Grace burst through the roof door and skidded to a halt on the gravel topping. She looked around frantically for an escape; the door was the only way out. She rushed to the edge of the roof and looked over. Nothing. She tried another side and saw a fire escape landing one floor below.

There was no way she could jump, she needed a rope or a ladder, something. The roof door opened and instinctively she spun around and fired. The policeman stopped and looked with surprise at his chest then collapsed, blocking the door.

She ran over and made sure he was finished then, through the sheer necessity of invention, she stripped off his pants, belt and shirt, Knotting everything together, Grace used the belt to anchor her makeshift 'rope' to a fitting on the roof ledge then with sheer guts and adrenalin pumping, she lowered herself over the side.

The material began tearing and when she reached the end she was still about six feet from the rusty looking grillwork of the landing. The drop rattled her bones all the way to her head and back and she cried out from the pain of landing on one leg.

A moment of rest then a painful limp down the rickety stairs to another door. A wooden shim held the door barely open and cigarette butts littered the tiny stoop; someone used it for sneaking a smoke and Grace smiled her thanks. She made her way down the hall to another exit and from there down the stairs.

******

The police officers stood over the body of the unclothed dead man, scratching their heads.

"It's Kyle, she must have bushwhacked him."

"And took his clothes?"

"Yeah, I bet she's trying to get out passing as a cop."

"How, she never came by us. Radio down to the Sarge and let him know what we have here." The officer did a slow, cautious circuit of the roof and when he found the clothes, knotted and hanging over the side, he immediately radioed another message.

******

Grace couldn't believe it. None of the exit doors opened from the stairwell and she continued right down to the end and found the one door that did open, led her right back to the corridor where the dressing rooms were. She peered down the hall and then made her way to Desdemona's room. Inside she found Parker and Desdemona sitting together, his arm with a large white bandage over the bicep, and her holding an ice pack to her forehead.

"Oh, Jesus!" Parker sat up. "How did you get off the roof?"

"Shut up and stay right there." Grace listened at the door then pushed the lock button. "Where's the Detective?"

"Hospital."

"He's alive?"

"And kicking, lady. You are in the deepest of-"

"Save it, funny man."

"What are you going to do?" Des asked. "There are police all over the theatre."

"What I came to do in the first place, Miss dancing star." Grace sneered. "The cops don't bother me, they're up on the roof wondering where I went."

"What the hell did we ever do to you? We didn't even know you." Parker was getting agitated.

The sound of excited voices outside made Grace warn Parker to shut up and she leaned against the door, listening. In the split second her attention was diverted, Parker lunged from his seat and threw a body block that sent them both crashing into the portable rack of costumes.

Des got up and ran to the door, unlocking it as a bullet splintered the wood next to her face. She cried out and threw the door open, screaming for help.

Parker thought his wounded arm would fall off as he tried wresting the gun from Grace's hand. Sequined clothing scratched and tangled them as they thrashed about on the floor. Grace hit Parker with the barrel on his shoulder and the pain shot through him like a red hot spike.

He groaned and rolled away, trapping her leg under his body. She struggled to a sitting position and brought the gun up level with his face, her grim smile spreading as his eyes widened.

The shot was deafening and Des screamed, stumbling back as the officer barged into the room. Grace flew sideways awkwardly, still trapped under Parker. Her shattered face tangled in the material of a pink, Mary Quant mini skirt. The blood from her wound, mixed with the running black hair die, stained the dress in the shape of a burgundy rose.

The officer approached cautiously, kicking the Beretta away and offering a hand to Parker.

"Oh my God." Des stared at the mess and her eyes swung over to Parker, who was gritting his teeth and looking down at the women who almost killed him. "Parker, are you alright?"

He nodded and thanked the officer.

"Oh Parker, I thought- I thought you were-"

"Going to come up with a joke?" His smile was grim, as the wound began to pound painfully.

She moved to him and hugged him tightly around the waist, her hair covering his face.

"Uh, Des, you've got heels on. Your hair-" He eased her back and looked in her eyes. "I'm okay, I'm okay."

"Oh God, I thought-"

"You said that already."

They moved aside as more police entered the room, followed by the paramedics who had enjoyed a busy day. Parker allowed them to remove his jacket, tear his new shirt and see to the 'scratch' in his arm. He smiled bravely and winked at Des.

"Do you still love me?"

"If you have to ask, you're not entitled to know." She winked back.

**********

Detective Holt sat on the lounge under the shade of the big umbrella in his backyard. His medical leave was almost over and he was enjoying the company of Parker and Des . . . particularly, Des. They had finished with all the police investigations, given their reports and signed off. The Barkluster/Tabor/Mickey and several other killings had been put to bed and they were giving Holt a courtesy visit to thank him for his help.

"So you two are an item now." The statement was supposed to be a tease but the delivery was a touch sad.

Des placed her hand on Parker's. "Who'd have thunk it, eh?"

"It was a battle, I'll say that." Parker shook his head.

"Nice to see to see true love." Holt took a swig from his beer and ran an absent finger around the rim.

"Love is blind, Detective. Marriage is the eye opener."

Holt laughed and his stomach shook, giving him a mild spasm from the gunshot wound.

"You really are a piece of work, Nevens."

"A piece of work I could handle, I wouldn't want the whole chunk."

"Parker." Des shrugged an apology. She stood, pulling Parker up with her. "We just really wanted to let you know that we appreciated all you did for us and hope you are back to work soon."

"Thanks, and good luck to you both. Maybe I could wangle a ticket to one of your performances sometime."

"Good as done, Detective." Des and Parker waved goodbye and left the yard.

Holt stared after them, wistfully.

******

Des moaned deliciously as Parker rolled away with a huge gasping sigh. The sheets were kicked off the bed onto the floor and the pillows were crushed and jammed up against the headboard.

"Aaah, Parker, you came so close." She giggled as he sat up in surprise, speechless.

"Close! That was a world beater!"

"Maybe otherworld."

He dove back on top of her and they wrestled playfully for a minute then stopped, noses almost touching.

"Des, I am truly the happiest man alive just being with you." He dusted her nose with his. "I want you to marry me."

"You want a pole dancer for a wife."

"No, I want a hit show, leading lady dancing star, slash pole dancer."

"Parker, who could resist so rich a compliment."

"You mean that, Des. I'm dead serious."

"That's a first, and yes, I mean it."

"You're sure now. 'Cause if you think you'll regret this in the morning, we can stay right here until this afternoon."

"Did I make a mistake?"

"No, Des, you don't make mistakes. You just thought you did."

Parker hit the floor on her side of the bed and was hammered with a pillow until he called out in surrender. He reached up and pulled her down on top of him and settled comfortably under her warm body.

"I love you, Des." The kiss went on, and on, and on . . .

The End