A few minutes before that moment, Jasmine Love aka Jazzie Hunter was sitting in her bright yellow VW bug, trying not to shiver in the temperate rays of a late winter California sunshine.

For a February morning, the weather was unseasonably warm, and the scrubby tops of the tall gangly palm trees lining Harbor Boulevard swayed against an intense blue sky from the light breeze that blew in from the Pacific.

Without the top of the bug over her, the sun shone down, warm and gracious on her mass of confused raven curls, clamped haphazardly on top of her head with a hot pink chip-clip with teeth.

She had taken the precaution of toting huge dark sunglasses to hid the fact that she hadn't had time to put on any makeup but there was nothing that could be done for her naked lips.

Beside her sat the long-legged Nordic figure of Adam Stuart. He looked out-of-place, scrunched into the small space allotted for one normal-sized person on the passenger-side of the bug.

Jasmine glanced his way and smiled. This automobile was not made to accommodate tall humans. It was also part of the reason why she had put the top down, so that Adam would not have to crouch so much.

"Listen, thanks for coming to pick me up, Adam." Jasmine began, but he cut her off.

"No, don't be thanking me. Something is going down, Jazzie, and I don't want you to be alone right now. We got five members in our band, and three died in the space of two days and one night."

His pale blue eyes were cautious. "Something is badly wrong here. That's why the Chief wants you in the precinct office. We want to ask you some questions. Hopefully we can figure out what the situation is and how every thing went down."

"I hope you guys don't think I had anything to do with—"

"No, no. When these guys took their lives, they actually had people around them in the same house. Blake was first to go, and his roommate was home at the time. Ray's wife and the DJ was in the office working on some music stuff when he hung himself in the dance hall. Terry was at home with his wife and kids."

Adam shook his wheat blond head. "Believe me, you're not even a suspected suspect. We're just afraid you might be in danger so I'm gonna shadow you like a dog right now."

"Adam, you're the lead guitarist of our band. Aren't you afraid for yourself?"

He laughed. "I'm also a cop, Jazzie. It's my job to keep people safe. Right now, since we are the only ones left of this band, we are gonna stick together like a stamp to a letter."

Jasmine took a deep breath as she drove down the busy boulevard. "Randy called me last night."

"What did he say?"

"He wanted to quit being our band manager. I told him not to panic, and that although the situation was weird at the moment, we would figure something out."

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'Don't call me, I'll call you.' And then he hung up on me."

"Loser weasel." Adam cursed under his breath. When things got bad, the last thing a man should do is abandon his team mates, especially if one of them was a woman with a dwarf-sized cartoon car.

He had arrived at her house in his very visible squad car, ready to give her a ride to the station when she waved her hand in protest saying she didn't want her neighbors to think she'd gotten arrested or something. She had insisted they take her car, so here he was, scrunched up in a tiny yellow love bug.

They were stopped at a red light when a silver Jaguar honked its horns beside them, making Jasmine jump with fright.

It was a male driver on her side, wolf-whistling and trying to catch her attention. Jasmine ignored the guy as best as she could, acting as if she was blind and deaf. It was one of the hazards of driving with the top down, especially at a stop light in the middle of a busy business district.

"Lord, woman. Does this kind of thing happen to you often?" Adam glared at the offensive driver. "Maybe it's this cheese-color car. It's rather loud."

"It's not cheese color! It's a bright shade of sunflowers."

Adam laughed. "Sunflowers? It's a cramped cheese puff."

Jasmine said nothing. This was the problem with living on a limited income. Clothes and cars weren't the best quality or the prettiest shades. As long as the bug gave her no trouble, she closed her eyes to its loud color and closed her ears to the wolf whistles of the men around her.

Unfortunately, the guy chose this moment to get extremely obnoxious. She risked a glance at his direction and saw that his tongue was out in an offensive licking gesture.

What a dick-head.

Beside her, Adam shifted in his seat and pulled out his police badge, flashing it at the guy. Whatever perceived threat to the creep that Adam's gesture implied, it worked.

The guy turned pale as a sheet and turned his head away, pretending to admire a Shell gas station to his left.

At that opportune moment, the green light popped up. Jasmine floored the pedal and roared off ahead of the silver jaguar.

Adam laughed and was putting his badge away when a gasp tore from his throat.

He bowled over, heaving and gagging on something as if it was stuck deep within his windpipe.

"Oh God! Adam!" Jasmine screeched to a halt and turned into an empty parking lot of a supermarket. "What happened?" She turned to him and touched his back in a futile gesture of aid.

"I don't know." Adam whispered, his eyes tightly shut against some horrific pain. "I feel as if a linebacker had just rammed into my midsection and tried to yank a football out of my gut!"

"I'm taking you to the emergency room!" Jasmine announced and shifted into reverse, pulling out from the parking lot.

"I—I think I'm okay now." Adam put his hand out to stop her, but another attack made him put both hands to his head and groan in a sick voice, as if trying to shut out a horrible sound.

That did it for Jasmine. She took off, screeching down the street to the nearest hospital.