been anything that would be obvious to the casual observer, just the occasional touch that lingered a little longer than usual when Hutch helped her into the car or guided her through a door, a particular flavor of both their smiles, and a certain tone in Hutch’s voice...

   There was a rap on the side of the booth. Startled, Starsky glanced up to find the blond detective standing before him, a cup of coffee in hand, eyebrows raised, irritation written all over his face. Raising a finger, Starsky turned his back to his partner.

   Hutch’s eyebrows hit new heights at this virtually unprecedented move.

   "No," Starsky said quietly into the receiver. "I’ll take care of it."

   He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned back to the booth opening, hanging up the phone along the way. Hutch shoved the cup of coffee at him, and rocked back on his heels, hands planted on his hips.

   "So?" he prodded. "Wanna tell me what _that_ was about?"

   "Hutch..." Starsky looked down at the cup of coffee, recognizing that he had absolutely no desire for it, and set it on the shelf beside the telephone.

   Hutch followed the move, took a closer look at his friend’s expression...and his anger instantly melted away. Taking a step forward, he laid a hand on Starsky’s arm. "Starsk? You okay?"

   Starsky didn’t respond; he didn’t yet trust his voice.

   "Something’s happened," Hutch guessed, eyes traveling over his partner’s face. "What?" he urged gently.

   "Judith said they rechecked the blood samples they’ve been holding, just to see if anyone who was exposed before turned up with this thing."

   "And someone did," Hutch surmised instantly.

   Starsky nodded.

   Hutch waited, then when nothing else was forthcoming, he prompted, "Who?"

   Again, Starsky was silent. Hutch could see his partner struggling for composure.

   He saw the eyes blinking rapidly.

   The throat working.

   The hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

   And Starsky didn’t need to say anything more.

THE END