The tall, dark-haired girl stroked the knife's edge with her fingers, aroused by the very real danger of slicing them open on the razor-sharp steel. Surgical steel. How appropriate.

This caress was a familiar one to the young woman; it touched a chord deep within her. She repeated it over and over as she pondered the next move in her self-made drama. As she toyed with the knife, she mused that she was both producer and director of the play about to unfold-a play that took center stage each time she finished selecting her next leading lady.

Her face, suffused with passion, could have belonged to a woman embracing her lover. Indeed she did love the weapon. She loved its heft and balance, its smooth, shiny surface. She relished the snick it made as it popped open, and its graceful, yet utilitarian shape. She loved the ultimate power over life and death it gave her. But most of all, she loved the delicious facial contortions of agony and horror that she could summon at will from her lead actress, just by means of the artistry with which she wielded the blade. Like now. Let the play begin.

Her breath quickened as the sharp point pierced the bound girl's cheek. Slowly, with fanatical precision, she carved a wandering groove from the base of her eye to her jawline. The girl screamed.

"Just speak the lines I want to hear, and this act will be finished," she said in a silky voice. Her perfect teeth gleamed in a grotesque grin. "I promise."

* * *

On Spofford College's softball field, women warmed up in anticipation of practice. Balls flew back and forth or skittered across the ground between fielders. The sky sported tufts of snowy clouds, dotted across a blanket of robin's-egg blue, a perfect day for softball.

Angela Wedgeway listened to the dull whap as leather struck leather. She had run through her warm-up calisthenics and was anxious for practice to start. She took a deep breath of the light aroma of lilac on the early spring air, mixed with the scents of chalk, dust, and oiled leather. Even her sweat smelled good. She welcomed the physical exertion, a healthy change from hours of sitting in college classes.

Tryouts had been held a few weeks earlier, and the girls who survived the cuts had gelled into a decent team. The first baseman, second baseman, shortstop, and catcher were returning, but most of last year's starters had graduated, and Coach Ann Palmer was faced with another year of rebuilding. Over the past few weeks, the team had undergone a series of intense fielding practices. Today Palmer had said she wanted to concentrate on batting, to sharpen the eyes of her known hitters and to see what other talent might be brought to light.

Angela picked three bats out of the rack and slung them over her shoulder. A new movement on the infield caught her eye. She watched the slim back of a tall, dark-haired girl who walked across the ball field toward the coach. The newcomer wore the same style of clothes some of the others did, jeans and a T-shirt. But her wide shoulders and narrow hips moved differently, more a swagger than a walk. Angela had to admit her tight jeans looked better than sweatpants.

"First dibs on the new player," Marva Derby said from right behind Angela's shoulder.

Angela jumped and poked an elbow back, forcing an "oof" from Marva's chest. "You're welcome to her, Marv, she's not my type."

Marva stepped up next to Angela. She feigned surprise with her large brown eyes, and a wide smile graced her dark-skinned face. Intricate cornrows kept her hair in place as she bobbed her head. "Hmmm, I don't know about that. I saw her from the front. Tall, boyish figure, short black hair, blue eyes to die for-looks to me like just your type. Matter of fact, soon as I saw her I said to myself, 'Self, leave this one alone, she's perfect for Angie.'"

"Sure you did. She must look like a dog for you to back off."

Angela enjoyed kidding Marva. The woman made a pass at almost any female she thought might be gay, but seldom hooked up with anyone, even willing ones. Just testing the waters, Marva called it. Looking for her soul mate.

Marva laid her hand against her chest and looked aggrieved. "Girl, stop making me sound like a predator. You know I just like to flirt." "Right. And I just like to play with food, not eat it."

"Good one. I'll have to remember that. Hey, she and the coach are headed this way. And she's no dog. Wait 'til you get a good look at her." Coach Palmer walked straight to them. Her companion was half a foot taller. Marva had been right on target with her description. Raven hair, cut very short in back and longer on top, capped a triangular face. Long-lashed, pale blue eyes, a slender, high-bridged nose, and chiseled lips, coupled with a slightly arrogant expression, gave the girl a haunting beauty.

And Marva's right on another count, Angela thought. She's no dog.

"Marva, Angela, I'd like you to meet Shelley Brinton." They shook hands, and Palmer said, "Angie's one of our pitchers and also our first baseman, and Marva's our catcher." Shelley nodded to each of them as she lifted a hand to push some strands of hair off of her forehead.

"Shelley just transferred here. She tells me she was a starter on her last softball team. She missed the tryouts, so we're going to take a look at her today."

"What position do you play?" Marva asked.

The low, throaty voice was icing on the cake. "I pitch," Shelley said and looked straight at Angela, "and play first base."

"Looks like you two will have to fight it out, huh?" Marva said.

Angela tightened her lips, but she didn't say anything.

"That's the idea," Palmer said as she looked from Angela to Shelley. "Competition should be good for both of you. And for the team."

"I sure hope so," Shelley said smoothly. Her eyes had fastened on Angela's and hadn't let go.

Angela returned the stare. She could play the intimidation game, too.

Coach Palmer smacked her hands together. "Well, let's get started. Shelley, you go on out to first base. Angie's leading off today's batting practice." She looked toward the pitcher's mound where one of the girls was warming up. "Bobbie Jean will pitch."

Angela headed toward a spot where she could swing the three bats to loosen up her shoulders. "Good luck," Shelley said and jogged off to first base. Marva already had her shin guards on. She went to the bench to snap on her chest protector and pick up her mitt and face mask. She ducked past the backstop and squatted behind the plate just as Angela stepped up to it. "Come on, babeee! No batter, no batter. Show me some heat!"