--SNIP-- Scott Peterson could barely take his eyes off Amber Frey, in her tight, charcoal suit and ratty hair dyed a shocking shade of home-brewed blond. Amber. Sweetie. How close we came! It had been nearly two excruciatingly long years since Scott laid eyes on that pale, slightly yellow-tinged skin and dazzling white overbite. Since he heard that tiny, childlike voice pester him about her kid, her needs, her fears, dreams, hopes, blah, blah and blah. But then, it was also that long since Scott gazed on those gazelle legs that yesterday ended in pointy-toed black sling-backs with three-inch spike...