What Child Is This?
by
Rebecca York


Dear Reader:
Silhouette Intrigue are delighted to bring you the latest in Rebecca
York's exciting series of boo~3 Light Street.

It looks like a charming old building near the renovated Baltimore
waterfront, but inside 43 Light Street lurks danger.  xtnd romance.

In this, and future 43 Light Street books, Rebecca York will spin
spine-tingling thrillers, eerie psychological suspense and good old
adventure stories--all laced with the passion and romance that you
e~pect from Silhouette.

We hope you'll enjoy this and all the other books coming from Intrigue.
Please write and let us know your thoughts.

Jane Nicholls Silhouette Books PO Box 236 Thornton Road Croydon

Surrey

CR9 3RU

What Child Is This?

REBECCA YORK

TSILHOUFTTF

DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was
reported unsold and destroyed by a retailer.  Neither the author nor
the publisher has received any payment for this book.

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the
imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone
bearing the same name or names.  They are not even distantly inspired
by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents
are pure invention.

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in
part in any form.  This edition is published by arrangement with
Harlequin Enterprises II B.  V.  The text of this publication dr any
part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the
written permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of
trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated
without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or
cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar
condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser.

First published in Great Britain 1996 by Silhouette Books, Eton House,
18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 ISR

Ruth Glick and Eileen Buckholtz 1993

Silhouette, Silhouette Intrigue and Colophon are Trade Marks of
Harlequin Enterprises II B.  V.

ISBN 0 373 22253 X

Made ~ printed in Great Britain

43 LIGHT 8TRE

ET

4O7

Dear Friends,

We're glad you could join us today--there's so much news to catch up
on. We're really happy Abby Franklin is back at work part-time and that
the lab work showed she and Steve had no permanent damage from their
exposure to Omega.  The first of October, we had a baby shower for
their daughter, Shannon.  She got enough gifts to stock a toy shop! 
Even Steve, Cam, Jake and Jason showed up for the festivities-or maybe
it was just for the cake and cookies.  On the subject of food, last
month Jo O'Malley and Laura Roswell organised a food, blanket and toy
drive in conjunction with Silver Miracles Charity.

In case you didn't make it to the ceremony, Sabrina Barkley and Clan
Cassidy had a beautiful June wedding outdoors at their hundred-year-old
house in Ellicott City.  (You ought to see how lovingly they've
restored the place!  ) Sabrina's wildflower bouquet and matching
flowers in her hair were absolutely gorgeous.  Of course, the Cassidys
went to Scotland for their honeymoon to find the places from their
past.

Mac McQuade and Katie Martin-McQuade missed today's party because they
left last week on a Medizone Labs research trip to the Amazon rain
forest.  But Noel and Jason are staying closer to home.  They've bought
a lovely Cape Cod on Gunpowder River, north of Baltimore.

Everyone welcomes newcomer movie director Jessica Adams who has opened
Inner Harbour Productions.  It's rumoured that she's soon going to be
filming an exciting movie in Baltimore.  We hope you stay in touch by
reading Jessica's story, Midnight Kiss, available later this summer.

The Women of 43 Light Street

This is what they've said about 43 LIGHT STREET:

On SHATTERED VOWS:

"Superlative suspense that will make the hairs on the back of your neck
stand up and scream for help ... a strong love story to win your
heart."  ~'

On WHISPERS IN THE NIGHT:

"York makes you think twice about turning out the lights and closing
your eyes, in this masterfully plotted novel of romantic suspense." 
~'

On ONLY SKIN DEEP:

"Another hell raiser The tension is at fever pitch, with a strong
romance and a cunning mystery."

On TRIAL BY FIRE:

"A mind-blowing concoction of black magic and timeless romance that
will fire your imagination and sear your soul."  ~'

On HOPSCOTCH:

"An electrifying foray into hi-tech skullduggery and sizzling romance."
 9

On CRADLE AND ALL:

"Clever, crafty ... a superlative foray into heart stopping suspense,
daring adventure and uplifting romance."

Romantic Times (U.  S.  A.  )

This is what they're saying about Rebecca York:

"Rebecca York delivers page-turning suspense."

--Nora Roberts

"Rebecca York's writing is fast-paced, suspenseful and loaded with
tension."

--Jayne Arm Krentz

"A true master of intrigue."

--Rave Reviews

"No one sends more chills down your spine than the very creative and
imaginative Ms.  York'!"

--Melinda Heifer, Romantic Times

Chapter One

Guilty until proven innocent.

Pressing her lips together, Erin Morgan squinted into the fog that
turned the buildings on either side of Light Street into a canyon of
dimly realized apparitions.

"Guilty until proven innocent," she repeated aloud.

It wasn't supposed to work that way.  Yet that was how Erin had felt
since the Graveyard Murders had rocked Baltimore.  Ever since the
murderer had tricked her into framing her friend Sabrina Barkley.

Sabrina had forgiven her.  But she hadn't forgiven herself, and she was
never going to let something like that happen again.

She glanced at the purse beside her on the passenger seat and felt her
stomach knot.  It was stuffed with five thousand dollars in
contributions for Santa's Toy and Clothing Fund.  Most were checks, but
she was carrying over eight hundred dollars in cash.  And she wasn't
going to keep it in her possession a moment longer than necessary.

Erin pressed her foot down on the accelerator and then eased up again. 
as a dense patch of white swallowed up the car.  She couldn't even see
the Christmas decorations she knew were festooned from many of the
downtown office windows.

"" Tis the season to be jolly.  " She sang a few lines of the carol to
cheer herself up, but her voice trailed off in the gloom.

Forty-three Light Street glided into view through the mist like a huge
underwater rock formation.

Erin drove around to the back of the building where she could get in
and out as quickly as possible.  Pulling the collar of her coat closed
against the icy wind, she hurried toward the service entrance door, the
key ready in her hand.

It felt good to get out of the cold.  But there was nothing welcoming
about the dank, dimly lit back entrance--so different from the fading
grandeur of the marble foyer.  Here there were no pretensions of
gentility, only institutional gray walls and a bare concrete floor.

Clutching her purse more tightly, she strained her ears and peered into
the darkness.  She heard nothing but the familiar sound of the steam
pipes rattling.  And she saw nothing moving in the shadows.  Still, the
fine hairs on the back of her neck stirred.

"LouT' she called out, wondering if the superintendent was making his
rounds.  When no one answered she bolted into the service elevator and
pressed the button.

Upstairs the paint was fresher and the floors were polished.  But at
this time of night, only a few dim lights held back the shadows, and
the clicking of her high heels echoed back at her like water dripping
in an underground cavern.

Feeling strangely exposed in the darkness, Erin kept her eyes focused
on the glass panel of her office door.  She was almost running by the
time she reached it.

Her hand closed around the knob.  It was solid and reassuring against
her moist palm, and she felt some of the knots in her stomach untie
themselves. With a sigh of relief she kicked the door closed behind'
her, shutting out the unseen phantoms of the hall.

Reaching over one of the mismatched couches donated by a local rental
company, she flipped the light switch.  Nothing happened.  Darn.  The
bulb must be out.

In the darkness she took a few steps toward the file room and
stopped.

Something else was wrong.  Maybe it was the smell.  Not the clean scent
of the LITTLE Christmas tree she'd set up by the window, but the dank
odor of sweat.

She was backing quietly toward the door when fingers as hard and lean
as a handcuff shot out and closed around her wrist.

A scream of terror rose in her throat.  The sound was choked off by a
latex glove against her lips.

Someone was in her office.  In the dark.

Her mind registered no more than that.  But her body was already
struggling, trying to twist away.

"No.  Please~" Even as she pleaded, she knew she was wasting her
breath.

He was strong.  And ruthless.

Her free hand came up to pummel his shoulder and neck.  He grunted and
shook her so hard that her vision blurred.

She tried to work her teeth against the rubbery palm that covered her
mouth.

His grip adroitly shifted to her throat.  He began to squeeze, and she
felt the breath turn to stone in her lungs.

He bent her backward over his arm, and she stared up into a face
covered by a ski mask, the features a strange parody of something
human:

The dark circles around the eyes--the red circle around the mouth--the
two dots of color on his cheeks--wavered in her vision like coins in
the bottom of a fountain.

The pressure increased.  Her lungs were going to explode.  No.  Please.
 Let me go home.  I have a little boy.  He needs me.

The words were choked off like her life breath.

Like the rapidly fading light.  She was dying.  And the scenes of her
life flashed before her eyes.  Climbing into bed with her parents on
Sunday morning.  First grade.  High school graduation.  Her marriage to
Bruce. Kenny's birth.  Her husband's death.  Betraying Sabrina. 
Finishing college. Her new job with Silver Miracles Charities.  The
holiday fund-raiser tonight. They trickled through 'her mind like the
last grains of sand rolling down the sloping sides of an hourglass.

Then there was only blackness .  "HEY, MAN, YA SURE WERE awesome in the
'91 All-Star game," a pint-size voice piped up.

"Thanks," Travis Stone replied as he looked into the freckled face of
the next kid in line--one of several hundred fans who had waited in the
St. Stephens High School gym since 9:00 a.  m.  to see him and a
half-dozen other players.

Although Trav had spent six months on the sidelines, the fans hadn't
forgotten the Orioles' first baseman who'd hit over twenty home runs a
year for the past ten seasons.  The adoration in the youngster's eyes
brought a lump to his throat.

The boy's hands shook as he pushed a Topps baseball card across the
table. Trav signed the front.  "You play ball?"

"Ye~h, second base for the St.  Stephens travel team."

"The travel team.   Pretty good."

They talked about the youngster's budding career for a' few more
minutes, and Trav tried not to shuffle his running shoes under the
table.  He'd agreed to this appearance nine months ago, but he would
have ducked out if he hadn't had other business in town today.  Just as
he finished the last autograph he looked up and recognized Jake
Wallace, sportswriter for the Baltimore Sun, advancing on him like a
tiger who'd cornered its next meal.  So much for ducking the press.

"Trav.~ What's new?"

"Nothing.  Why don't you interview one of the other guys?"  He gestured
toward the Orioles' team members sitting together at another table.

Ignoring the advice, the reporter pulled out a notebook.  " " Just
answer a few questions for my Sportsbeat column.  "

Trav thought about refusing.  But he couldn't hide forever, and Wallace
was probably as good a guy as anyone in the local press.

"Okay.  But they're about ready to lock up here."  He stood, stretched
his jean-clad legs and worked the kinks out of his shoulders.

Wallace, a former NFL player who'd gotten out of football after a knee
injury, was watching him.  "How's your back?"

Just for good measure Trav pressed his palms against the base of his
spine and arched his shoulders.  His back was the cover story for why
he'd missed most of last season.  "All things considered, not too
bad."

Outside, the December sun cut some of the chill as they walked down a
tree-lined street.  Trav thrust his hands into the pockets of his
leather bomber jacket.  He hated lying.  But the thought of the real
truth spread across the headlines made his stomach clench.

"Listen, Trav, I can help you out if you let me."  "Yeah?"

"Let's quash the rumors."

"What are they saying?"

"Drugs--we got a tip you were in a detox center out West.  We could
never substantiate it, though."

Trav whirled to face the reporter.  "That's a doggone lie, and I'd
better not see it in print."

"Okay, okay.  You know I got to ask.  You're going to play next
season?"

"I'm going to try."

"Any info on the off-season trades?"

With the change in subject Trav felt the muscles in his shoulders relax
a notch.  "I've heard Lemand's close to signing one of the NL's best
free-agent outfielders."

"Who?"

"Sorry, Jake, that's all I can say."  He stopped next to his red
Corvette, climbed inside and carefully closed the door.  Some reporters
would have stood there banging on the glass until he drove away.  Jake
had more class. After a moment he headed down the sidewalk.

Trav waited until he'd gone.  Then he climbed back out of the Corvette
and rapidly walked the few blocks to the center of town.  Reaching Main
Street, he began to weave his way through the throng of holiday
shoppers clogging the brick sidewalks.  He spoke to no one.  In fact,
he was barely aware of the crowds, the Christmas music blaring from the
loudspeakers, or the festive decorations in the shop windows.  All his
attention was focused inward.  He had a heap of thinking to do, and a
good place for that was down by the water.

This late in the year, the wharf was almost deserted.  A lone sailboat
braved the sharp wind blowing across the water.  Travis stared
wistfully at the graceful craft, imagining that the man at the helm was
making an escape.  He wished he was on the boat, and that it was taking
him away to never-never land.

He recognized the fantasy for what it was.  Wallace had made him
realize there wasn't much point in stalling.  Probably he should call a
press conference and announce he was retiring from baseball at the age
of thirty-one and get it over with.

His face contorted.  Out of old habit he struggled to rearrange his
features in ease anyone was looking at him.  Then he gave a sardonic
laugh.  Fourteen years later and he was still half-afraid Wayne and Peg
Stone were peering over his shoulder, ready to point out that he'd
screwed up again.  At least, that was probably the way they'd see it.

Well, there was one good thing about the early training.  It had left
him with something useful.  If you didn't want to get smacked upside
the head--either literally or figuratively-you hid your inner doubts
and pretended everything was just peachy.  The acquired reflexes had
been his first defense.  Later he'd figured out how to fight back, and
then what it took to be a success in the eyes of the world.  Even in
his own eyes.

He clenched his hands at his sides.  Six months ago all the rules had
suddenly changed.  Fate had dealt him a hand he didn't know how to
play.  And he was either going to have to cash in his chips or come up
with some better tactics.

~ ROCKED IN A CRADLE of dreams.  Gently.  ~Back and forth.  The motion
steady and reassuring.  Perhaps she was in heaven and angels were
fluttering around her, fanning the cradle with their wings.

But it didn't smell like heaven.  The air was damp.  Musty.  Chilly. 
Spiced with rotten fish.

Squeezing her eyes tighter, she rolled to her side and clasped her
knees, fighting the moment when she must come back to life.  But she
couldn't ward off the inevitable.  Every time she swallowed she felt as
if ground glass was rubbing against the inside of her throat.  Her
mouth tasted like a medicine bottle.  Her head pounded.

One lid fluttered open.  Then the other.  What she was seeing made no
sense.

Curved walls, made of narrow boards less than a foot from her face.

Shifting to her back, she looked up.  High overhead shafts of sunlight
streamed through a broken roof.

She pushed herself to a sitting position, her hand sliding against
rubberized canvas.  Her tiny corner of the world began to make a little
more sense.  She was in a small boat that swayed gently on dark water. 
Enclosing the water was a dilapidated building.  Three sides were
walled in by gray vertical boards and stone pillars.  The fourth was
bisected by large doors.

Her mind processed the information and came up with a descriptive word.
Boathouse, She must be in a boathouse.

But the last thing she remembered was the fog.  Driving through the fog
on the way to her office.  TO take the money she'd collected at the
charity reception.

A bubble of hysteria burst inside her chest, and she felt frantically
over the floor of the boat.  When her fingers closed around the worn
leather of her purse, a grateful sigh whooshed out of her lungs.

She opened the flap, feeling inside.  Wallet.  Keys.  Comb.  Lipstick.
Tissues.  Business cards.  "

Everything except the legal-size envelope with the money and checks.

"No!"

With a little sob she flopped back down on the rough ganYas.

He'd taken the money.

He?

The unreal ski-mask face zinged back to her mind.  Once again she felt
the hand on her mouth.  The hand around her throat.  Squeezing . 
squeezing . choking the life out of her body.

With trembling fingers she touched the tender skin of her neck.  It
felt bruised.  Even her tentative touch brought a

But the sting was like a dash of cold water in her face.  Finally it
brought the here and now back into sharp, awful focus.

It was daylight.  And the last thing she remembered was

Saturday night.  Was that last night?

How long had she been missing?

My God.  Kenny.  And her housekeeper, Mrs.  Vickery, must be frantic. 
She had to let them know she was all right.

Erin pushed herself up again.  This time the dizziness didn't last as
long. Seizing the rope that anchored the boat to the wall, she began to
pull.  The exertion made her head go foggy again, and tears of
frustration began to leak from the corners of her eyes.  But slowly,
inch by agonizing inch, the walkway at the side of the building came
closer.  She held the rope in a death grip as she secured it to the
wooden pegs that served as an anchorage.

Then she flopped out onto 'the boardwalk and lay panting, a fine sheen
of perspiration covering her body.  She'd never felt like this before. 
So weak. So disoriented.

All that from being choked?  Or had something mor~ happened?  Erin took
a cautious swipe with her tongue across her teeth and the inside of her
lips. Once again she caught the dregs of a medicinal flavor.  Was that
why she'd been asleep for hours?

Had he drugged her, too?  And then left her here to die?

She shook her head.  It didn't make sense.  He could have killed her so
easily back in the office.  But he hadn't.  Why?

Blinding fear almost swamped her sanity, but she fought it off.  She
was going to escape from this place.  Not just for herself.  For Kenny.
 Her son needed his one remaining parent.

Cautiously she stood.  Then, with one shoulders pressed against, the
wall, she began to inch toward the door at the back of the building.

Hours seemed to pass before she finally reached the exit.  At first
nothing happened when she pushed against the door.  With a strangled
moan deep in her throat, she tried again and then again--battering her
shoulder as she struggled to get out.  All at once the door gave with a
groan, and she tumbled out, falling.  falling.  into space.

A scream gathered in the back of Erin's throat.  It came out in a
painful wheeze as she landed like a sack of apples in a sand dune.  For
several minutes she lay breathing in grateful gulps of salty air.  Then
she struggled to her feet.

She was between an old boathouse and a rickety pier that looked as if
the next winter storm might blow it away.  Marsh grass swayed gently in
the wind. And gunmetal gray water stretched in front of her.

With her hand shielding her eyes, she made a
three-hundredandsixty-degree turn and spotted a rutted dirt road
leading away from the beach.

The wind stung her skin.  Fumbling to close her coat, she pulled off a
loose button ands heard it drop to the sand.  She stared at it, feeling
slightly dizzy and debating whether to stoop and pick it up.  No. 
Getting to her feet the first time had been too much of an effort. 
Instead, she clutched the front of her coat closed and started to make
her unsteady way down the road. Weed-covered fields and bare trees swam
in and out of her vision as she forced one foot in front of the
other.

It felt as if she'd walked for miles before the dirt path finally
merged with a two-lane highway.  To her right she could see houses in
the distance, so she started in that direction.  Moments later the
sound of a clattering engine and grinding gears made her jump awkwardly
to the side of the road.

She blinl~xl as a rickety old truck came to a puttering stop, and a
trailerful of turkeys gobbled their disapproval.  An old man with a
face like sun-cured leather rolled down his window.  "What'cha doin'
out here, missy?" he asked in a crackly voice.

Erin stared into his chocolate brown eyes and came to a decision.  "My
car ... broke down, and I need a ride to town."

"Ain't seen no car.  Which way'd you come from?"

"I've been walking for a long time."

"Yeah.  Ya look done in.  Guess you'd better let o1' Wait take ya to
St. Stephens."

Erin felt a wave of relief.  St.  Stephens.  She knew where that was. 
On the Eastern Shore, the narrow peninsula between the Chesapeake Bay
and the Ariantic Ocean.  Eighty miles from Baltimore.

"Got to deliver these birds.  You want a ride or not?"  Erin pulled
open the door and slid onto the worn vinyl seat.  The smell of live
turkeys was almost more than she could bear.  "Thanks for stopping,"
she murmured.

Walt nodded, started the engine and puttered on down the road.  Luckily
the motor made so much noise that conversation was just about
impossible, so she didn't have to answer any more questions.

They passed asign that said St.  Stephens 10 Oxford 15 Via Ferry, and
she felt a bit more oriented in time and space.  Grateful that she had
a ride, she leaned back and closed her eyes.  Another good thing--now
she had a funny story about riding in a turkey truck to distract Kenny
when they talked about her disappearance.

Walt's voice startled her awake.  "Sorry.  I don't want to get all
balled up in the holiday traffic."

Jerking upright, Erin dragged in a lungful of air and almost gagged on
the stench from the back of the truck.  It slammed her back to
reality.

"You okay?"

"Fine," she managed, looking around.  Walt might be in a hurry, but he
also had a generous dash of cogntry chivalry.  He'd delivered her to
the edge of the business district.  "Thanks for taking me all the way
into town.  Can you tell me where to make a phone call?"

"McCmire's Drugstore--down on Main Street.  You might try Duke's to fix
your car.  Tell him Walt Cummings sent

"Thank you.  And I appreciate the ride," Erin said with sincerity as
she climbed out of the truck.

It took another ten minutes to reach the business district of the
seventeenth-century town, but that was long enough for Erin to realize
she was still in pretty bad shape.  As she tried to maneuver along the
sidewalks packed with holiday shoppers, her head began to pound to the
tune of "Frosty the Showman" tinkling from hidden loudspeakers.  The
fins el-wrapped chains of Christmas lights strung across the main
thoroughfare swam before her eyes. And the foggy, disconnected feeling
began to fill her brain again.

In her present befuddled s~ate it was difficult to think about what to
do. She'd been robbed, abducted, probably drugged, and she didn't have
a car. She ought to go to the police.  But first she had to call
home--and get something from the pharmacist for her headache.

The town had gone all out for Christmas, with.  more old-fashioned
charm than in the city.  Every store was decked out differently.  Some
had artificial snow sprayed on the windows.  Some displayed their wares
on evergreen boughs or under Christmas trees.  And one shoe store
featured a family of miniature cobbler elves.

Erin had always loved this special time of year.  Today the holiday
festivity only added to her terrible feeling of confusion.  Christmas
was supposed to be a season of joy.  There was no way to bridge the
chasm between her recent experiences and the holiday spirit.

Her head throbbed, making her vision blur.  As she passed an antique
shop, she misjudged her distance from a woman carrying two shopping
bags, and jostled against her.  "Sorry," she apologized.

The only answer she got was "Watch where you're go-in[."  So much for
the holiday spirit.

A few yards down the street a car horn sounded, and Erin jumped.  The
smell of spiced cider wafting from the next open doorway made her
stomach lurch.

Wondering how she was go'm[ to make it to the end of the block, she
stopped and leaned against a shop window full of duck decoys with red
and green velvet bows tied' around Their necks.

All at once she was overtaken with the feeling of being watched.  The
hairs on the back of her neck stirred as she glanced up and down the
street.  At first it looked as if no one was paying any attention to
her, and she breathed a little sigh of relief.

Then she spotted the man on the far sidewalk.  He was standing very
still, staring at her with a laser intensity that made her heart leap
into her throat.  She blinked, trying to clear her vision, even as she
shrank into the shadow of the nearby doorway.

She got a quick impression of short blond hair.  A blade-like nose.  A
lean yet powerful body.

The image hovered on the edge of familiarity.  But she couldn't make
her blurred vision or waterlogged brain coordinate to a name.

All she could think of was the guy in the ski mask.  "My God, he's
found me again[

On this brilliant holiday afternoon on a crowded sidewalk in St. 
Stephens, fear was suddenly her only frame of reference.

Run, hide, get out of here, her frantic mind screamed, but her feet
felt as if she had on ten-pound shoes.

Move/ You got to move.  Her ears strained to hear footsteps closing
behind her, but she didn't spare another backward glance.  The
drugstore was just down the next block.  If only she could reach it,
she'd be safe.

A few more steps--cross a side street--you can do it.  With a surge of
energy from some unexpected reserve she quickened her pace, threading
in and out of holiday shoppers, nearly knocking a gift-wrapped box
right out of an old lady's hand.  ~

Sprinting to catch the light before the traffic started up again, she
sl~'pped off the curb, and she collided with a rock-solid chest that
moved into her path.  In an instant muscular arms clamped around her
shoulders like a vise.

Chapter Two

"Erin."

Even as he spoke her name, Travis Stone struggled to square his memory
with the woman he was holding in his arms.

He'd been carrying a mental snapshot of Erin Morgan in his head for
months, bringing it into his mind when he needed to think about
something good.  A pale oval face framed by a cap of rich brown hair. 
A willowy figure--al-most too thin, but with nice curves in the right
places.  Lips that looked as if they were made for kissing.  Thick dark
lashes fringing luminous blue eyes.

He shook his head in disbelief, even as he clasped her more tightly. 
Down by the wharf he'd been thinking about how much he wanted to call
her.  Then, as if she were the only other person on the crowded
sidewalk, she'd materialized almost in front of him.  But she sure as
heck didn't look like the woman he'd been picturing.

She'd always walked with a springy step.  Today she'd been staggering
along the street as if she was on her way home from an all-night bash. 
Except that she didn't live in

St.  Stephens.  She lived in Arbutus.

"Erin," he repeated gently.

The look of relief mixed with fear she gave him made his insides
melt.

"Trav?  I--I didn't recognize you.  You look different."  Her voice was
thin and strained, as if it hurt her to talk.

"Darlin', what's wrong?  What are you doing down here?"

Her knees gave way, and he took her entire weight against his supple
body. God, she felt a lot more fragile than he remembered.  And a deep
protective instinct flooded through him as he drew her away from the
sidewalk and into the doorway of Captain Dexter's Craft Emporium.

He'd met her at an inner-city recreation center just before spring
training last year, when he'd been giving the kids some baseball
pointers and a pep talk about keeping their noses clean and taking
pride in their achievements. She'd been behind the doughnut and
lemonade counter dispensing refreshments and smiles.  Although he'd
come over for a drink, he'd left with a date.

Until the beginning of summer they'd been an item.  Then "It's been
months .... You didn't call .... " She sounded uncertain, as if she
still couldn't believe he was real.

He ignored the tight feeling in his chest.  "Tell me what's wrong. 
What happened to you?"

Passersby were giving them curious glances.  An odd couple out of place
in the crowd of holiday shoppers.

"I have to find a phone.  I have to call ... Mrs.  Vickery," ~ she
said, sudden panic rising in her voice.

"In a minute."  She needed to sit down, not make a phon~ call.  He drew
her gently around the corner and into the fenced yard behind the craft
shop.

She continued to lean on him as if every molecule of energy had been
sucked out of her body, and he led her to Dex's elaborate gazebo,
decked out for the season with ropes of fins el woven into the
latticework screens.

She dropped to one of the wooden benches, and he sat beside her,
curling an arm around her shoulder.  She was trembling as if the
temperature were in the teens, not the forties.

"Are you sick?  What?"  he asked urgently.

"Dizzy.  I--I have to call Mrs.  Vickery and let her know I'm...
alive."

The strained sound of her vocal cords brought his gaze down to her
neck, and he saw the purple bruises that made five ugly streaks across
her ivory skin.

"Lord in heaven!  Erin, tell me what happened."

"I was robbed."

"This morning?  On the street?"  His gaze shot to the purse strap slung
over her shoulder.

She shook her head.  "No.  At 43 Light Street... where I work.  Last
night."

He was having trouble piecing it all together.  "Then what are you
doing here?"

She took a moment to answer, as if she were equally confused.  "I was
at a charity fund-raiser.  At the Calvert Presbyterian Church.  And I
had a bunch of cash and checks I wanted to put in the safe in my
office.  When I opened the door a man grabbed me."  She took a trembly
breath.  "He was wearing a ski mask.  He--he choked me.  And I blacked
out.  When I woke up I was in a boathouse down here."  Her hands spread
helplessly.

Travis stroked his knuckles against her cheek as he looked into her
troubled eyes.  He'd thought of them as clear, bright blue.  Now the
surface was glazed over, the depths murky.  He'd seen that look before.
 At a drug rehab center.

He brought himself up short.  Yeah, she was looking and acting as if
she was on something.  But she also hadst hose evil bruises on her
throat--dark finger marks marring her ivory skin.  They were as real as
the spicy scent of cider and the Christmas music drifting on the
wind.

"I sound crazy, don't I?"  she asked urgently, as if she'd known what
he was thinking.

"Of course not.  It looks like the bastard who choked you gave you
something to put you out of commission."

She sighed out a deep, shuddering breath as he took her in his arms,
cradling her against the wall of his chest, feeling her body mold
itself to the contours of his in a gesture of total trust.

She began to speak again, her face pressed against his leather jacket
as she confided more details.  "I woke up, and it was like a nightmare,
where you're at the mercy of some powerful force you can't see.  But
you know it's there, waiting to grab you."

Wishing he could wipe away the terror he'd seen on her face, he
murmured soothing words as he reached under her coat and tried to
massage some of the tension from the muscles~ of her back and
shoulders.

"That feels good," she whispered, her head drooping.  "Urn."  Despite
the bizarre circumstances he realized it felt good to him, too. 
Holding her. After all these mont!  ~ of being so alone.  ~

They drifted like that for several minutes, then she seemed to remember
what she'd been telling him.  "But it wasn't a nightmare.  And the
worst part was knowing that,every~ thing was out of my control.  But
you wouldn't under~ stand."

"Yeah.  I do."

She raised her face and peered at him, as if she were trying to bring
his features into sharper foe us and he had the eerie feeling that she
could see through the image he was' trying to project to the world. 
Below the light tan he'd recently acquired.  The fashionably short new
haircut.  The athlete's physique.

"Well, not exactly," he muttered.

As if in slow motion she raised her hand and brushed her fingertips
back and forth across the cropped hairs on the top of his head.

He caught her hand.  "Don't."

"I loved the way your hair used to look," she said in a dreamy voice. 
"Why did you cut it?  Didn't you want people to recognize you?"

Any answer he might have given remained stuck in his throat.

"Are you hiding?"

Her mind might not be working in perfectly logical fashion, but she'd
come so close to the truth--part of the truth--that he couldn't reply. 
if she'd been anyone else he would have jumped off the bench and
stridden out of the gazebo.  But he stayed.

"Why did you disappear?  I mean, from me."

He couldn't cope with the hurt look in her eyes.  Couldn't cope with
the feelings overwhelming him.  Or with any explanations, either to her
or himself.

Wordlessly, without warning, without conscious thought, he lowered his
lips to hers.  In the very depths of his soul he knew that he needed to
make closer contact with her--maybe as much as she needed to hold on to
him.

His lips brushed, settled.  Inside he was trembling, waiting for her to
pull away from him.  Part of him begged her to stop him now.  Because
if he kissed her, it was go' rag to be so much harder to walk away from
her when he had to.  Yet, at the same time, part of him was asking her
to stay.

She murmured something low in her throat that he couldn't catch, only
feel.

"Erin."  Her name was a ragged breath that ended as her lips opened
under his.

Her hands tightened convulsively on his arms, digging into his muscles,
and he felt a shudder run through her.  A matching shudder coursed
through him.

God, her lips were so soft.  Greedily he deepened the kiss.  In the
dark, lonely hours of the night he'd thought about her.  Remembered her
sweetness.

Her body was as pliant as warm taffy in his arms.  It had been so long
since he'd held her in his embrace.  So long since he'd held any woman
that his responses leapt out of control like wildfire sweeping across
drought-parched mountains.

To taste her.  To touch her.  Those were the only things that mattered
in a universe that had tilted out of kilter.  To hell with everything
else.

He almost forgot they were in a gazebo in the backyard of a craft shop
on the main street of St.  Stephens.  Somehow he pulled himself back to
the edge of sanity.

When he shifted away, her eyes blinked o~en, and she reached for him
again.

"Erin, I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have done that."  She caught a fistful
of his shirt in her fingers.  Gently he untangled her hold.

For several seconds there was only confusion in her eyes.  It changed
to hurt.  "You didn't call.  You didn't explain:

I--I should have remembered that you didn't want me.  " " No!  I want
you, all right, darling'.  I always did.  " Silently Erin stared into
his deep green eyes, he was telling the truth, She was so afraid she
was going find rejection that she almost looked away.  What she instead
made her heart give a painful little lurch.  Below the'~ surface, where
few would pick up the signals, was a little boy's hurt.  And fear.  And
anger.  " What happened to you?  " " Nothing!  " " Someone hurt you. 
"

"It was a long time ago," he shot back.

She shook her head.  It was so strange talking to Travis like this. 
Her mind was fuzzy from the drug she'd been given.

and from kissing him.  Yet she had the absolute conviction that he
needed her help as much as she needed his.  "What are you trying to
hide from me?"

For an unguarded moment the answer was etched into his face--in the
upward jut of his strong jaw and the rigid set of his lips.

She waited, her chest unbelievably constricted.  If he said nothing,
then there was nothing real between them.

He cleared his throat.  "Erin, I've been' going through a ... a rocky
patch. I wasn't going to drag anyone down with me.  Especially not you.
 That's why I didn't call."  He swallowed.  "But I wanted to."

She touched his face, tracing the faint groove between the right corner
of his mouth and his nose.  Only a few months ago his skin had been
unlined and his green eyes had twinkled with mischief.  He was changed.
 More mature. More wary.

This morning she'd begged for his understanding.  She sensed he needed
that as much as she did.

He shifted her fingers, folding them into his palm and pressing them
against his lips.

Erin waited for him to say something more.  He didn't, and she wondered
if her befuddled brain had only imagined the emotions below the surface
of their exchange.  Sighing, she leaned back heavily against the
latticework.

"You've been through a hell of a lot in the past twelve hours.  And I'm
not helping," " he muttered.  " Yes.  you.  are.  " " Does your throat
hurt?  " She swallowed.  " Yes.  "

"I think you ought to see a doctor.  Then the police."

"I... Oh, God..."   Erin stood too quickly and had to grab one of the
uprights for support.   Travis was immediately on his feet, his hands
under her elbows.

She looked back toward the street.  "I was going to call Mrs.  Vickery,
my housekeeper.  She doesn't know where I am.  Kenny will be so
worried."  Her words came out in a breathless rush.

"There's a phone in my car."

She hated being so foggy and so dependent, yet she didn't draw away as
he curled his arm around her shoulder.  Because it felt good to lean on
him, she stayed close to his side as he led her down the strut.  With
his hand securely on her shoulder, it was easy to bring back the way
she'd felt when they'd dated last February before he'd left for spring
training.  It had seemed so right between them.  For a LITTLE while.

She glanced at him quickly, remembering that he hadn't really told her
much about himself.  And he was still holding things back.  Yet when
he'd taken her in his arms in the middle of the crowded street she'd
felt instinctively that she could trust him.

Or was that a mistake?  Was she really in any kind of shape to trust
her own judgment?

Nervously she began to fumble with the front of her coat and stopped.

He looked at her inquiringly.

"I--I pulled off a button.  After the boathouse.  I should have picked
~t up. All at once the small loss seemed likea disaster.

Trav caught the distressed look on her face.

"You can get another one," he soothed.

"No.  They're brass.  I'll have to get a whole set."

"Don't worry about that now.   Come on."

THE~G lights, the holiday music, the crowd faded behind them.  Travis
helped her into the Corvette and went around to his own side.  After
closing the door he reached for the cellular phone.

"What's your number?"

She told him, and he dialed.

A mature-sounding woman--the Mrs.  Vickery she'd mentioned--answered
immediately.  Her first questions were distraught.  But she was vastly
relieved to find out that Erin was okay, that she was with him and that
she'd be home in a few hours.

As he spoke he listened to his own reassuring tones.  It was hard to
believe he was really doing this--taking responsibility for someone
else's welfare when he'd been so sure he didn't want to be involved
with anyone on a personal level.  Not his buddies on the team, and
certainly not a woman.

Yet perhaps that was precisely why he was keeping Erin close and making
sure that she got back to Baltimore in one piece.  Somebody had pole
axed her.  He knew what that felt like, and it made him angry.  Above
and beyond the feeling of identification, he suspected that it was
simply a lot easier to focus on her immediate crisis than his own
problems.

He was about to hang up when Erin shook her head vigorously and
motioned for the phone.

He handed her the receiver, and she straightened, her whore manner
changing, as if she'd just gotten a shot of energy from some hidden
source.

"Is Kenny there?"  A mixture of worry and warmth spread over her face
as she began to talk to her son.  Travis could hear only one side of
the conversation, but he gathered from her responses that her little
boy was anxious about his mother's absence.

"No.  I'm just fine, honey."

"Really.  I'm fine."

"I'll be home as soon as I can.  Everything's all right."

"Um-hum, I'm really with Travis Stone.   No, I'm not sure whether he's
coming to our house."   She gave him a quick glance.

He nodded.

Seconds after Erin relayed the information.  "All right{" reverberated
loudly through the car.

"We'll be back as soon as we can," Erin said.  "You help Mrs.  Vickery
until I get back.  And remember I love you,

Erin reached to hang up the phone, but it slipped from the cradle. 
Travis caught it and seated it properly.  He watched her slump in her
seat.  She'd put a lot of energy into reassuring her little boy.  The
effort had wiped her out.  The last thing she'd said was that she loved
him--as if it was something she told him every day.  Maybe she did.

Lord, what was it like to grow up knowing you could count on someone's
unconditional acceptance that way?  "I--I've never been gone all night
before," she whis He looked at her white knuckles.  "You'll be back
soon." "He needs a big hug--now."

Travis wasn't sure how to answer, so he covered her tightly clasped
hands with one of his bigger ones.  "He's a good kid.  So many boys
today don't have an anchor, but you're raisin' him right."

"Thanks.  At least I'm trying.  But it's hard.  Ever since his~ father
went away to Desert Storm and never came back, he's needed to know that
I'm not going to disappear, too."

"That must be rough on you."

"Usually I can cope."  She lifted her chin.  "In fact ally I'm pretty
much together."

"Usually you don't get choked unconscious and then dumped in a
boathouse eighty miles from home."

"And now I need to get back and tell the police what happened."

"As soon as Doc Harrison checks you out.  He's semiretired, so you
won't have to wait around for him to fit you into his schedule."

"Are you sure he won't mind see' rag me?"

"Nope.   And he's expecting me."   "Are you sick?"

He waited a beat before answering.  "He called a couple of days ago and
said there was something he needed to talk about.  Something to do with
the town's history, I think.  So I said I'd stop by this afternoon."

"Didn't you tell me you were from Georgia?"

"Yeah.  Near Atlanta.  I guess Doc wanted an outside opinion about
something."

As Travis nosed the Vette out of the parking space Erin leaned back in
the comfortable leather seat.  She seemed to drift off to sleep almost
at once.

It gave him a chance to look at her as much as he wanted.  He took in
the whole picture and then studied the individual features.  Her rich
brown hair that curled just over the top of her collar.  The delicate
slope of her nose. The feathery half circles of her dark lashes.  The
lips he'd tasted a little while ago.  Her high breasts.  God, they'd
felt so sexy pressed against his chest.

Struggling against the carnal pull, he took a deep breath and let it
out slowly.  Then he switched to something safer.  The way Erin had
talked to her son.  The tone of her voice.  The things she'd wanted him
to understand. Simple things.  It was so clear that loving her little
boy was woven into the very fiber of her being.

Yet that line of musing was no good, either--not in his present
hypersensitive state.  Helpless to control his thoughts, he couldn't
stop them from flashing back to Wayne and Peg Stone.  What if they'd
been like Erin, concerned and caring and supportive?  What would Travis
Stone be like now?

He pulled his thoughts away from the past and realized he'd been
driving without paying attention to where he was going.  Now he looked
around at the flat fields and marshes on either side of the road,
really seeing them for the first time in several miles.

A pair of Canada geese rose from behind a screen of cattails, honking
as they flapped away.  He smiled.

He liked this part of the world.  Maybe because it was so different
from the manicured lawns of the social-climbing suburb where he'd grown
up.  Or maybe he'd adopted St.  Stephens, paid an all-star's bonus for
a vacation cottage down here and gotten friendly with some of the local
people because this rural Mapjland town had given him a kind of
peaceful, welcoming feeling he'd never gotten anywhere else.

He glanced at Erin's profile again.  Her face had con-totted, and it
looked as if she were going into a bad dream.

For a moment he was uncertain: But when she grimaced, he gently shook
her shoulder.  Her eyes flew open, and she gasped as she glanced wildly
around.

"It's all right, darling'.  You're with me," he soothed, his foot
easing up on the accelerator.  A Jeep honked swerved around him. 
Cursing under his breath, he pulled over onto the shoulder and cut the
engine.

"Everything's okay," he said again, stroking her hair back from her
face. Her brow was damp.

"Oh, Trav."  She blinked as if she couldn't quite believe she was safe.
"I was back in my office and he... his hands, I'll never forget the
way his fingers felt around my Squeezing..."  Her voice trailed off.

"Yeah, well, let me get my hands on the bastard and he'll be sorry he
messed with you."

She stared wordlessly at him.

A bit embarrassed by the strength of his outburst, he started the car
again. "Doc Harrison'll fix you up," he muttered.

Silence stretched between them.

"Tell me about Do{:.  What's he lillY' Erin finally asked.

He suspected she'd grabbed at the question because she was as
uncomfortable as he.  "Well, he's one of those old-time medical
practitioners who made house calls and delivered babies in the mother's
bedroom.  I met him about five years ago after I jabbed a fishhook into
my palm.  See, I pulled it' out all right"

Erin winced.  "That must have hurt."

"It wasn't so bad until it got infected.  I needed someone who would
give me antibiotics and keep the treatment quiet so there wouldn't be a
bunch of questions in the paper about whether it was going to affect my
ability to catch a line drive."  Trav laughed.  "He was just what the
doctor ordered, so to speak.  Turned out to be an Orioles fan.  That's
how we got to be friends."

"I think I'm go' rag to like him," Erin said "We're almost there." 
Trav turned onto a winding street where the lots were large and so were
the residences.  Just then a flash of movement in the rearview mirror
caught his eye, and he realized that while he'd been jawing to Erin, a
blue pickup truck had been following them.

He thought about asking if she recognized the man behind the wheel, but
the guy had a baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes.  Besides, the
vehicle was probably just going in the same direction as they were.

Still, he tried to get a look at the license plate.  The numbers were
covered with several obscuring layers of Chesapeake Bay mud.

He slowed as he reached Doc's driveway.  The interior of the three-car
garage was lit, and through the glass panes in the closed door he saw
the aging physician bending over the frame of his boat.

The truck slowed, too.  Until the past few months Trav had never been
much for cloak-and-dagger intrigue.  Re-' eently he'd developed an
instinct for trouble, along with a

justifiable paranoid streak about making sure nobody was going to get
the drop on him,

This setup was giving him a funny feeling.  So just for the beck of it
he decided to make a fast circle of the block.

The truck didn't follow him as he sped up.  It remained in front of
Dee's, and Trav shook his head, wondering why he'd been concocting
sinister scenarios.  The driver was probably one of the physician's
longtime patients. Or even an old Sailing buddy come to help with the
boat.

Well, there was no point in being devious now.  Trav reached the end of
the block, turned the corner and drove several hundred yards farther
on, looking for a convenient driveway where he could turn around.

He was halfway back to Doc's when a loud report shat-terecl the
Sunday-afternoon s'denee.  Erin sat up straight and drew in a startled
gasp.

The noise might have been a car backfiring.  Except that

Trav's was the only car moving on the road.

"Hold on tight."

He tramped down on the gas pedal, and the Corvette shot forward like a
hound after a rabbit,

Beside him, Erin gripped the armrest.

The guy with the baseball cap came pounding down Doc's driveway.  He
was tucking something metallic into the waistband of his gray sweats
when he spotted the red sports car racing toward him.  He froze for a
second.  Then he tossed a knapsack into the pickup, leapt inside and
pulled away from the curb, his gears grinding.  The bastard was going
to get away, Trav realized. Still, he'd heard what sounded like a shot,
and his first concern was for Dee.

He pulled up next to the oak tree beside the driveway and reached for
the door handle.  Then a flash of motion brought his attention back to
the truck.

Lord Almighty.  The driver wasn't-trying to get away at all.  He was
heading straight in their direction~

The pickup bore down on the Corvette like a bull charging a red flag. 
The truck window was rolled down.  Through it Trav saw a hand.  It was
holding a gun, and the gun was pointed straight at his head.

Chapter Three

Trav stepped on the gas and yanked the wheel to the side.  The Vette
responded like the little beauty she was and swerved around the massive
oak. He swore as the passenger door scraped against the bark.  He swore
again as he heard two more quick reports.  This close, the pistol
boomed like ground zero on a target range.  But the slugs hit the tree
and not the side of the car.

To get another clear shot, the driver of the truck would have to back
up. Instead, he cut his losses and sped the blacktop.

Trav let out the breath he'd been holding and turned to Erin.  "Are you
okay?"

Her face had turned paper white, except for the pink slash of her lips.
 "I think so.  Tell me that wasn't a gun."

"" Fraid so.  Stay put," he ordered, as he threw open car door.  The
man had come out of the house, but Doe in the garage.

Erin ignored the order.  She was right behind him as sprinted up the
driveway.

"Get back in the ear."

Probably it was turning to admonish her that saved life.

TRAV WAS ONLY A DOZEN yards from the garage when a tremendous noise
split the air like a sonic boom.  An instant later the peaked roof
leapt skyward, and the wall farthest from the house ballooned out like
a cardboard shoe box that had filled with water and burst its seams.

In that split second Trav knocked Erin back and sideways, flinging her
off the concretej and onto the grass beside a Chinese elm.  He landed
on top of her, shielding her body with his as debris began to rain
around them.  The dense elm branches offered him some protection as
shingles, siding and pieces of wood and brick came down like giant
lumps of hail.  A sharp piece of debris hit him on the shoulder, and he
winced, but he kept his body firmly over Erin's.  She clung to him, her
breath hiss big in and out Of her lungs.

So did hisl as he panted from the unexpected exertion.  You're out of
shape, Stone, he thought wryly.  Then Erin whimpered, and he cupped his
arms around her head, praying that the sound came from fear and not
pain.

The deadly fallout went on and on, as if they had always been lying
pressed intimately together while the world came down around their
ears.

A last chunk of something gray landed on the grass a couple of inches
from his foot.  Then everything was quiet as a tomb at midnight. 
Except for the crackling of flames coming from the garage.

Trav pushed himself up, looking backward, coughing as smoke wafted
toward him.

Doe.

For several frozen seconds he could make no sense of the altered
landscape. There had been a house with an attached three-car garage. 
The house stood almost untouched except for some black streaks marring
the red bricks.  The garage was only a blackened lifeless shell, like a
bombed-out dwelling in the middle of a war zone.

He stared at the charred place where he'd seen Doc just a few minutes
ago. Still, he called his friend's name.  Only the crackling flames
answered.  It was beyond imagining that anyone could have survived the
blast.

"Tra" -- His name choked off in a coughing fit, bringing his attention
instantly back to Erin.  The coughing sub.  sided, but her whole body
was trembling, and her bright blue eyes were fixed on him, as if he
could explain what had just happened.

"It's all right.  We're all right," he told her, hoping it was really
true.

Erin pushed herself up and gaped toward the blackened shell at the end
of the driveway.

"Are you okay?"  He stroked his hands down her arms and legs, feeling
for injury, but a shout pulled his attention from her.  She shrank away
from the man running across the lawn toward them.

"It's just a neighbor," Trav told her.  "The guy who did this is miles
from here by now."

She nodded and relaxed a little.

"My God.  What happened?"  the newcomer puffed, his eyes wide as he
looked from the ruined garage to them.  "An explosion."

The man gestured toward one of the other houses.  "Harry Blakely's
calling the fire depa~'rment."

The message was confirmed by the distant wail of a siren, which grew
steadily louder.

Soon two yellow-and-white fire trucks pulled abreast of the driveway,
but there wasn't going to be much they could do besides put out a few
lingering flames.

A LITTLE crowd of neighbors had gathered, some talking excitedly,
others staring at Doc's garage in mute wonder.

"Name's Ed Provenson.  You're welcome to come into my

' on offered.

Trav glanced at Erin's bowed head and rigid shoulders.  He wanted to
get her away from the prying eyes and the scene of the explosion while
they waited for the police.  "Which way?"  he asked Provenson.

The man gestured toward a brick rambler several.  hundred yards down
the street.  J

"Come on."  Trav slung a protective arm around Erin's shoulder.

She moved stiffly, leaning heavily on him, almost like a blind person
cast adrift in unfamiliar country.  Shock, he thought, tightening his
grip on her. Another shock on top of what she'd already suffered.

Lord.  He'd tried to get her out of a jam and ended up dragging her
into a murder.

Their host ushered them into the den, and Erin dropped to the couch
asif her legs wouldn't carry her a step farther.

Moments later Trav heard voices in the hall.  Then the door opened,
admitting a man in a dark blue uniform.  He r~cognized Police Chief
Morris "Moose" Bramble, a peace officer whose easygoing manner and
expanding waistline made him look like a small-town cop with nothing
more on his mind than speed traps and parking tickets.  Yet Trav had
seen him handle some pretty sticky Friday-night confrontations at the
Wood Duck, the bar favored by the rowdy crowd in town.

"I understand you folks were a mite close to the explosion," he began,
looking at Erin and then tipping his head toward Trav.  They knew each
other, not just from friendly evenings at the corner pub but also from
a number of charity events.

Erin raised frightened eyes toward the officer, see' me him more as a
symbol of authority than anything else.  "I... did... it," she
quavered.

Trav's head swiveled toward her.  "What in the name of blue blazes are
you talking about?"

"The man ... he ... came ... back to ... get me," she stuttered between
chattering teeth.

"Darlin', you're wrong," Travis murmured, dropping down beside her and
pulling her close.  She clung to him, unable to stop shaking, her
breath coming out in little sobs.

Bramble moved farther into the room, took a notebook out of his pocket
and flipped it open.  "Maybe you'd better clue me in."  He addressed
Trav.

"The explosion didn't have anything to do with her!"

"Then what?"   The high, reedy question came from Erin.   The police
chief made himself comfortable in an easy chair opposite the sofa.

"I was taking her to see Doc Harrison," Trav began.  "Because she-was
robbed and choked at her office last night."

Bramble turned toward Erin, his eyes focusing on her bruised neck, and
she stifled the impulse to cover her throat with her hand.  Instead she
fumbled in her purse, found tissue and blew her nose.  Then she sat up,
squared her shoulders and looked at Bramble.  "I'm sorry.  I'm not
quite myself."

"Take your time, ma'am.  I'd like to find out what happened; Can you
back up to last night?"

Briefly Erin ran through her recent experiences.

"And where do you work, exactly?"  the police chief asked.

"I'm the director of Birth Data, Inc.  It's one of the smaller agencies
associated with Silver Miracles

We help adopted children track down their birth parents.  "

What were the directors going to think about the missing money ?  she
wondered, and then clamped down firmly on that speculation.  As she
finished telling Bramble what had happened to her, she watched his
face, trying to see if he thought her story sounded too crazy to be
true.

But he only nodded and took notes.

When she got to the ride to Doc's, Trav interrupted.  "I thought a
pickup was following us.  And I had a--a feeling that it might mean
trouble.  But the guy in the truck wasn't 'm~rested in Erin or me.  He
was waiting for us to get out of the way."

"Back up a mite."  Bramble raised a questioning eyebrow.  "What does
this have to do with the explosion?"

"The guy waited until he thought we were gone before he went into Doc's
garage.  I'd turned around and was on my way back when I heard a shot,"
Travis explained.  Bramble's eyes narrowed.  "Are you sure?"

"I wasn't, until he took a couple of potshots at us.  You'll find the
slugs in the oak tree beside Doc's drive."

"You're sayin' the driver was tryin' to take care of two unexpected
witnesses?"  ~ "Yeah."

Erin let out a long shuddering sigh, still trying to come to grips with
what had happened.  "I thought he was after me.  I--I guess I sound
paranoid."

"You sound like a woman who's been through a rough time," Bramble
corrected. He looked at T~avis again.  "So you think the explosion was
to cover up a shooting?"

"Right."

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep that under your hat for the time
being."

Trav nodded tightly.

"Can you give me a description of the perp?"  Bramble asked.

Trav's brow furrowed.  "He was wearing gray sweats.  His body was lean
and angular.  Like he has a physical job--or works out.  I couldn't see
his face. It was hidden by a baseball cap.  I guess that description
could fit thousands of guys."

Bramble waited.

"He was sixty, maybe sixty-five," Trav continued.

"How do you know?"

"I was looking straight at the hand with the gun.  I'll never forget
that hand.  The skin was blotchy and wrinkled."

"Not much to go on."   "I know."

The police chief tipped his head toward Erin.  "Can you add
anything?"

It was still hard to think clearly, but she struggled to come up with
something useful.  "Well, the truck was blue.  And the license plate
was smeared with mud so I couldn't read the number.  But it was the
kind where you pay extra and contribute to the Save the Bay Fund.  I
saw the cattails on the left side."

"Do you have any idea who might have a grudge against Harrison?"  the
officer asked Travis.

He hesital~l for a moment.  "I wish I could help you."

"If you come up with anything, let me know."

Assuming that the interview was concluded, Erin started to get up.

"~just a minute."

She looked questioningly at the officer.  "I'd be remiss if I didn't
caution you folks."

Goose bumps prickled up and down Erin's arms.  "Caution?"

"The perp thought you might he able to identify him.  Let, s hope that
when he cools down, he'll reali?e you've got zip to go on."

Beside Erin, Travis muttered something she was glad she couldn't quite
catch. He started to say something to Bramble, changed his mind and
pressed his lips into a grim line.

So~vmwrml~ B~ St.  Stephens and the bay bridge the confused feeling
began to fade from Erin's mind as if someone were slowly, gently
turning down the volume on a radio.  Then a moment came when she felt
almost back to normal.

She glanced at Trav.  He was watching the road with the total
concentration of a man who takes his driving seriously-or doesn't want
to get into a conversation with his passenger.  All at once she was
very aware of his silent physical presence beside her.  She wanted to
lay her head on his shoulder.  Instead she leaned back in the seat and
knit her fingers together as she studied him from under lowered lashes,
trying to put her finger on what was different about him.

He was appealingly masculine in a sort of rough-edged way that
attracted a lot of women, including her.  But he had changed.  Partly
it was his body. It was leaner, a little more angular.  But the more
dramatic transformations were the ones she'd noted earlier.  She wanted
to touch the fan of fine lines around his eyes and the suggestion of
grooves above the corners of his lips.

She recalled he'd had a wicked sense of humor.  She couldn't remember
hearing him crack a joke today.  But then there hadn't been much to
laugh about.

She shot him another sideways glance.  At least she'd found out he
hadn't simply dropped her because he'd stopped being interested in her.
He'd thought he needed to protect her from something bad going on in
his life. Now fate had brought him back to her.  God, what timing.

She grimaced as she thought about what had happened over the past
eighteen hours

"I'm sorry."

Her whole body swiveled toward him.  He must have been watching her. 
just the way she'd been secretly watching him.  "About what?"

"I was tryin' to help.  But if I'd just taken you to the hospital
emergency room instead of to Doc's, you'd be safe at home by now."

"You didn't know."

"That doesn't make it any better."

They reached the bridge and began the steep climb over the middle of
the bay. Crosswinds buffeted the car, and Trav had plenty of reason to
keep his eyes on the road.

"It was Bramble's job to warn us.  But I think there's no way on God's
green earth the man in the truck can know who I am.  He probably
doesn't know who you are, either," she added.

"Well, I hope you're in the clear."  "What about you?"  "I'll be
okay."

She stared at his strong ball-player's hands where they gripped the
steering wheel, and suddenly she couldn't stifle the need to close the
gap between them.  When she laid her palm over his white knuckles she
felt his fingers tighten.

"Let's back up a little," ~ she murmured.  "If'

come across the street to get me, I'd probably still be wandering
around St. Stephens in a daze.  Trav, I was never so glad to see anyone
in my life.  I needed a friend.  "

She saw his Adam's apple bob.  Slowly her gaze drifted ~ upward,
changing the focus to his lips.  Her mind had been foggy, but she
remembered how good--how gratifying--it had felt when his mouth had
come down on hers.

She remembered the urgency, the way their bodies had shifted into
alignment, If ever there had been sexual chemistry between a man and a
woman, she had felt it today, pulling the two of them together like
steel to a magnet.  But it wasn't just physical desire that had drawn
her to him.

She'd sensed that it was more than that for him, too.

was she remembering it wrong?  Risking everything, she went on, in as
strong a voice as she could manage.  "I needed your help today.  But in
the gazebo, when you kissed me, you were reaching out to me, too,
weren't you?"

He didn't answer.  But the look on his face was like a window into his
troubled soul.

"Trav, whatever's eating at you..; Let me help."

His head whipped toward her and then back to the road.

"You're in some kind of trouble, aren't you?  Something that started
back in June, when you stopped calling me."

"Something.  Yeah."

"Tell me about it."

"You don't want to get involved."

"You don't know that.  Trav, talking to someone who cares always
helps."

"I never had a chance to develop the habit.  So it's probably too
late."

She had a sudden heartrending image of a lonely little boy.  Had his
father and mother been too busy to listen to him?  Or hadn't they
cared?  She wanted to try to make him understand it was never too late,
maybe even tell him how much it had helped her to talk to Abby Franklin
after the.

devastation of the Graveyard Murders.  Instead she sat in
silence--wondering if he was going to drop her in front of her house
and then disappear from her life again.  ~

ERIN'S TENSION INCREASI~ the closer they got to Arbutus, the
working-class neighborhood where she and her husband had bought a small
redbrick row house six years ago.

The plan had been to move up after Bruce got his college~ degree and a
better job, but his death had made Erin very thankful that she had a
roof over her head and a relatively small mortgage.

As Trav turned off Selford Road onto Poplar she drew in a sharp breath.
A police car was parked in the middle of the block, right in front of
her house.  And she could see several neighbors on their front lawns
eyeing it with suspicion.

Travis pulled up behind it, and Erin scrambled out of the car.  As her
foot touched the sidewalk the front door burst

What Child open and Kenny came pelting down the steps.  Sixty pounds of
slim, purposeful eight-year-old hurtled along the sidewalk, pushing her
backward into the fender as he threw himself against her.

"Mom, Mom."  Her son wrapped his gangly arms around her waist and
buried his face in her midsection.

She held him equally tight, cupping the back of his blond head with one
hand and his trembling shoulders with the other, clinging to him
fiercely not just because he needed reassuring, but because she needed
to hold on to someone she loved.

"It's okay," she whispered over and over.  "It's okay.  I promise."

"I thought" -- He stopped abruptly.

"What?"

"That you weren't gonna come back."

"I'll-always come back."  Erin heard the tears in her son'.  " voice
and fought to hold hers back.  If there was one she'd learned lover the
past year, it was that she had to be strong for Kenny.  She had to make
sure he felt safe and protected, even when she didn't.

She sensed that she was being watched intently, and looked up to see
Trav staring at them, his face a picture of compassion and what she
could only label as envy.  "Come here," she whispered.

He was at her side in the next instant, slinging his arm awkwardly
around her.

She turned her face into his shoulder, wishing with fiber of her being
that the three of them could jump into the car and drive away to aplace
with no fears and no problems.

"But reality intruded in the form of heavy footsteps the direction of
her front porch.  " Ma'am.  "

A solidly built man whose sports coat stretched tightly across his
broad shoulders was coming toward her.

"I'm Detective Bart Hillman, Baltimore City Police."  His voice rumbled
low in his chest.  He looked like a hit man--in the literal sense--Erin
thought, her eyes focusing on beefy hands that could have doubled as
sledgehammers. Lucky for Baltimore he'd picked the honest side of the
law.

Kenny glanced up, but he didn't loosen his hold on his mother, "He's
been waiting to talk to you.  Abby and Sabrina were here, too.  They
want you to call them."

"I will.  And I'm glad Detective Hillman stayed," Erin managed. 
"Because I'm anxious to tell him what happened last night."

"Everybody's been asking questions.  What did happen, Mom?  '

"~just a little trouble down at my office," Erin assured him, striving
to minimize the incident even as she wondered who else had been around
and what they wanted to know.  "Everything's all right now."

"Mom"

"Hey, Kenny," Travis interrupted, laying a hand on her son's
shoulder.

He looked up.  "Trav."

"Mr.  Stone," Erin automatically interjected.

He laughed.  "No self-respecting kid within a ten-mile radius of Oriole
Park at Camden Yards calls me Mr.  Stone.  Besides, Kenny and I are
already friends."

"Yeah!"  Her son seconded the reminder.

"So what about if the two of us toss a few balls while your more talks
to Mr. Hillman?"

Erin could see that her son was torn between taking up an almost
irresistible offer from his idol and staying close to his mother.

"We'll come back as soon as she's done," Trav promised.  "Do you have a
spare glove?  Or a softball?"

lot different from the relaxed interview with Bramble.  But maybe that
was the difference-between city and country cops.

Erin knit her hands together in her lap.  The facts were always the
same, yet she found herself wondering again how all this sounded. 
Crazy? Implausible?  Invented?

Every time she talked about the stolen money she could hear her voice
go high and quavery.  Did Hillman.  take that as a sign of guilt?  She
tried not to peer at him anxiously.

-The deteetive's eyes narrowed as he focused on her bruised neck.  Erin
felt her stomach clench.  What was he thinking--that she'd choked
herself, or something?  "Did you see a doctor?"

"I was going to."  Quickly she explained what had happened after Travis
found her on the street in St.  Stephens.

"Quite a coincidence--a robbery, a choking, a murder and an explosion
all in less than twenty-four hours."

"Yes, and I wish none of it had happenedl"

"Mr.  Stone can confirm your story?"  he asked as if he didn't believe
a thing she'd said.

Chapter Four

"Down to the mud smeared on the pickup truck's license plate!"  a sharp
voice answered from the.  doorway.  Erin tore her gaze away from the
detective as Trav stepped into the living room, followed closely by
Kenny.

"Mrs.  Morgan is an old friend," Trav continued.  "When I ran into her
on the street in St.  Stephens, I could see that she needed
assistance," he said stiffly.  "Doc Harrison was nearby, so I decided
to take her there.  Which turned out to be plain bad luck."

"I'd like to ask you a few questions," Hitman said.  "Shoot."  Travis
sprawled at the other end of the sofa, picked up one of the muffins and
finished it off in a few bites.  When he looked up, Erin followed his
gaze and saw Kenny lingering uncertainly at the edge of the living
room, his eyes sliding from 'his mother to the detective and back
again.

Travis motioned him into the room.

Erin was about to object.  Then she reconsidered.  Probably it was
better not to make a big deal of this in front of' him.

"Is it all right?  Can I sit with you?"  the boy asked, all-reefing the
question to his mother.

"Of course."

?

Kenny trotted over to the couch and took the seat between her and Trav.
She scooted a little closer to him, feeling him press his shoulder
against her side.  When he gave her a questioning look, she managed to
smile at him.

Erin listened tensely as Hillman turned to Trav and began to go over
some of the same ground they'd covered earlier.  She wasn't sure why
she was worried, since she'd stuck scrupulously to the truth, only
omitting some of what had happened in the gazebo.  But she was relieved
that Trav's account matched hers.

Finally the detective seemed satisfied, and Erin let a long, slow
breath ease out of her lungs.

"We may be in touch with you for additional information," Hillman said
as he stood.

"Give her a rest, why don't you?"  Trav muttered.

"I'm sure Mrs.  Morgan wants to cooperate fully," Hilt-man shot back.

When the door had closed behind the man, Travis socked his fist against
his palm.  "That bastard's got a bee up his a" -- He stopped and
glanced quickly at Kenny, who giggled.

Color rose in Trav's cheeks.  "You'd better not let your ma catch you
imitating my dugout talk!"

Erin couldn't suppress a grin.  At least the colorful language had cut
through the tense atmosphere in the room.

Kenny looked from his mother to their visitor.  "I think Moro's glad
you're here."

"I'm glad I could help her."  He clapped the boy on the shoulder.  "And
thanks for the game of catch."

"Are you comin' back to see us?"

Erin waited for the answer as anxiously as her son.  "Well... I'm
pretty busy."

"Aw, Trav"

"Go out and see if Mrs.  Vickery needs any help," Erin interjected.

"Mom."

' (30 on .  " '

Kenny gave her a d~,gusted look, and she rememl~ how she'd felt when
she'd been a little girl and the adults decided that "LITTLE pitchers
have big ears," as they'~ variably put it.

"Go on," Erin repeated softly.  After tossing the b ball gloves on the
steps, her son shuffled toward the kite]

She saw Travis watching her.  She~wasn't sure what either one of them
was going to say.  But she did know it we going to be in front of the
audience listening in the kitcl Snatching up her coat, she headed for
the front door. At stepped outside she shivered.  The sun had set while
sI been talking to Hillman, and it felt as if the temperature i dropped
ten degrees.

Christmas decorations strung on railings and shrubl: up and down the
street winked at her, but the twinl~ lights did nothing to elevate her
mood.

Inside she could hear Kenny warbling a rendition of" I Want for
Christmas Are My Two Front Teeth," comp with lisping sound effects. 
She'd never heard him sing it fore and wondered if Trav had taught it
to him,

After a few moments he followed her outside.  When started down the
steps into the gathering darkness,

grabbed her arm.  "where are you going?"

"I don't know."

He closed the front door behind them, then steered he the edge of the
porch.

"Kenny and I had a good time down at the park," said.

"I appreciated your taking him."

He tugged on a yew branch leaning over the pot "when I came back I
could tell Hillman was lightin' i~ you.  Maybe if I'd stayed, he
wouldn't have given you s~ a hard time."

"Kenny was more important," she whispered.

The branch bobbed in his hand as he stripped off several of the shiny
green needles and let them fall to the pavement.  "You deserved better
after what you've been through."

"I'll get past it."

Trav let go of the branch, and it snapped back into place.  "You Should
have'a guy who can stand by you."

Erin heard the tightness in his voice and wished she could see his
face.  She suspected he was glad of the darkness.

He didn't move, so she took a couple of small steps forward until there
was no longer any space between them~ '

For a moment he stood very still, then his arms came up to wrap around
her. Her body melted against his, but she kept her face lowered,
knowing that this was not the time or the place to start anything
major.  Maybe there ~vas no time or place.

"Trav, you could have pretended you didn't know me and walked away when
you saw me standing on the street in St.  Stephens."

"I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

When he didn't answer, she went on.  "Last summer we were a man and a
woman dating each other.  We were attracted, but we were both being
cautious, giving ourselves time to find out how we felt.  This
afternoon everything sped up, and we found out things that would have
taken months to develop in the normal course of events."

"You're leaving out a six-month gap," he grated~ "What happened during
those six months?"

"Forget I mentioned it."

"All right, but are you telling me you can't feel what's happening
between us now?"

He cursed softly under his breath.  "Arin, it doesn't matter how we
feel!"

"Maybe you'd better explain that."

"We're talking about a two-way street.  You've got enough problems of
your own without taking on mine."

"I'd be in a better position to judge if I knew what they were."

"Dadin', believe me, you don't want to get involved."

Maybe that was the truth.  She had no way of knowing if he didn't give
her any more information.  "You don't trust me."

"That's not the point."   "Trav, please..."

He didn't answer.  Yet he didn't move away.

Erin tried to draw in a breath and found she couldn't.  She thought be
might cut off her questions the way he had in the gaze be by sealing
his mouth over hers.  The look in his eyes said he wanted to.  And she
wanted it, too. Because maybe if he kissed her, she could make him
understand how she felt. But he didn't.

The moment stretched and went past the point where he might have made
his move.  As they stared at each other she felt as if she were caught
in a time warp.  Only this time she knew what was going to happen.  He
wasn't going to tell her he'd see her.  And he wasn't going to call.

He said nothing more.  He only gave her hand a quick squeeze before
starting down the steps.

With a leaden heart Erin watched him get into the Corvette and start
the engine.  In the darkness she pressed her fingers over her mouth,
remembering the way his lips had felt on hers.  Unable to make herself
turn away, she stood staring down the street long after the vehicle had
carried him away into the night.

"ONE ... TWO ... Three.  ..FOur  Travis did thirteen more lat pulls
before taking a fifteen-second breather.  Then he went on to the leg
press, keeping the count, keeping himself

from thinking about Erin as he pushed Ms body to its physical limit.

Briefly he thought about adding ten more pounds to the setting he'd
used two days ago.  Then he shook his head.  If he went too fast and
whacked up his knees, he was going to be sorry.  Besides, the setting
he was using was enough to give him that high-flying, buoyant feeling
he'd always gotten from a strenuous workout.

When he finished, he did three sets on the incline.  He was breathing
in oxygen like a long-distance runner, and his skin was coated with a
fine sheen of perspiration.

Lord, it was good to work up a sweat in the morning like this again.

After a session on the crossover pulleys, he started his cool' down
routine, ruthlessly thrusting aside thoughts of Erin every time she
tried to tiptoe past his defenses.

On the way to the shower he pulled his sweaty T-shirt over his head and
flung it in the direction of the hamper.  Automatically he patted the
almost invisible roll of flab around his middle.  He'd never been
obsessed with his physique.  In fact, he'd gone for strength, not
bulging muscles.  But he'd taken pride in being lean and powerful--and
in his home- run swing.

Maybe after sixty situps every morning for the next three weeks he
could join Jim Palmer in a Jockey ad.  Except that what the hell did it
matter?  A wave of cold sickness struck in the pit of the stomach, and
he closed his eyes, fighting it down the way he'd been doing every day
for the past six months.  ,

His mental control snapped, and an image of Erin the way she'd looked
up at him last night planted itself firmly in his mind.  She'd wanted
him to tell her what was bothering him.  Before he could give in to
temptation, he'd walked away.  Now he had the crazy impulse to call her
and talk ~o her about his options.  But he didn't have the right to
drag her into a dee, ion he had to make him.  ~elf.

With a grimace he stepped into the shower and turned on the cold water
full blast.

The phone was ringing when he turned off the taps.  Afraid it was
her--hoping it was her--he sprinted for the exercise room, leaving a
trail of water on the indoor-outdoor carpet.

"Hello."

He recognized the voice instantly.  It was Sake Wallace, the reporter
he'd brushed off yesterday.

"I thought we got things straight down in St.  Stephen.."

"Sorry.  I'd like to have your comments on some new developments."

Water dripped in a circle around him, making puddles on the rug.  "Oh,
yeah. Like what?"

"I'd rather talk to you in person."

"~lake, read my lips... no interviews."

"You'll get kinder, gentler treatment from me than someone else."

"You press guys were all born with bat antennae and sharks' teeth.  Now
get off my back."  Travis slammed the receiver into the cradle and
stalked into the bathroom.

OF ALL THE THINGS she could have done after dinner, Erin chose to spend
two hours sitting with Kenny in the kitchen working on the Christmas
present he was giving to his teacher, Mrs.  Marx.  She'd tried to teach
him that presents made by hand were the best kind, so they painted the
wooden box she'd gotten from a craft outlet.

But she wasn't just teaching him a lesson in giving.  She knew how much
he needed to spend a normal evening with his mother after the shock and
worry of her not coming home the night before.  At first he was full of
anxious questions about her disappearance.  But as they worked and
talked quietly, he began to calm down.  And she was very glad she'd set
aside the time.

Being with him helped her, too.  It was only after she was alone again
that the demons came back.

She lay awake long into the dark hours of the morning, thinking about
Trav and thinking about all the other problems she didn't want to deal
with.  But she didn't allow herself to cry.

On the way to work she stopped by Dr.  Diamato's office.  At least she
could get a medical report saying the marks on her neck and the slight
internal damage to her throat were consistent with having been choked. 
When she talked about her abnormally long sleep after the attack, and
the disoffentation, Diamato took a blood sample, too, although he
wasn't sure that whatever drug she'd been given would still be in her
system.

Then there was no way to put off going to her office.  As she crossed
the marble lobby of 43 Light Street she kept her gaze fixed on the
elevator.  But from the corner of her eye she could see the miniature
lights and handmade jewelry sparkling on the small ~vergreen in the
display window of Sabrina Barkley's shop.

She was just pushing the button when she saw a flash of red hair in the
corner of her eye and prayed that the car would come in the next two
seconds.

It didn't.

"Erin," Sabrina called out.

With a little sigh she turned to face her former employer.

"Everybody's been so worried about you.  Why didn't you call?  Are you
okay?"

"More or less."

"I'm so sorry you got hit with something like this."

Erin nodded, not trusting herself to speak.  It had taken a terrible
effort of will to come down to the office when she'd longed to phone in
sick and stay in bed.  But she'd vowed she wasn't going to act as if
she'd done anything wrong.  "What'can I do to help?"  Sabrina asked. 
"I'm okay."

"I read about it in the paper this morning.  Oh, Erin, it sounds
terrible. Getting choked and waking up in a'rowboat.  And then that
explosion"

"All that was in the paper?"  Erin wheezed.  A'pushy reporter had
called the night before and again in the morning,~but she'd refused to
talk to him.

"In the county section.  Come on in and I'll show it to you."

Feeling Sick and shaky, Erin followed Sabrina into the gaily decorated
shop. Yesterday she'd told Trav that no one would know who she was. 
But if it was all in the paper, anyone could read her name.

The moment she stepped in the door she wished she'd gone around the
corner and bought her own paper.

Sabrina hadn't been alone.  Abby Franklin was there.  And also Jessica
Adams, a film director who'd recently rented a ground-floor office in
the building. Over the past decade Baltimore had become important as a
movie location, and Jessica thought she had a better chance to develop
her career here than in male-dominated Hollywood.

Erin cringed away from the look on the three women's faces.  They'd
been discussing her.  Maybe Abby and Sabrina had even been telling
Jessie about the mess she'd made of things last year--filling in the
background so the newcomer would have the whole picture.  "My God, what
are you going to do, make a movie about me?"  she blurted.  "The Erin
Morgan Story.  Subtitled The Prize Chump.."

Abby jumped off the old-fashioned wooden stool she was sitting on and
hurried forward.  "Oh, honey.  Of course not.  We want to help you." 
Erin felt her face burn.  Knowing she'd made a damn fool of herself,
she started to back away.

"Wait."  Abby grabbed her shoulders.

Erin squeezed her eyes shut.  But it didn't help.  Without warning, the
tears she'd been holding back s'nice yesterday began to leak from
between her closed lids.

"You're with good friends," Abby murmured, patting her on the back. 
The others added their assent.

Erin struggled for control.  Even after she'd stopped crying she
couldn't raise her head and look at anyone in the room.

"You haven't done anything to be ashamed of," Abby said fiercely.

Guilty until proven innocent.  The phrase flashed into her head once
more.

As if she were a mind reader, Sabrina took a step toward her.  "Erin,
please listen to me.  I've always felt so' bad about what happened to
you last year. It was all because you were close to me."

Her head jerked up.  "You felt bad?"

"Of course.  The Servant of Darkness was doing everything poss~le to
destroy me--looking for any advantage.  And you got caught in the
wringer.  Th-that's what I was finally confessing to Abby when I saw
you out in the hall.  About how I always had this nagging guilt over
what happened back then.  And how I knew it was making things worse for
you now."

Fresh tears blurred Erin's vision.

Sabrina reached out her arms.  Then the three of them were hugging
fiercely.

"I didn't know," Erin whispered.  "I didn't know you felt that way."

"I was ashamed to talk about it," Sabrina admitted.  "Then when I found
out you were choked and robbed because you'd come down here at night to
put money in the safe when you should have been home..."  She gulped
and plowed ahead again.  "I was pretty sure you didn't want to keep the
money at your house on Sunday because... because you didn't want to
take a chance on getting accused of anything again .... "

Erin stared at her friend, overwhelmed by the confession and at the
same time feeling some of the tightness ease out of her chest.  "I
appreciat~ your telling me."

"So what can we do to help?"  Jessie asked.

"Is there anything Clan can do?"  Sabrina added.  Clan Cassidy, an
assistant state's attorney, had married Sabrina several months ago.  He
was the one who'd made sure Erin wasn't charged with any crime last
year.

"I hope I'm not going to need that kind of propping up."

"I'm only suggesting he might have information you could use," Sabrina
assured her quickly.

Erin nodded.  "The cop who took a statement from me wasn't very
friendly. Maybe Clan could find out if there are any leads."

"I'll call you later."

"Thanks."  Erin started to leave.

"Oh, I almost forgot.  Take the newspaper."

Local Woman Victim of Bizarre Robbery and Abduction

According to local police, Erin Morgan, an employee of Silver Miracles
Charities, was allegedly robbed and drugged on Saturday night, and then
transported to a location approximately ten miles north of St. 
Stephens, Maryland, where she claims she was abandoned by her

assailant.  Over five thousand dollars in checks and cash were reported
taken from her purse in the robbery.

In another strange twist, Ms.  Morgan and companion Travis Stone, first
baseman with the Orioles, were witnesses to the apparently accidental
propane gas explosion that destroyed the St.  Stephens residence of Dr.
Clark Han'~on Sunday afternoon.  Han'ison's charred body was found
inside the wreckage, and his death is under investigation by the St. 
Stephens fire marshal's office.

Sources in the Eastern Shore police chief's office confirm that Ms. 
Morgan said that she was being taken to Dr.  Harrison's office to get
treatment for injuries received in the abduction.  Baltimore city
police have also questioned Ms.  Morgan about the robbery and
abduction.  Both Ms.  Morgan and Mr.  Stone have declined to ~sue
statements.

Mr.  Stone has been on the Orioles' disabled list since early last
season. Rumors about lgs abrupt departure from the lineup have been
rampant-along with speculation about whether he will report to training
with the rest of the team this season.

THERE WAS MORE.  Erin read through the details several times.  But the
words began to dance in front of her eyes, and she let the paper slip
to the desk. The facts were more or less correct, but the
reporter--someone named Garrison Montgomery--was making it sound as if
the police didn't believe her wild story.  As if her explanation about
waking up in the boathouse and then the coincidence of the explosion
were fanciful details she'd cooked up.  to confuse the issue.  Then
he'd thrown in some speculation about Trav just for good measure.

Erin grimaced.  Every time she thought she'd hit bottom, things somehow
got worse.  Last night after Trav had left she'd talked to Judge
Richard Arlington, one of the three executive directors of Silver
Miracles Charities.

He'd told her not to worry about the money or anything else and that he
was sorry she'd walked in on the robbery.  What would he and the other
board members think when they saw this version of the facts?

In her mind she pictured the committee that had interviewed and hired
her. Three white male representatives of the state's power elite.  In
addition to Judge Arlington there was Dr.  Dennis Modesto and the
Honorable William De-George.  They were all wealthy and all known for
their spotless reputations.  Erin was pretty sure this kind of
publicity would appall them.

She wanted to call up the Sun reporter and demand to know why he had
done this to her.  But, if she let Montgomery know she was angry, that
would give him more fuel for his warped point of view.  Even if she hid
her anger; she was probably going to come across as defensive.  Then
he'd write about that.

Or was he already planning more articles that made her look like a fool
or a criminal?  She needed to find out, and suddenly she thought of
Jake Wallace, her friend Laura' Roswell's husband.  He was on the
sports staff at the Baltimore Sun, but probably he knew Garrison
Montgomery.

She was reaching for the phone to call Laura when the old-fashioned
intercom on her desk buzzed, and she felt a little jolt of
apprehension.

"yes?"

"I forgot to tell you" Robin Trainer, her secretary, said.  "Travis
Stone called before you got here.  He wants to talk to you."

Trav!  She'd told herself she probably wouldn't hear from him again. 
Now he was coming through for her again, just when she needed him.  Her
hand closed around the receiver.  "Put him through."

"He's"

Robin's explanation was cut off as the office door flew open and Travis
barreled into the room.

Erin's eager expression froze as he slammed the door with his foot. 
Then he was striding toward her like a manager who'd leapt out Of the
dugout to protest a lousy call.

He wasn't a tall man or a bulky one.  This morning he seemed to tower
over her--filling the room with the force of his presence.  "What in
the name of blue blazes is going on?"  he demanded, his voice louder
than she'd ever heard it.

The color was high in his cheeks, and his eyes glittered dangerously as
he reached out to grasp her shoulders.

His fingers dug into her flesh.  When she could only stare at him
stupidly, he gave her an exasperated shake.  "Dam reit, Erin.  What are
you tryin' to do to me?"

"I--nothing."

"Come on, darli~'.  I've been layin' low for months.  Staying out of
the way of the press.  Now you've got Jake Wallace sniffing around my
house like a hound with a possum up a tree."

She stared at him in confusion.  "Sake?  I--I was just g?  ing to call
him."

An expletive flew from Travis's lips.  "Is he paying you for
information?"

Erin shook her head vigorously.  "He's a friend."

"Oh, you're doin' it for free.   Well, that's just great."   "I--I
don't understand."

"Neither do I.  What did you do after I left last night, get on the
horn to him and give him a blow-by-blow description of our
afternoon?"

It was as if they were holding a conversation in two different
languages, so that each of them could'barely'under stand what the other
was saying. Yesterday Trav had been tender and gentle, concerned and
regretful when he'd said goodbye.  This morning the only thing she knew
for sure was that he was angry--and that he thought she'd given Jake
Wallace personal information about him.  Her pulse pounded in her ears
as she tried to put some physical distance between them.  But his iron
grip held her fast.

She tried as best she could to get through to him.  "Trav, please
listen to me.  I haven't talked to Jake or anyone else besides
Detective Hillman.  But Jake's married to a friend of mine.  Laura
Roswell.  I thought he could give me some advice."

"On what?"

"Didn't you see the article in the Sun this morning?"

"I stopped taking the Sun six months ago when they started running all
kinds of stupid rumors they couldn't prove."

She gestured toward the paper lying on her blotter.

Swiftly he rounded the desk, snatched up the county section and scanned
the front page.

Erin watched Trav's expression change as he perused the article.  When
he finished he carefully set the paper down on the desk.

"Well, I see where Jake got his information.  But if you didn't talk to
this Montgomery guy, how did he tie everything together?"

"I thought maybe Jake could find out."

He looked chagrined.  "Erin, I shouldn't have come in here and tried to
blow you out of the water.  I guess I'm so wound up in my own problems
I can't think about anyone else's?"

"Every time I ask about what you're hiding, you close up like an oyster
that's been poked with a stick.  What are you so desperate to keep
everyone from finding out?"

He started to speak just as the intercom buzzed again.  Now what?

The question was answered as the door flew open.

Chapter Five

The Honorable William De George stepped into the office.  -He was
followed by Judge Richard Arlington and Dr.  Dennis Modesto.  All three
were impeccably dressed in dark suits, white shirts and striped ties,
as if they'd had a sartorial conference before getting out of their
pajamas.  Or perhaps they'd just come from the same funeral, since
their faces all had identical grave looks.

"I see the two of you are together," -Dr.  Modesto said dryly.  "And
you've been discussing the famous newspaper article,"

De George shoved his hands into his pants pockets.  Arlington folded
his arms across his chest.  Modesto glanced back at Robin before
carefully closing the door of the small office.  Despite the restrained
click, Erin felt as if she'd been trapped inside a crowded elevator
that had suddenly gotten stuck between floors.

She turned to Trav.  He was giving the trio an unhurried inspection,
and she tried to see the men through his eyes.  What she observed was
power. Purpose.  And righteous indignation--in slightly different
individual packages.

After two terms in the state assembly, and a recently de-dared Senate
candidacy, De George was the most familiar to the public.  Arlington
looked the most uncomfortable and the least sure of his reasons for
being in Erin's office.  But

Modesto, a renowned interhist at Johns Hopkins, returned Trav's stare
with a hostility that made Erin's throat go dry.

"This is the executive board of Silver Miracles Charities."  Erin
hurried through swift, formal introductions.

"Glad to meet you," Trav replied.  "I guess you've come to offer your
sympathies to Mrs.  Morgan over her being assaulted in her office the
night before last."

There was a moment of silence, then Judge Arlington spoke.  "Quite
unfortunate.  Quite unfortunate.  I wish it hadn't happened."

The others murmured their agreement.

Trav moved to the window, propped himself against the sill and
stretched out his long legs as if he were feeling perfectly
comfortable.

Erin was becoming more nervous by the minute.  Pressing her cold hands
against the sides of her chair, she struggled to keep her face
composed.  The only time she, d met with the whole executive board had
been at her job interview.

Modesto moved farther into the room, looking from Trav to Erin.  "We
came down here to spare you three separate sessions.  There are some
questions we need to clear up."

"Yes?"   Erin prompted.

"You told the police you were robbed when you Came back to put the
money from the charity reception in.  the safe," the physician
continued.  The other two men had stepped back, as if they'd already
agreed who was going to do the talking.

"Yes.  Robbed and choked.  And drugged."

"Drugged."  The doctor made the word sound slimy.  "And then you told
Detective Hillman a bizarre story about waking up in a boathouse on the
Eastern Shore" -- "It may sound bizarre, but it's what happened."

Modesto plowed on.  "Then you meet up with a former ball player of
questionable reputation, and the two of you happen to show up at the
home of a prominent St.  Stephens physician moments before his garage
blows up--with him inside."

Trav sprang off the windowsill.  "Now wait a damn minute!  We had
nothing to do with Doc Harrison's death.  He was a friend of mine and I
thought he could help Erin."

"And I suppose you're also going to deny you were suspended from the
orioles for t~king drugs?"

"Of course I'm going to deny it!"  Trav snapped.

"Then what secret set of circumstances prevented you from remaining
with the team last season?"

"Health problems."

"A bad back?  That's the cover story you've put out.  But there's no
evidence of~ your getting hurt or being treated for a back injury."

Travis didn't answer, but his arms were rigid at his sides, his hands
balled into fists.

"It's more likely you checked yourself into a drug detox center,"
Modesto continued.  "The Thomas Clement Center, to be exact.  Or do you
deny being seen there last spring?"

"The only time I was ever at the Thomas Clement Center was to visit a
teammate."  Trav enunciated each word very carefully.

"So you say.  Well, you're a hell of a role model for the kids who
idolize you."

Trav's countenance darkened, but he said nothing.  Modesto turned from
him to Erin.  "Aside from your recent questionable associations,
there's another matter we'd like you to explain.  When we hired you, we
were not aware that you were involved in the Graveyard Murders."

She felt the blood drain out of her face.

"I--I was cleared of an-any... willful... wrongdoing."

"Technically, I suppose that's true.  But I'm sure you realize we would
never have offered you a job in the first place if you hadn't hidden
your background."

"I didn't think it was relevant," Erin protested.

"That was an error in judgment, I'm afraid," Modesto shot back.

"Yeah, and what public-spirited citizen clued you in to her
background?" Trav interjected.

"I'm not at liberty to say," Modesto snapped before addressing himself
to Erin once more.  "I'm sure you realize that with charitable
organizations coming under increasing scrutiny~ the reputation of
Silver Miracles must remain spotless if we are to enjoy the support of
the local community. Christmas is the time of greatest generosity, and
we must be careful not to jeopardize our income."

She nodded tightly.

"In light of recent events, we feel it would be best for you to
voluntarily disassociate yourself from us.J;

"I" -- Erin pressed her knees together to keep them from shaking
against each other.

Trav was at her side, his arm around her.  "Come on, let's get out of
here."

"Just a moment," Modesto objected.  "I've typed up a letter of
resignation for you to sign."  f

Trav looked from him to Judge Arlington.  "You think this kind of
charade is legal?"

The judge had the grace to flush.  "I'm sorry."  He turned to Erin. 
"I've been more than satisfied with your work, but I've been persuaded
that we have to act in the best interests of Silver Miracles."

"Yeah, well, the three of you may be persuaded otherwise when Mrs. 
Morgan hauls your asses into court."

"Trav," Erin protested.

"And if she decides to tender her resignation, you'll give her
severance pay, references and the services of a placement agency so she
can find a better job."

"A man like you is in no position to dictate terms to us," Modesto
snapped.

"A man like what?"

When Modesto didn't answer, he went on.  "You want to avoid publicity? 
Well, if you fire Erin, you're going to read about it in the papers." 
He laughed harshly.  "I can see the headline now.  Silver Miracles
Charities Fires Widow of War Hero at Christmas.  How do you think that
will affect your image?" ~"You won't get away with this."  Modesto took
a step forward, his hands raised in a threatening gesture.

Trav's own fists came up.  "~Come on, Dr.  Self-Righteous.  Make my
day."  ~

Somewhere along the line the hostility between the two men had become
personal.  Both Erin and Judge Arlington stepped between them.

"Please," Erin whispered.  "Please, Trav"

He focused on her as if he'd suddenly remembered she was in the room.
"Sorry, darling'.  You don't need any more grief from this hatchet
squad."

He grasped her arm tightly, and she wasn't sure whether he thought she
needed his support or he was trying to remind himself he was supposed
to be helping her.

"I..  wait ... my purse."  She pointed to the bottom right-hand drawer
of her desk.  Trav pulled it open and dragged out the pocketbook.

"You can't just leave like this," Modesto protested.  "The hell we
can't."

Without missing a step Trav propelled Erin from the room.  Her
secretary, Robin, who had been staring at the door, jumped up.  "Erin,
what should"

"She'll be' in touch," Trav said over his shoulder as he steered Erin
into the hall.

She was hardly aware of going down in the elevator or crossing the
street to the parking garage.  The next thing she remembered clearly
was finding herself sitting and shivering in a small luxury sedan.

Trav reached across the console and folded her into his arms.  "Erin,
it's all right.  It's all right," he repeated.  "Those jerks are going
to be sorry they did this to you."

She leaned into him, muffling a little sob against his T-shirt.

He patted her back, murmuring soothing phrases she could barely hear.
Finally she brought herself under control and fumbled in her purse for
a tissue.

"Are you okay?"

"I've been better.  Thanks for pulling me out of there."

"And out into the cold."   He took her frigid hands, rubbing them
briskly between his larger ones.   Then he struggled out of his bomber
jacket and draped it carefully around her shoulders, pulling the edges
closed across her thin shirt.   "I made things worse for you.   I
shouldn't have let that bastard Modesto gctto me."

"He got to me, too."

"What was that garbage about the Graveyard Murders?  I remember reading
about them, but you were never mentioned."

Erin felt her eyes sting again.

"It's okay.  You don't have to tell me."

"I want to."  Quickly she gave him a brief account of how she'd been
sucked in to the attempt to pin the murders on Sabrina.

He whistled through his teeth.  "Bad luck that you were working in her
shop."

"That--that's what Sabrina said this morning."  Erin felt the misery
threatening to overwhelm her again.  "Trav, I should have told the
committee when I applied for the job."

"Darlin', you're talking like you have a criminal record or something. 
When you go for a job interview you don't have to tell them about every
traffic ticket you ever got."

"This wasn't a traffic ticket!"

"But you didn, t do anything wrong.  You weren't convicted of anything.
 You were used."

"Yes, but they're right.  A charity gets its operating funds from
public contributions.  It has to maintain a spotless reputation, and if
somebody questions my background, then I become a liability."

He snorted.  "Right.  Spotless.  Want me to go back and get your coat
before it ends up in the Christmas clothing fund?"

Erin couldn't hold back the ghost of a grin.  "I think you're looking
for an excuse to punch out Dr.  Modesto."

"I lost it."

"Of course you did.  I can't believe he had the audacity to say those
things to you!"

She'd given him the perfect opportunity to answer the question still
hanging between them.  Instead she felt the silence build.

"I keep turning up like a bad penny, don't I?"  Trav asked.

"No.  You keep turning up when I need you."

He reached for the phone.  "Let's see what else I can do."

It became clear very quickly that he had called her house and was
talking to Mrs.  Vickery.

"Erin's not going to be at the office for the rest of the day.

She's going back to the Eastern Shore with me.  "

Her head swung toward him.  What?  "

He was still speaking to her housekeeper.  "We'll be back this evening.
Tell Kenny I'm looking forward to seeing-him again.  And if you need
to reach us, I'll give you the number of the car phone."

Erin watched him hang up.  "What do.  you mean we're going to the
Eastern Shore?"

"Like I told Mrs.  Vickery, you've got the day off.  So while the
directions are fresh in your mind we're going to find that boathouse
where you woke up, and take some pie Erin exhaled in a long sigh.  " I
can't go down to St. Stephens," she protested.  " Kenny"

"He's at' school And you'll be home about the same time as usual. 
After that fun-filled interview I think you need some proof of what
happened to you."

"I went to the doctor on the way to work.  He says the bruises on my
throat are consistent with being strangled."

"You should get a written statement from him.  And after we find the
boathouse we'll take Bramble back there."

"Why are you doing all this for me?"

Tmv's foot hit the brake, and the car came to a bouncing stop.  "I got
you into it."

"No."  She laid a hand on his arm.  "I was already in deep kimchi when
I bumped into you on the street.  You didn't know what was going to
happen at Doc's."

"Deep kimchi.  I'll have to remember that."  He eased the gear lever
forward, and the car began to move again.

She gave Trav a half smile.  Yesterday she'd told him she wasn't used
to having people make decisions for her; today she was no longer sure
what decisions she should be making.  She pulled his jacket more firmly
around her shoulders.  When he saw her shivering again, he turned up
the heat.  But she was no longer reacting to the cold.  She was
thinking about the future. About how she was going to have to find
another job so she could support her son and her ?

Her hands clenched on the edges of the seat.  She had been so thrilled
to be working for Silver Miracles.  And she'd loved ~cry minute of
it--loved helping put families back together.  Usually it was the
adoptees who came to her for help in finding their birth parents.  But
sometimes it was a woman who longed to contact the child she'd been
forced to give up years ago.

Now she was going to have to give all that up.

Unmailed letter from Missy Perry to Jimmy Beauford May 18, 1961

Dear Jimmy,

I'm so scare I don't know what to do.  If only I could talk to you.

Jimmy, oh Jimmy.  When you went away to school last fall, you phoned me
every Sunday afternoon--right after my family dinner.  Now l go weeks
without a call or a letter.  And l haven 't felt your arms around me
since spring break.  Even then, things werersit the way they used to
be.  You acted different, like I was just a high school kid, and you
were part of a whole new world at the university.

Today's our two-year anniversary, but you haven't even called.  I don't
think you will.  And, if you do, I know I'll start crying if l try to
tell you why I wake up every morning feeling sick to my stomach.

This afternoon I had an apE ointment to see Dr.  Wiley who has an
office over in the next town.  (I picked his name out of the yellow
pages.  ) I sat in Iris waiting room thumbing through an old Bride's
magazine, but I couldn't stop my hands from shaking.

The waiting room was jam-packed.  A woman with a sick baby came in and
took the last empty chair next to a mother with a whiny preschooler. 
In the corner an old man coughed so hard it made his newspaper rattle. 
Every time a new per78 ?

What Child Is Thi~?  son came in, I looked up to make sure it wasn't
someone who'd rat to Mom that I was here.

I tried to read about "Honeymoon Hideouts" and "The Language of
Flowers, " but the words blurredin front of my eyes.  So I turned the
pages and ball looked at the pictures, until l came to one that made my
mouth drop open. There you were in full color--or at least a smiling
blond-haired guy in a tux tvho could're been your twin brother.  I tore
out the sheet and folded it into a small square that I held in my palm
like a good-luck charm.

My hands were cold as ice cubes by the time the nurse called out my
name and led me to the examining room.  Ske took my temperature and
pulse and then asked a ton of questions about my family history.  Jeez,
I didn't know whether to tell her the truth or make some tiring up.

"So how are you feeling?"  she asked.

"Sick to my stomach, like maybe I have the flu..  .  ub ... I've been
sick for over a month."

"Any other symptoms?"

"I'm five weeks late, " Iblurted out, feeling my face go all hot and
red.

"Then you'd better get undressed so Dr.  Wiley can do a full
examination." She handed me a sheet and lej~ the room.

For twenty endless minutes I sat on the examining table as frigbtened
as my cat Brandy when l take her to the vet.  But there was no one to
pet my hair and tell me everything was going to be all right.  I pulled
the sheet around my body, but I couldn't stop the shivering or the
~boughts that raced through my mind.  God, please let it be the flu? 
don't let Morn find out.  tell me what to do .  When I felt like I
couldn't sit there another minute, the door opened and a tall, thin man
came in.  "I'm Dr.  Wiley," he ~ "SO you've been feeling a little sick.
 Let's take a

The examination was embarrassing.  Cold instruments, hands intruding in
private places.  I squeezed my eyes shut until it was over.  Then the
doctor toM me to get dressed and sit in the waiting room again The
results of the lab work took forever, but the moment I stepped back
into Dr.  Wtley's office l knew l was sum~

"Sit dotvn, " he said gently.  "I think we can rule out the flu.  And
you're probably going to get over this morning sickness in a few more
weeks."

"TbenI'm..."

He nodde~i "The test was positive.  You're going to have a baby."

Oh, Jimmy, what am I going to do?  l can't mail this letter to you. 
And you're never in your dorm when I call.  Please, please come home so
we can talk.8

EmN'S Mm-D ~.  When she finally focused on her surroundings again, she
realized Trav wasn't heading east out of the city.  "Where are we
going?"

"My place.  To get a camera.  And I can lend you some~ thing more
comfortable to wear."

Erin looked down at the corduroy skirt and print blouse under Trav's
bomber jacket.  "Like what?"

"A jogging suit."  He flashed her a devil-may-care grin.  "I'm anxious
to see how my pants look on you."

He turned ontoa side street off Joppa Road and pulled up in front of a
stone-and-timber house set back on a wooded lot.  Apparently he didn't
want her to get the wrong idea, because as they approached the front
door she could tell that he was being careful to put some distance
between them, as if he was making it perfectly clear that he wasn't
bringing her here for anything more than a quick change of clothes.

She followed him into a spacious hallway paved with terra-cotta tiles.
Beyond it she could see a living room that looked uncomprowisingly
masodine, with leather couches, dark wood and area rugs in earth tones.
But it lached warmth, as if he hadn't known how or hadn't cared about
giving it the stamp of his personality.

Erin assumed that most star athletes would at least display their
trophies and awards.  He had a bunch.  Where were they?

"I'll be right back."

He reappeared in a minute with a T-shirt and a running suit.

"You can change in the guest bathroom."

Even though Trav gave her privacy, Erin felt odd getting undressed in
his house.  As she pulled the shirt over her head she heard the muffled
ringing of a phone.

Trav's rapid footsteps crossed the tile floor.  Then he was talking to
someone.  He sounded angry, but she couldn't tell what he was saying.

After she dressed, Erin looked at herself in the overhead mirror above
the sink and fluffed her hair into place.  When she realized what she
was doing, she made a face.  Despite everything, she still worried
about her appearance when she was with Travis Stone.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she followed the sound of his voice As
she came into the kitchen she saw him slam the receiver into the
cradle.  "Damn reporters," he muttered as he opened a drawer under the
counter, pulled out a small plastic bottle and began to twist off the
top.

"I'm ready."

He froze, except for his right hand, which carefully turned and cupped
around the bottle, completely concealing it.  But she'd already gotten
a quick look.

"What are you trying to hide from me?"

He turned and eased open the drawer.  "If I thought you were going to
come sneaking down the hall, I'd have asked

wait in the car.  "

For two days she'd been repressing her anger and frustration.  As she
stood facing Trav's back, her feelings leapt to the surface and found a
focus.  She couldn't throttle the man who'd strangled her and left her
in the boathouse. She couldn't scream at the Silver Miracles executive
committee.  But she could damn well get some answers from Travis
Stone.

"Sorry you didn't hear me.  Or maybe I'm not."  Marching across the
kitchen, she grabbed his hand.

Trav, however, was a lot stronger and he yanked his fingers out of her
grasp. At the same time the top flew off the container in his palm.  He
made a frantic attempt to recover, but dozens of bright
green-and-yellow capsules flew out of the bottle, scattering and
bouncing like Mexican jumping beans across the white surface of the
kitchen counter, their separate impacts filling the silent kitchen like
gravel hitting the side of a car.

"What are those?"  Erin asked.

Ignoring the question, Travis swept the capsules into a p'~e.

She grabbed his shoulder, feeling him jump underneath her fingers. 
"What are you taking?"

He turned to give her a challenging look.  "What do you think?  Uppers?
 A maintenance dose from the Thomas Clement Detox Center?"

"I'm not going to play twenty questions.  What are they?"  His eyes
bored into hers.  "You look as if you've already made up your mind."

"Trav, you're the one who keeps referring to some problem.  Something
that's been making you duck the press for mouths."

"And Dr.  Modesto supplied you with a perfectly logical explanation."

She ignored the sarcasm in his voice.  "I asked you the question before
the doctor and his colleagues barged into my

office.  Why don't you answer it now?  What is it that you're so
desperate to hide?  "

He set the bottle down with a thunk on the Formica counter, scattering
the pills he'd just picked up.  "All right.  You want to know?  Well,
the truth is, I'm dying."

Chapter Six

"No."  That was all Erin could manage, because she suddenly felt as if
all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving her gasping and
anchored to nothing.  She sway and Trav closed the distance between
them, catching t before she could topple over.  She clung to him, to
his phi ical presence, to the hard planes of his body.

He was so solid, so well made that it was impossible f her to believe
what he'd just said.

"No," she repeated, staring into his eyes, begging him tell her
something more acceptable.

He looked as stunned as she, as if he couldn't quite crec the words
he'd just blurted.  Yet there was a measure of r lief in the depth of
his green eyes, too.  And she had aquic stabbing sense of the terrible
feeling of isolation that had locked him away from other people for the
past six months

She remembered how he'd disappeared from her life as someone had
slammed a door.  At first she'd thought it w just from her.  Then she'd
found out it was from ever yore She thought of the press hounding him
for answers abra why he'd gone on the Orioles' disabled list two months
in!  last season.

Unable to breathe, she waited for him to speak.  "I've got leukemia."

"Oh, God.  Trav.  Trav."  Stunned, she tried to read his face.  He
looked different than he had six months ago, but not sick.  What she
saw was a new maturity--a new accommodation with reality that made her
heart turn over.

She clasped him tightly against her breast, her hands moving urgently
across his strong back, down the corded muscles of his arms and then up
again into the golden hair that covered his head.

He rested his check against her temple, and she knew he needed her. 
Needed to be held by someone who cared about him.  She'd known that
since yesterday afternoon in St.  Stephens, and although she was
stunned by what he'd said, she was glad she'd pushed him hard enough to
make him speak.  Yet while she tried to comfort him, she struggled with
her own fear.

"Trav.  Trav," she murmured the way she might have tried to reassure
Kenny when he was feeling small and overwhelmed by life.  But it wasn't
the same. She couldn't stop touching him everywhere she could reach,
the tact' de contact sending a tremor down her arm and through the rest
of her body.

Her fingers brushed his hair.

"I didn't cut it," he said, his voice gritty.  "I lost it."

"But you look too healthy to have leukemia," she blurted.

"I'm in remission."

"Thank God."

She felt him shake his head.  "Erin, the disease--at least, the form
I've got--almost always comes back."

"But ... one of Kenny's friends..."  she stammered.  "I mean, the
sister of one of his friends had leukemia, and she had chemotherapy. 
The doctors told her mother she's

"That's with the kind kids get.  With adults, it's different.  The best
chance of a cure is a bone marrow transplant."

"Then you're going to have one!"

"It's not so simple.  You've got to have a donor--some-one whose blood
matches yours as closely as possible.  There's a national registry, but
there's only a one in twenty thousand chance of finding a match.  And
so far I haven't hit the jackpot."

"Didn't they test all your relatives?"

He laughed hollowly.  "They haven't tested any of my relatives, because
they don't know who they are.  I'm adopted."

"

"You--you're adopted?"

"I left it out of my official bio because I didn't think it was
relevant." His expression was intense as he looked down at her.  "Do
you believe in fate?"

The question was so close to what she'd been thinking the day he'd
found her wandering on the street that her eyes widened.

"I've been carrying the number of Birth Data, Inc.  around in my pocket
for weeks.  I'd finally decided I was going to call you on Monday and
ask you to help me s~art a search.  Then I bumped into youin St. 
Stephens."

"Why were you putting it off?"

His face had turned rigid as granite.  When he spoke his voice was just
as hard.  "For one thing, I don't think my birth mother's going to be
too pleased to see me."

"Any mother would want to help her son!"

"Yeah?  Even one who signed away all her rights to her kid when he was
only a few hours old?  It sounds like she was glad to get rid of me!"

"What did your adoptive parents tell you about it?"

This time his laugh reminded her of millstones grinding together. 
"That she didn't want me.  And that they should have been as smart as
she was."

Erin gasped.  "Oh, Trav.  How could any parents say something like that
to their child?"

He shrugged, and his eyes turned hard, but not before Erin caught the
hurt in their green depths.  "It's okay.  I stopped worrying about what
Peg and Wayne Stone thought a long time ago."

Erin had never heard a more bold-faced lie, but she didn't challenge
him.

"We haven't spoken since I disobeyed a direct order from Wayne and
chucked a place at Georgia Tech for the Braves' farm team."

She tried hard to understand.  "Usually people who adopt really want a
child, so they give him a warm, loving home."

"Yeah..  Well, with the Stones, having a kid was probably a matter of
keeping up with the Joneses.  You know, they had a four-bedroom house
and they needed some appropriate little people to fill the rooms.  Only
they stopped with one when they found out they hadn't gotten what they
wanted."

"What did they want?"

"To start with, I suppose, a baby who didn't cry all the time and spit
up on the living room sofa.  A nice, polit~ little boy who remembered
to wipe his shoes on the doormat before coming into the mudroom.  A boy
who didn't fall out of the big weeping willow and break his arm or
throw a baseball through the living room window.  A boy who got top
grades and didn't squirm during Reverend Slocom's sermons."  '

He'd given a pretty good description of a typical infant, and a
high-spirited youngster not unlike her own son.  "Trav ... I'm sorry,"
she repeated lamely, even as she struggled to take it all in.  Travis
had been given up at birth and adopted by people who didn't really want
him.  That explained a lot about the kind of man he'd become, why he
didn't talk about himself 'and why he lived so close to the surface.

Erin struggled to repress a shudder.  She'd been terrified by her own
problems.  They paled in comparison with his.

"In the hospital, and afterward when I was down in' Florida soaking up
the sun, I thought about you a lot," he murmured.

"What were you thinking?"  ~ "That I wanted to be with you."

"Why didn't you call me?"   "How could I?"

She tipped her head up so that she could meet his eyes.  "Erin, be
realistic. The last thing you need is to get hooked up with a guy who
might not be around a couple of years from now."

He pressed his fingers against her lips.  "I think we've both said too
much already.  I know I have."

She moved his hand away.  "No.  We haven't said enough."

"Erin, you think we would have developed a meaningful relationship S'LX
months ago.  But I was pretty sure I couldn't give you what you
needed."

"You're saying that to drive a wedge between us hOWl" "No.  You're a
woman who deserves a man you can rely on for the long haul.  A man
who'll take care of you.  A man who'll be a good father to Kenny.  But
I've never been comfortable with making commitments.  That's why I
didn't take you to bed, because I knew it would mean something to you
that it didn't to me.  And I wasn't willing to end up hurting you."

"Did you ever do that before--stop yourself from making love to a woman
because you thought you were going to end up hurting her?"

"No.  I never met anyone like you before.  Never met anyone I could" He
stopped abruptly.  i

Her heart began to pound.  "You could what?"

His face twisted in anguish.  "Erin, don't you understand?  It doesn't
matter.  I've never been good at.  relationships.  And now I've got a
hell of a lot less to offer."

"Don't say that."

He shook his head, and she knew he wasn't capable of listening to any
arguments she might give him about the two ~f them.  In truth, she was
still too stunned to fathom what.  those arguments might be.  He was
right.  And at the same time he was so very wrong.  Everything had
changed.

But there was no way she could make him understand what she couldn't
quite put into words.  The only thing she knew for sure was that she
wanted--needed--to be close to him.  So she Stopped trying to tell him
anything.  Gently she pressed her lips to his.

He backed up a few inches until his hips were against the kitchen
counter. "No.  Don't."

That was what he said, his voice raw, his hands clenched tightly
against his sides as if he were afraid he was going to grab her and
hold on for dear LIFE.

He didn't.  But she didn't move away.

For heartbeats they stood inches apart, except where her lips rested
softly against his like an invitation--or a promise.

She'd never fully tested her powers as a woman.  Not like this.  With a
little smile she began to move her head from side to side, brushing,
teasing, generating an electric buzz between them.

She knew she was s~ducing him into her game when his mouth opened and
his tongue began to explore the sensitive inner surface of her lips. 
Then he groaned deep in his chest, and his arms came up to clasp her
tightly.

The rules of engagement changed.  She felt a shudder go through his
frame as they exchanged hard, frantic kisses.  Convulsively she dug her
fingers into the corded muscles of his arms, anchoring herself as the
world seemed to drop away from under her.

Did he feel her knees buckle?  Was that why he wrapped her tightly in
his arms and lifted her off the floor.  Leaning back against the
counter, he sealed the two of them tightly together.

He kissed her like a starving man who'd given up hope of finding
sustenance. Like a man who'd thought he could never assuage his gnawing
hunger.

Her own lips were no less urgent as they moved over his, desperate to
give him everything he asked.

He slid her body against his, the friction setting up exquisite ripples
of sensation that radiated from the most sensitive points of contact to
every far-flung nerve ending.

She heard her own frantic breathing--and his.  Felt her heart
pounding--and his.

My God, had she ever been this wild, this aroused, this out of
control?

When he set her down, she whimpered.  But it was only so he could touch
her in a different way.  His hands cupped around her full, aching
breasts, and new pleasure shot through her.

She heard him rumble something hot and sexy deep in his throat and
thought he was going to lead her to the bedroom.  Instead, he went very
still.  Then he pressed against her shoulders, putting a few inches of
space between them. "Lord, I'm doin' it again.  Reaching for you."

"Because it's the right thing to d~."   She tried to pull him close
once more, but his strong hands maintained the gulf between her heated
body and his.

"Trav, I want you.  And you want me."

"Yeah.  But you're not the kind of woman who goes the way just because
you're attracted to a guy.  Otherwise, I

would have taken you to bed a long time ago, darling'.  " " I'm mature
enough to make my own decisions.  "

"And I hope I'm mature enough to keep you from getting hurt."

The mixture of sadness and determination in his eyes made her heart
turn over.

He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze.  "But it's obvious I don't have
a lot of willpower when I'm alone with you.

So we'd best remember what we came here for.  "

Stepping around her, he exited the kitchen.

Erin turned and watched his rigid back disappear around the corner. 
She'd known all along how easy it would be for her to love this man. 
And she'd known all along that he could hurt her, Now he was telling
her they'd better not start anything because he might not be around to
finish it.

Struggling to pull herself together, she began to pick the scattered
capsules off the surface of the counter and drop them into the bottle. 
But they kept slipping through her fingers.

Everything Travis had.  said, everything they'd done in the past few
minutes played itself vividly through her mind, and she realized that
the impact was still hitting her--would keep hitting her.  Like the
time when the grim-faced army lieutenant had come to her door to tell
her Bruce was dead.  She'd heard the words and understood them.  But
she'd still look up and expect to see her husband walking through a
doorway.

She clenched her fists.  This wasn't like Bruce, who had been thousands
of miles away fighting in the desert.  Trav wasn't going to die!  Not
if she could do something about it.  "Trav, let me help you," she
whispered.  But he hadn't stayed to listen.  ~

She longed to follow him.  But he'd made it clear he wanted to be
alone. Instead she returned to the bathroom and splashed cold water on
her face.  It didn't help much.  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears,
her cheeks were flushed and her lips were still swollen from their
heated kisses.  It made an odd picture.

She was back in the kitchen, struggling to appear composed, when Trav
returned with a camera case slung over his shoulder At least he didn't
look any cooler than she.  But they had reached a new level of
intimacy, if you could call it that.  He walked past her, took a glass
from the cabinet and filled it.  Then he picked up the bottle of
capsules and shook two into his hand.

Longing to tell him what she was feeling, or just to put a reassuring
hand on his shoulder, she simply watched him swallow them.

"We'd better get goto' if you want to take some pictures of that
boathouse and be back by dinnertime."

"Do you want me to drive?"  she asked as he opened the car door.

"Why would I want you to do that?"  '

"It's a long way.  And you just made the trip yesterday."

"Darlin', I told you.  I'm fine.  I bench pressed 250 this morning. 
And my white blood count's five thousand."

He climbed into the driver's seat and shut the door with a lot more
force than necessary.

' The car was filled with silence as they headed east.  Erin knew she'd
made a blunder suggesting that Travis might be feeling tired.  She was
the first person he, d confided in, but he still wasn't comfortable
with the revelation.  She'd better remember to take her cues from him. 
Except that he wasn't giving her any.  Instead he was making it clear
that he'd rather have been alone.

But she wanted to be with him.  Above and beyond that, the thgught of
going back to the boathouse raised goose bumps along her arms.  It
wasn't something she could do alone.

Erin was begi~'nning to think that it was going to be an awfully long
ride when Trav cleared his throat.  "Remember I said I was going to
come to your office for advice on finding my birth mother?  Could you
give me some of the information now?"

He must have caught the anxious expression on her face.  "Listen, if
you can't help, or don't want to, I can use another service."

"Trav, how could you imagine I wouldn't want to help you?  I was just
thinking that locating birth parents sometimes takes years."

"It does?"

"Well, the records are sealed unless it was an open adoption, which
wasn't very common in the sixties.  So it may depend on how much
information you already have.  Does your birth certificate say where
you were born?"

"No.  But there's some stuff I know.  I ~ -ai ember our maid tellin' me
that my parents flew up to Maryland--to somewhere called Friendship to
pick me up. You heard of it?"

"Maybe.  That was the old name for Baltimore Washington International
Airport."

"Uh... another thing I've known for a long time.  My parents paid cash
to get me."

"How much?"

"More than they thought I was worth."

"They told you that?"

"Usually when they were angry about something I'd done."

"Oh, Trav.  That's cruel."

He shrugged.

Erin sat rigid in her seat, fighting to hold back the tears that
blurred her vision.  If he thought she felt sorry for him, that was
just go' rag to make things worse.  Finally she trusted

herself to speak.  "Well, you have one thing going for you.  The courts
will open sealed records if your health is involved."

"You mean I have to tell some jackass like Judge Arlington that I have
leukemia?"

"Trav, why is hiding that so important?  I mean, Mario Lemieux talked
about having Hodgkin's disease.  Do you really prefer people to think
you're on drugs?"

She saw his hands tighten on the wheel.  "You wouldn't understand."

"I want to."

Again the silence in the car was filled with powerful emotions. 
Finally he sighed.  "Erin, you're asking me to talk about hard
stuff...."

"Tell me when you want me to back off."

"All right, dam reit I thought about callin' a press c~nference.  Going
before the TV cameras and just sayin' it straight Out.  But I
couldn't."  He grimaced "Being sick means I'm a failure."  He blurted
out the words in a rush,

glancing quickly at her and then back to the traffic ahead.  "No!"

Now his eyes stayed glued to the road.  "You know, Peg and Wayne loved
to tell me I'd never make anything of my-serf.  Until I was ten, I was
convinced they were right.  Then one of the kids at school asked if I
wanted to join a rec league baseball team.  I did.  And I found out'! 
was damn good! Baseball was the way I proved my parents were wrong
about me.  The way I made a hell of a lot more money than most men my
age.  The way I got respect.  And this summer I found out I'm probably
never going to play again."  He snorted. "Who am I kidding?  You can
leave out the probably.  My career is over, whether I hold a press
conference or not ."  '

She reached out to cover his hand.  "I know that's hard for you...
because playing has been the focus of your life.

It was the first thing you realized you could do well.  But you're good
at other things.  "

"Yeah, like what?  You think I should try and get a job as a math
professor or maybe a rocket scientist?"

"Of course not.  If I had to pick a second career for you, it would be
working with kids.  I saw how you inspired those boys down at the
recreation center."

"Because I was the Orioles' first baseman."

"No.  You have a natural rapport with young people.  Like the way you
had Kenny eating out of your hand when you brought me home yesterday. 
You'd be good in any job that involved youngsters."

"Darlin', stop trying to boost my ego--or my spirits--or whatever
you're up to."

Erin folded her arms across her chest.  Trav had had years, and lots of
help from his adoptive parents, in forming opinions of himself.  And
she wasn't going to change them on a ride down to the Eastern Shore. 
Besides, first things came first.  He needed to find his birth mother
more urgently than anyone else she had ever helped.  And she knew all
the angles when it came to that kind of search.  "The place to start is
with Peg and Wayne because they can save you months of work if they
know your birth mother's n~me."

"I told you, I haven't talked to them in fourteen years.)' '(I could do
it for you."

("Over my dead body?

ERIN FELT TH~ BLOOD DRAIN from her face.  Trav's foot jumped on the
accelerator.  Neither one of them said it, but they were both very much
aware that he'd blurted what could turn out to be the literal truth.

He didn't say anything els~ until after they'd crossed the bay bridge. 
After a few miles they reached the turnoff to St.  Stephens.

"Was it on this side or the other side of town?"

"The other, I think, But I'm not all that familiar with the area.  How
many ways are there to get in and out of Stephens?"

"One main highway.  Basically you can go north or south.  There are
side roads, but we're on a peninsula so they all run into water after a
couple of miles.  I never asked--did you walk all the way into town?"

"No.  A farmer with a truck full of turkeys picked me up."

"Oh, yeah?   I wish I'd seen that."

"I fell asleep."  She thought back to the ride.  "But I remember a sign
that said St.  Stephens ten miles.  And... and

Oxford fifteen, or something like that, via ferry.  "

"That helps."

Remembering the absurdity of arriving in a poultry truck brought the
ghost of a grin to Erin's lips.  But the smile quickly faded and her
stomach twisted as they drove through town and back onto the two-lane
rural highway.  On the ride from Baltimore she'd been caught up in
Trav's problems.  Now he was making her confront her Own recent ordeal.
As if to reinforce her growing feeling of dread, a bank of clouds
scudded in front of the sun, and the wind began to pick up.  From one
moment to the next, the day turned from sunny to overcast and
threatening.

Against her will Erin's mind began to replay her sick confusion and her
terror when she'dawakened in the boathouse.  A fine sheen of
perspiration bloomed on her skin, and she gripped the edge of the
seat.

She wanted to beg Travis to stop the car and give her some time to get
used to the idea of coming back here.  Instead she sat in silence.

"That the sign?"  he asked as they approached a crossroads.  "Which way
do we go?"

Erin peered at the names of the towns and the distances.  "I don't
know. Maybe right."

"We'll try down that way.  Tell me if anything looks familiar."  Arin
sat without moving for several minutes, her eyes fixed on the narrow
road ahead.

"See anything you recognize?"  Trav prom pill

"I don't want to go back there," she blurted, feeling heat rise in her
cheeks.

"I figured.  Nobody likes stepping back into a nightmare."

She gave him a quick look, seeing the compassion and the bleakness
mingled on his face.  He was speaking from recent
experience--experience she could only imagine.  God, they'd probably
poked him and stuck him with needles and done every nasty medical test
known to man.  Well, how could she allow herself to be less courageous
than he--when she was supposed to be doing her damnedest to make him
believe in the future?

He slowed their pace, and a pickup truck honked, swerving around them
and accelerating with a bhst from the exhaust.

Erin jerked erect, her eyes focused on the tailgate.  It was red.  The
man who had tried to kill them had been driving a blue one.

Beside her Trav swore.  "Country drivers!  Where axe Chief Bramble's
speed traps when you need them?"

She gave him a little smile and tried to will some of the tension out
of her shoulders.  The effort wasn't very successful, mostly because
she was forcing herself to pay close attention to each driveway that
they passed.  Any of them could be the one she'd come out of.  Yet none
looked familiar.

Trav checked the odometer.  "We're five miles from the sign."  '

,"I guess ~you'd better turnaround."  Erin glanced at Trav, expecting
him to look exasperated the way men did when women couldn't remember
directions. But he only gave her an encouraging look as he pulled off
onto the shoulder.

"If you tell me what you remember, maybe I can help.  Was there a
mailbox?"

"I'm sorry.  I don't know.  I was just trying to get away as fast as I
could."

"What kind of road surface was it?"

"Dirt!"  she answered triumphantly, remembering the dust on her shoes. 
"And the entrance would be on the left.  Because I turned right."

"Well, that eliminates a lot of the poss~ilifies.  Most of the turnoffs
we've seen are paved."

He made a U-turn and started slowly back up the highway.  When he came
to- the first dirt road on the left he turned in, and Erin felt the
knot in her stomach twist painfully as she scanned the road ahead,
expecting to see the boathouse looming at the end of the track. 
Instead, after several hundred feet, she spotted a ramshackle clapboard
house peeking out from behind a scraggly planting of trees.  "Wrong
one."

The next driveway they tried was marked by a rusty mailbox and bordered
by scrubby field.  Erin felt a prickling sensation down her spine. 
There were no specific landmarks that she could point to as having seen
before, but somehow she knew this was the place.

Unbearable tension twisted in her stomach as Trav's car bounced up the
road. Then they topped a low rise, and the river was spread below them
like a gray slash.

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as her gaze scanned the shoreline for
the boathouse or the pier, found an unfamiliar landmark and stopped. 
For several seconds it was impossible for her mind to process what she
was seeing.

Then a gasp tore from her lips.  "It's gone."

Chapter Seven

Trav slammed on the brakes.  "What's gone?"

"The boathouse.  It's gone."  Tugging on the door handle, Erin leapt
out of the car and pelted down the road.  After a few paces Trav
caught.  up with her.

As soon as she cleared the dunes she saw that she wasn't entirely
correct. The building was still there.  But not in the same form.  She
remembered lying in the boat and staring up at the roof.  Now what was
left of it rested directly on the stone pilings, some of which looked
as if they'd crumbled under the weight.

"You were in there?"  Trav asked doubtfully.

"Yes.  But it was different," she whispered, moving cautiously forward,
wondering if she was remembering it right.  "There were walls--and a
door," she said, trying to bring the hazy memory into sharp focus.

She'd been drugged.  Could she possibly have gotten if all wrong?  she
wondered, as she contemplated the heap of stones and boards that looked
like the wreckage from a storm.

"I was here!"  She heard her own voice rise in hysteria at the end of
the sentence.

"It's all right."  Trav moved up beside her, slinging his arm around
her shoulder, and she wondered if he was trying to comfort or calm
her.

A coppery taste filled her mouth.  Licking her tongue across her lips
she discovered that she'd bitten down hard enough to draw blood.

"There are other dirt roads," Trav soothed.  "Are you sure we've got
the right place?"

"Of course I'm sure!"  Erin dragged'in a deep breath and let it out
slowly as her gaze flitted over the wreckage.  Despite the assertion,
she wasn't sure of anything anymore.  Trying to calm her pounding
heart, she searched for some detail that she could positively
identify.

Stone pilings had marked the four corners of the building, Now they
were only partially visible under the debris.

"That's the pier," she said, gesturing toward the rickety structure
jutting out into the water.  "It's still beside the building."

Trav opened his mouth and closed it again.  Probably he was going to
tell her lots of piers had been built next to boat houses up and down
the river.  "

A cold wind whistled off the water, cutting through the nylon fabric of
Erin's borrowed running suit.  She flapped her arms in frustration. 
Was she living in a house of mirrors, where nothing was what it seemed
to be?  Or was someone trying to drive her crazy?  Okay.  " She
struggled to speak calmly.  " I--I can't be absolutely certain this is
the right place.  "

As she took a tentative step forward, Trav kept are-Straining hand on
her-arm.  "Careful.  You don't know what's underfoot."

"I want to get a better look at the building materials.  Maybe..."  Her
voice trailed off, and she saw the look of perplexity on Trav's face. 
What was he thinking?  "I didn'~t make it all up!"

"I know."

The reassurance didn't help.  With a grimace of frustration she kicked
her foot into a dune, again--and again.

Sand flew into the air, along with something round and shiny and about
the size of a nickel.  But it was the wrong color.  Her heart starting
to pound again, Erin watched it land.  Going down on her knees, she
brushed the grains away and a brass-colored circle with a raised crest
emerged.  A button.  Her button.  The one she'd pulled off before she'd
started up the road.  Turning to Trav, she held it up.

"Remember ... the one that was mi~ing from my coat?"

"This is where I lost it!  I was here Sunday.  Inside that building. 
Only the roof was still way up above the pilings."  She gestured toward
the heap of boards in front of them.  "Somewhere under there is a
rowboat.  Or the pieces of a rowboat."

Trav reached for the button.  She gave it to him, and he stood for
several seconds stroking his thumb across the raised crest.

"It's just dumb luck you found this."

"Maybe our luck is finally changing."

"Maybe," he muttered, turning to stare back at the rubble.  After
giving the button back to Erin, he made his way cautiously forward. 
Erin followed. Squatting down, he ran his fingers along the edge of a
stone piling.  When he turned his hand up, it was streaked with soot.

-"This building didn't just collapse," he muttered, his voice like
gravel. "It looks like someone arranged another explosion.  To get rid
of more inconvenient evidence."

"An explosion?  But wouldn't someone have heard it?"

"Not necessarily.   This is a pretty big piece of property spread out
along the water.   And it looks like the damage is very controlled.  
Just a LITTLE bit of extra help to make an old structure collapse."  
He turned and looked out over the water.   "If you came by on a boat,
maybe all you'd see now is that the roof is a lot lower.   You might
even wonder if it had been that way for a while and you hadn't
noticed."

Erin followed his logic, her eyes taking in the scene and then coming
back to the black residue.  "An explosion," she whispered.  "Like at
Dr.  Harrison's."

"Yeah.  And whoever did it knows a lot about demolition."

She held up the button.  "We... we, should take this to Bramble."

He shook his head.  "It doesn't really prove anything."  "But"

"If no one's been here in a long time, then there's no way to prove how
long the budding's been this way.  And if someone wanted to dispute
your story, they could say you dropped the button in the sand while I
wasn't looking."

- Erin's hand clenched into a fist, but she didn't bother to argue with
Travis.  One thing she knew for sure: someone had gone to a lot of
trouble to get rid of the place where she'd awakened yesterday.  She
shuddered.

"What?"  Trav asked.

Erin shook her head, afraid to unleash the frightened words pressing to
escape from her lips.  Trav patted her shoulder and said nothing.  Then
he went back to his car for the camera.

"Why bother?"  Erin asked, as he began to move around the wreckage,
taking pictures from several angles.

"They could come in handy."

Anxious to leave, Erin watched in silence.

Trav's face was grim as he headed back down the driveway.  Pullin up at
the mailbox, he got out and inspected the rusted metal hulk.  But the
nameplate identifying the owner was long gone.

Shaking his head, he turned in the direction of the river.  "Waterfront
property is as precious' as frankincense and myrrh around here.  This
tract is big and it's perfect for d~velopment.  So why is it vacant?"

Erin shrugged.

"Well, the land has to belong to someone, and the deed is recorded in
the county courthouse," he said' as he got back into the car.

He didn't comment on her lack of enthusiasm as they started back toward
St. Stephens.  However, before they'd gone more than a couple of miles
he turned in at a sign that said Osprey Inn, and followed the driveway
to a redbrick Georgian house that looked as if it had been lovingly
restored.

"What are you doing?"  Erin asked as he pulled in to a parking space
near the front door.

"Stopping for a late lunch."

"I'm not" -- She closed her mouth abruptly, appalled that she was
thinking only of herself.  Maybe she wasn't hungry, but she was willing
to bet Travis had missed more than one meal since he'd bumped into her
on the street yesterday.

He reached across the console and touched her hand.  "You need some
food and a chance to unwind."

"I guess you're right," she murmured, sure that she wasn't going to
relax any time soon.

The midday crowd had cleared out, and there was no one to greet them in
the colonial dining room.  But a plump, mid die-aged woman in a long
printed dress, frilly apron and a duster cap came bustling OUt from
behind the hotel registration desk.  Her eyes lit up when she
recognized Travis.

"I haven't seen you in ages.  Are you back in town for the winter?"

"No.  Just for the day."

The woman's smile faded a bit as she took in his serious expression.

Trav summoned a conspiratorial look.  "I'm, uh" -- he cleared his
throat "--just out for an afternoon with a good friend?"

The innkeeper's gaze slid to Erin.  "Oh, yes.  I see.  The two of you
would like some privacy."

"Yes.  Thanks.  Melissa, I'd like you to meet Erin Morgan.  Erin,
Melissa Guilford bought this place several years ago and has done
wonders with it."

"Pleased to meet you," the older woman said, continuing to size Erin
up.

"Are you still serving lunch?"  Travis asked.  "I've a hankerin' for
your wonderful crab cakes."

The innkeeper grabbed two menus and then led them to a booth in the
back.  It was by the window, where they could look out over a brick
terrace that bordered the water.  "Enjoy your lunch."

"She's quite taken with you," Erin whispered when they were alone.

"The folks around here are real friendly."

When the waitress came, Travis ordered grilled crab cakes and a glass
of milk.  Nothing on the menu particularly appealed to Erin, but she
settled on a cup of clam chowder and a small salad.

"Change that to a bowl of the chowder.  And bring a glass of white wine
for the lady," he added, as the waitress started to put away her
pencil.

Erin looked up in surprise.

"You need to eat and relax."

"I don't like people making decisions for me," she shot back.

"Just leave the stuff sitting on the table if you don't want

Erin glared at him.  He was staring out the window at the choppy water,
his elbows on the table and his chin cupped on his hands.  As she tried
to find a convenient focus for her own gaze, she looked into the hall
and saw that Mrs. Guilford was straightening magazines on a wall rack. 
The woman glanced up, caught Edn's eye and made an elaborate show of
not paying attention to them.

She's still cudous about u~, Erin thought.  "Have you known Mrs. 
Guilford very long?"  she asked as the woman gave them one more long
look and bustled off.

"Four or five years--when I started coming to the inn for her
Sunday-morning brunch."

"Do you think she'll keep quiet about our visit?"

He shrugged.  "I hope so.  But St.  Stephens is the kind of town where
everyone knows everybody else's business."  The milk and the wine
arrived Wgether at their table like mismatched dinner companions.  Trav
picked up his glass and took several swallows.  Erin gave him a defiant
look and left hers on the table as she watched a couple of ducks bob
along in the water.

"What was it you didn't want to say back at the boathouse?"  Trav asked
suddenly.

Erin looked down at the tablecloth.

"Come on, you can tell me."

"We were talking about luck," she said, swallowing past the lump in her
throat, "and I was wondering if I was supposed to be inside when it
exploded."

Trav reached across the table and folded his large hand around one of
her smaller ones.

"Was I?"  she persisted.  "Did I wake up too soon and get away?"

"No!"

She knew by the way he came out with the denial that it had no real
grounding in conviction.  It was simply the kind of protest she'd made
when he'd told her about his leukemia.

Her eyes searched his even as she gripped his hand more fighfiy.  She
wanted to ask him to be honest with her.  About everything.  Instead,
with her free hand she reached for the

glass of wine and took a quick sip, then another.  She didn't much like
the taste, but she didn't really care.

"Too much has happened," she murmured.  "I can't deal with it all at
once."

"Then we'll take it a step at a time."

Erin nodded, knowing there was only so far he was prepared to go.  He
wanted to find out who had left her in the boathouse and why.  But when
it came to his problems, he wasn't quite as open to cooperation.

"Let's go back to the robbery in your office," he said.  She sighed. 
"I don't know what that's going to buy us.  I've already told
everything I know to two different police deparhnents."

"Erin, the trouble with ~you is that you're too damn trusting!  And you
take things at face value."

She moved her hand away from his.  "How am I supposed to take them?" 
Yet evgn as she asked the question she realized he was right--at least
about that.  She'd gotten sucked into the Graveyard Murder case because
she trusted one of Sabrina's customers too much.  And now Their food
arrived, and they both waited for the waitress to leave them alone
again.  When Erin didn't speak, Trav began to eat his lunch. 
Deliberately Erin took several spoonfuls of soup, although she barely
tasted what she was eating.  '

After finishing half a crab cake, Trav picked up the previous
conversation as if they hadn't dropped 'it abruptly.  "Wasn't it kind
of odd to walk in on a burglar in your office?  I mean, are you known
for keeping large sums of money down there?"

"No.  But I collected a fair amount of cash at the reception."  '

"So you think the robber was-someone who left the church before you,
ran back to your office and waited for you to come in?"

?

Erin set down her spoon.  "I guess it would have made more sense for
him to ambush me in the parking lot."

"What if he wasn't after money?"   "What else would he he after?"

"What else do you have that's valuable?"

Erin's brow furrowed.  She'd been working from a certain set of
assumptions. Now Travis was forcing her to look at things from a
different angle. "There's nothing that's worth much.  The furniture is
secondhand.  So are my photocopy machine and fax.  Besides that, all I
have are filing cabinets full of records."

"~What kind of records?"

"Well, you know, from the clients who come to me trying to locate their
birth parents.  And sometimes it's the other way around.  Parents will
come in and ask how to find a child they gave up for adoption" -- Erin
stopped short and looked at Trav.  "All the paperwork is
confidential."

"You think the guy who choked me was there to steal material about one
of my clients?"

"What if he knew you were at the reception and figured the coast was
clear? And you had the bad luck to walk in at the wrong time?"

Erin pressed her hand against her throat and winced.  "Would you be
able to tell if anything's missing?"

"I think so.  But it might take some time.  I'll have to check my
computer logs and all my active' files

"Then we're going back to your office tonight."

The suggestion brought a shock wave of horror coursing through her
body. First the boathouse.  Now her office.  Go back there at night? 
Never!

"It's okay, darling'," Trav said, his voice low and reassuring.  "This
time I'll he with you."

KENNY MO~ LO PHD UP to the front of the room ~ started erasing the
answers to yesterday's math test from the board.  Too bad a lot of them
hadn't come close to the o on his paper.  Word problems: he hated them
more than li

He wiped the chalk dust from his hands on his je~ "Hey, Mrs.  Marx, how
about giving me extra credit helping you?"  he asked.

"Yeah, I could use some extra credit, too," his ~ Paul chimed in.

"Well, you both did a very good job putting the de back in order.  That
might be worth a few extra points.  ] remember you have to get your
test papers signed by a F ent tonight."

Kenny shrugged into his jacket and then headed slo down the hall. 
Jeez, he wished he didn't have to show t paper to his mom.  She was
still feeling pretty low about robbery.  And he was scared, too, every
time he thou about the night she hadn't come home.

But he was the man of the family; it was his job to make things easier
for his mom.  Of course, if she married sol one neat like Trav Stone he
could hand over all this man.  the-family business.  He tossed around'
that possibility. liked Trav a whole bunch, and he thought Trav liked !
~ too.  And having a new dad who played baseball for Orioles was about
the most awesome thing he could im inc.

Outside, he pulled up his hood againsfthe brisk wind ~ pounded down the
walk. He was only about half a block from the school when he noticed
the silver car parked al, the road.  A lady in a leather coat got out
and started wing toward him.

"Kenny, Kenny Morgan?"  she called out.

"Yeah," he acknowledged cautiously.  He gave the woman a long look. 
She knew his name, but he'd never seen her before in his life. 
"What'cha want?"

"Why are you so late?"  she asked sharply, then modified the question
with a reassuring smile.

"I was helping Mrs.  Marx."

"Well, I'm a friend of your morn's, and she asked me to pick you up
after school."

"She didn't say anything to me this morning."

"Something just came up.  Get in the car and I'll tell you all about
it."

"What's wrong?"

"She doesn't want you to worry."

Kenny shuffled from one foot to the other.  You supposed to be polite
to adults, but More had over again that you never, ever went off with a
course, she could he in trouble again, like that night she didn't come
home.  A ball of fear bounced inside his ach at the very possibility. 
But Mom would have sent Vickery or Trav to get him, wouldn't she?  Or
one friends he knew, like Dr.  Franklin or Mrs.  Zacharias.

Kenny took a step back.  The woman followed,

ing nice and all.  But even though her voice was there was a kind of
weird look in her eyes.

ERIN HADN'T THOUGHT she could eat, but she fel' when she'd finished the
meal.

After Trav had paid the check he sat for at the table.  "I was going to
drag Chief Bramble boathouse.  I guess we'd better hold off on that."

He looked at his watch.  "We've still got a little Maybe there's
something else we can do while

"What?"

"Well, as far as I knew, Doc Harrison was a pillar of the community. 
I'd like to start opening his closets and looking for skeletons."

~"It's probably not something you're going to read about in a back
issue of the local paper."

"You're right.  I thought I'd start with Miss Margaret.  His nurse."

"Don't you think Chief Bramble interviewed her?"

"Yeah.  But sometimes it's the way you ask the questions."

"You know where she lives?"

"No.  But I assume she's in the phone book.  I might as well check
before we leave."

While he went off to get the information, Erin made a quick trip to the
ladies' room.  When they met again~in the front hall, he had a slip of
notebook paper in his hand.

"Melissa knows Miss Margar.  e.  t, says she lives right in town.  On
Water Street.  Once I got her talking, it was hard to stop her.  She'd
seen the article about us in the paper and says everyone in the area
has been talking about Doc's death."

"I guess that's why she was staring at us."

"Yeah."  He looked sheepish.  "I suppose I shouldn't have wasted my
breath on that cover story."

"Oh, I don't know.  I think you did a pretty good imitation of a man
who'd brought a woman to an out-of the-way country inn for sexual
purposes'

She had never played this kind of game with a man before.  Now she was
gratified to see color rise in Travis's cheeks.  "Maybe she'll rent us
a room."

He grabbed her hand.  "I thinkSwe'd'better get out of here."  '

"Are you that close to giving in?"  "

He pulled her toward the front door, shaking his head in denial as they
exited.

When they'd reached the car, Erin couldn't resist twisting the knife
one last turn.  She swung back to face Travis and purposefully laid her
hand on his shoulder.  "In case she's still watching, maybe we ought to
give her a final impression, hmm?"

They stood regarding each other, and Erin's breath quickened as she saw
her own longing mirrored in his-eyes.  She leaned toward him, tipping
her face up so that her lips were only inches from his.  Tension built
between them.  But instead of kissing her, he just gave her a tight
hug, then released her. "We'd better not."

Erin sighed as she let him open the car door for her.  At least she had
the satisfaction of knowing Travis wanted her, even if he wasn't going
to do anything about it.

Trav start~ the engine and tried to steer the conversation back to a
less personal topic.  "Doc's funeral's the day after tomorrow, and his
sister from Richmond is in town with her husband.  Apparently they
weren't close, and She didn't get along with Miss Margaret, which is
probably why she hasn't shown up at the funeral home.

"His reputation was spotless," Trav continued.  saved a lot of lives,
and he didn't charge fat fees.  "

"Someone took a strong dislike to Saint Harrison.  muttered.

Water Street was in a modest residential hundred-year-old houses with
wide front porches and kept front law us

"You'll like Miss Margaret," Trav told Erin.

sweet, like a gray-haired June Cleaver.  Then she'll you with a tart
comment that will make you 'loud.  " He consulted the sheet of paper
he'd tucked jacket pocket.  " The address is 857?

Erin scanned the house numbers and pointed to a bungalow that had once
been painted white.  Most

color had worn off, leaving streaks under the windows and

Lace curtains were drawn across the front windows.  Behind them,
cream-colored shades blocked the view of the interior.  Erin half
expected to see a Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the doorknob.

Trav rang the bell, and Erin could hear footsteps reluctantly
approaching across a wood floor.  She strained her ears and had the
cede feeling that whoever was inside was doing the same thing.

After a moment Trav glanced at Erin and shrugged.  "Ring again," she
mouthed.

He did.  This time a quavery voice called out, "Wh-who is it?"

"Travis Stone.  We met at the doc's office.  I was a friend of his, and
I'd like to come in and talk to you."

"You killed him I"

Erin sucked in a startled breath.

Trav's reaction was just as quick.  "No."

"You and that Morgan woman I read about in the papers."

"Miss Margaret, we didn't have anything to do with what happened.  We
just had the bad luck to be there at the wrong time."  '

"(30 away."

The footsteps began to retreat.

"Please," Erin called out.  "We need your help."  The only effect was
to hasten the woman's departure.

Erin shivered and gave Trav a helpless look.  He was staring in
perplexity at the closed door.

"We might as well leave," Erin whispered.

"Yeah."  He reached for her hand as they crossed the porch again.

On impulse she turned to look at one of the front windows and saw that
the edge of the shade was pulled back slightly .  "She's watching
us."

When Trav swung around to face the house, the shade dropped back into
place.

"So much for June Cleaver," Erin murmured.

' '"This sure isn't what I remember, or what I expected."  He sighed. 
"Sorry I wasted our time."

"I guess she's pretty upset about Doc's death, and she focused on us
because we were in the newspaper article."

That was the best interpretation Erin could give.  But it didn't make
her feel very good as she and Travis headed back toward Baltimore. 
They were about half an hour from

Erin's house when the car phone rang.

Startled, Erin jumped.

Trav reached for the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Is this Travis Stone?  I'm trying to reach Travis Stone and Erin
Morgan."

Even though Trav was holding the receiver, Erin recognized the voice on
the other end of the line.  It was M~

Victery.

"Yes.  This is Travis.  Is there a problem?"

"Thank God I got you."

Erin snatched the phone away from him.

Is it Kenny?  "

Chapter Eight

"Where is he?  What's happened?"  Erin choked out, her fingers
tightened in a death grip on the receiver.

'"Erin.  It's all right.  He's home with me."  Mrs.  Vickery gulped. 
"But I think someone tried to... to kidnap him on the way home from
school."

"Oh my God?

The older woman's voice cracked.  "Where are you?"

"We'll be there in about half an hour," Erin pro mi   ~A, her
housekeeper's panic fueling her own.   "Are you sure Kenny's all
right?"

"He's right here in the kitchen eating a peanut butter and jelly s
~andwich," Mrs.  Vickery responded, as if reassuring herself .

"Let me speak to him."  Erin could, hear the phone being.  passed to
her son.

"Kenny, are you okay?"

"Yeah, Mom.  This lady tried to get me to go with her after school, but
I didn't."  The words were muffled through the peanut butter.  "When ya
coming home?"

Erin tried to bank her own fear and match her softs matter-of-fact
voice. "I'm with Trav, and we'll he there in a little while."

"You want to talk to Mrs.  Vickery again?"  he asked.

Erin resisted the urge to press him for details now.  In.  stead she
settled for telling her housekeeper to lock all the doors, not let
anyone in until they arrived, and call the police immediately if there
were any problems.

She clicked off the cellular phone and turned worried eyes to Trav. 
"Someone tried to pick up Kenny after school."

"Theimportant thing is that he's safe now.  And, with' him real
soon."

They reached Arbutus faster than she would have believed possible.  And
they were probably lucky not to have~~ collected a couple of traffic
tickets.

The curtains in the front window moved as they pulled at the curb, and
Erin wondered if she had stepped world where everyone had to hide
behind locked door drawn shades.  However, in this case Mrs.  Vickery
front door open before Erin was halfway up the front

Erin embraced her, looking over her shoulder as pelted in from the
kitchen. The expression on her son'" made her glad she'd had a LITTLE
time to decide how to handle things.  He looked half excited and the
way his eyes drilled into hers told her that he was to take his cues
from his mother.

"More?"  HIS voice quavered slightly.

She, went down on her knees, hugging him fiercely then smoothing back
the lock of hair that had his forehead.  "Tell me what happened."

"I did just what you told me to do."   "I know," Erin reassured him.

"See, I was late getting out of school, because Mrs.  asked me and Paul
he long--he cause we were rehearsing for the holiday he began, and
continued to explain what had

"When the lady said we could stop by cream on the way home, I knew that
was fishy,

always told me that strangers who want to hurt you might say they were
going to give you some candy or something.  "

Erin felt her throat tighten.  "What did you do?"  she whispered.

"I was backing away, and she kind of made a grab for me, so I turned
and ran into the school."  He gulped.  "There's a window by the door,
and I could see her.  She was standing with her hands on her hips. 
Then she got back in the car and drove away.  But I wasn't taking any
chances.  So I went out the back and across the playground."

"You did everything just right" Erin rubbed her hands over his back and
shoulders, needing to touch him.

Kenny puffed out his chest.  Then, for the first time, he looked up and
noticed that they had a visitor.  "Trav!"

"Mrs.  Vickery was scared when I told her what happened.  But I knew
what to do."

"You sure did.  Can you tell me anything about the lady in the car?"

'Well, she had short hair--real blond, like straw.  And big sunglasses
so I couldn't see her eyes or half her face.  " " Did you see the
license plate of her car?  "

Kenny looked chagrined.  "Gee, I wasn't thinking about that.  But the
car was a silver Nissan.  New.  I recognized it from the TV
commercials."

"Good.  What was the wicked witch wearing?"

The boy grinned.  "A dark skirt with a jacket.  And a gray blouse.  And
her fingernails were real witchy, all right.  Poiaty and red."

At Trav's prompting Kenny provided a few more details.  While they
talked, Mrs.  Vickery brought in coffee.

"Are you gonna stay for dinner?"  Kenny asked.

Trav glanced at Erin and Mrs.  V'lckery.  "If the ladies invite me."

"We'd love to have you," the housekeeper gushed before looking quickly
at Erin.

"Yes," she added.

"Your more and I have some stuff to talk about," said, standing.  "So
we're going to take a walk down the block, but we'll be back in a
LITTLE while."

"You help Mrs.  Vickery set the table."  Erin was surprised at how
steady her voice sounded.

"Aw, Mom..."

"Go on, now, if you want to have company to dinner."

Kenny gave her a long-suffering look and headed for ~ kitchen.  Erin
shrugged back into her coat.

Outside she turned to Trav.  "We can't go far."

"Of course not.  But we've got to

From her vantage point at the ~edge of the porch, glanced nervously up
and down thi block, trying the gathering gloom.

"You look as if you expect a silver Nissan to swooping down the street
and stop in front of Trav observed.

"I guess I do."  She turned beseechingly to him.

going on?  Who tried to hurt my son?  "

"I don't know.  But it's got to be related to happening."

"You mean at my office?

ri son

"yes."

"Yes--which?"

"It depends on how they're tied together."

Erin tried desperately to hang on to some shred tionality.  She wasn't
the kind of woman conspiracies.  Now-- "Oh, God, Trav, I don't even
Calling the police is the right thing.  Not is going to end up in the
Sun."

"Are you asking ~ne to help you make a

At lunch she'd railed at him for interfering.  Now she nodded tightly. 
"I don't know what to do anymore."

She heard him curse under his breath.  "Do you know how much I want to
make things better for you?  Lord, Erin, do you understand how helpless
I feel?" he asked, closing the tiny gap between them and folding her
into his arms.

Her hands gripped his shoulders.  Her lips stroked the side of his face
as he held her close, and she wasn't sure which of them needed the
other more.  If they could only-- "I'm putting too much off on you,"
she whispered,

"I'll let you know when that happensY

They held each other for long moments.  "If you want my advice," he
finally said, "I think the best thing is to send Kenny and Mrs. 
V'lckery somewhere safe until this is all over ."  '

"Send them away--away from Baltimore?  Is that what you mean?"

'"Someone's trying to jerk your chain.  If they can't get their hands
on Kenny, then you won't have to worry about something happening to him
while we figure out what's going on."

Thinking about being separated from her son made her throat close. 
"He's never been away from me.  He'll be scarerS"

"Not if you make it sound' like fun--a special treat.  One of my old
friends from high school, Dave Durand, is an marine who decided he'd
rather earn his living fishing.  He runs a wonderful fishing camp in
the Florida Keys.  Lots of families go down to his place for Christmas
vacation."

Erin's gaze had turned inward as she considered the idea.

"Dave can be tough as nails when he needs to be.  But he's great with
kids, too."

"Tough as nails..."  Erin murmured.  "That ... that sounds safe."

"But?"

?

"But Christmas is the most important time of the whole year for us as a
family.  Especially since Bruce died.  I take time off4 from work and
we do all the traditional things like baking cookies and decorating the
house.  We even ~ some of our own presents.  If we can't do.  any of
that together this year, Kenny will know something's really wrong."

"That's what we'll work for--getting this mess cleared up and Kenny
home for Christmas," Trav said.

* Please, God, before !  ~m,~, ~ thought.

wasn't much time.  Only ten days.  Erin focused on trying to determine
if he thought that was possible.  He stroked her check with his
knuckle.

"I'd like to proms," he whispered.

The melancholy note in his voice made her tract.  There was more than
one promise she wanted him.  "I know."

"Let's go in and tell Kenny I'm thinking of setting up.  program for
sending inner-city kids to Dave's camp, need a boy who'll give me the
straight scoot a good place."

"Are you?"

"Yeah."  He swallowed; "I--I've been thinkin'

I can do for needy youngsters.  Like getting a group of vesto~s
together who'd be willing to gram, And then this morning you said
something same lines.  " '

Not quite the same Unes, Erin thought as a chill over her body.  "You
were making plans for the Trav ,~ Memorial Fund, weren't you?"  she
blurted.

His shocked, guilty look told her the answer, "I'd rather have you as
the director."  She put her his check and lightly stroked up the five
his beard.

"Darlin', so would I.  But it may not work out that way."  For one
heart-stopping second Trav turned his face and brushed his lips across
her palm.

"Yes, it will," she said savagely, her arms slipping down to band
around him.

"Lord, if I only had your faith," he murmured softly against her ear.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you.  Or Kenny,"

she said, making every word a vow.

"Mom"

Erin looked up to see her son come to an abrupt halt in the doorway. 
As he stared at his mother and Travis with their arms wound tightly
around each other, a flush spread across his cheeks.

She did her best to give him a shaky smile.  "Is dinner ready?"

" eaho"

"I.ct's go in and talk about the surprise Trav and I have for you."

"I knew it!"  he crowed.  "You're gonna get ma~ed!"

This t~c the adults were the ones who flushed scarlet to the roots of
the'~ hair

"No.  We've been talking about something cisc," Tmv said, as he
loosened his hold on Erin and took several steps away from her.

Kenny looked even more embarrassed than he had a moment ago.

"How would you like to take on a very special assignment for me?"  Trav
asked.

"L'flee what?"

"Like finding out whether the Dave Durand Fishing Camp is a fun place
to visit."

Erin let Trav do the persuading.  It wasn't a ha~d sell.  Kenny
listened wide-eyed as he talked about canoe trips and

cookouts, rustic cabins, evening baseball games and a lake with a white
sandy beach.

"Oh, wow?

"We were thinking you could go down tomorrow."  "You mean--me and
Mom?"

"You and Mrs.  Vickery.  Your mom and I have some important stuff to
take care of, and we'd like to know you're in good hands."

Kenny's face sobered.  "You're going to find out about the lady in the
car."

Erin and Trav exchanged glances over her son's head.

"Yes," Trav said.  "Dave is just the guy to watch out for you, and show
you a great time, too."

Kenny looked thoughtful.  "A LITTLE kid might be hard to leave his
mom."

Erin stifled the impulse to throw her arms

Instead, she clasped her hands behind her back.  iv "But I'm not a
little kid."

Afraid her voice would crack if she tried to speak, nodded.

"I'm going to help all I can," Kenny continued.

I know Mom's worried.  "

Trav patted him on the shoulder.  "Let's go

Vickery gets mad because we've let her dinner get if your mom doesn't
mind, we'll see if I .  in your recreation room.  "

Erin shot him a quick look.  He was more worried was letting on if he
was even too afraid to leave

'

SANORA SOBOLOV TtmEw open the door to her Washington town house and
made a beeline across ing room to the wet bar.  Her hands were still
shaking poured herself a stiff drink.  She'd been driving afraid to go
home in case her lover called.  stopped at a gas station and left a
message on machine that she didn't have his package.  That was their
code word for the Morgan kid.

Kidnapping a child.  God, how low had she sunk?  She downed the amber
liquid, poured herself another drink and moved to the sofa.  Leaning
her platinum blond head against the plush upholstery, she willed the
alcohol's warmth to soothe her jittery nerves.  This whole thing didn't
make sense.  Over the past few weeks the man who paid her bills had
started acting strange and secretive.  Breaking dates, sending her out
of the room when he made long-distance calls and mumbling under his
breath until he brought himself up short.

In the three years she'd known him he'd always been so cool and steady.
 Now he was losing it.

She took another gull~ of bourbon.  If his life fell apart, then all
h~r plans for marriage and resp~tability ~ down the toilet.

Which was why she had listened with sharp attention this morning when
he'd started ranting about Erin Morgan.  The newspaper article a couple
of days ago had made her sound like a nut case.  He said they needed to
get her out of Silver Miracles, or the whole structure of the charity
was going to collapse, and his reputation with it.  But Morgan had dug
in her heels and refused to resign.  So they needed some lever-age.

They'd talked about various possibilities, and Sandra had wondered
whether scooping up the woman's kid would give them something to work
with.

Or had it been his idea?  She wasn't sure now.  She just knew he'd
conveniently produced a photo ~of the kid.  And she'd found herself
agreeing to collect little Kenny Morgan after school.

Only the boy had been smart enough to duck away and run like hell back
into the building.  And Sandra had gotten

So she'd scared he was going to call a security guard.  roared.  ,

away.

Her stomach clenched.  Her lover was going to be really angry.  But
still, in a way, she was relieved.

Kidnapping.  She'd never been into anything like that be- i fore.  What
if Morgan made a police report?  Was there any ~' way to figure out
who'd been at the school?

Maybe she'd better have some contingency plans.

TR~vis LOOKE~ UP TO SE~ Erin standing uncertainly in doorway to the
recreation room, a pile of linens in CYossing the tile floor, she
started taking pillows off efficiently,

sofa.  He bent to help her.  She worked to deft.

Such an'or domes c task, he thought.

houseguest comfortable.  Yet she was such an extrao '-~rdm~ woman. 
He'd sensed that when he'd taken her months ago, and he haven't been
able to handle it.  being with her made him ache for things he'd told
he didn't need or want.  A wife.  A real home.  Children.

Now it was too late for any of that, and the biggest he could do her
would be to make a quick exit from her Except that he couldn't.  Not
until he was sure she ing to come out of this okay.

Perhaps she saw him grimace.

"I'm sorry I can't offer you a more comfortable bed i/~i her unfold one
of the blankets she'd

He watched ~co'~/f/~h~ ~ .  ~f ~~

Looking didn't do any harm, he told himself.  He looking at her.  Liked
the graceful way she moved.  her long fingers grasped the blanket.  The
way swayed under her blouse as she bent to finish bed.

When she glanced up and caught him watching, he cleared his throat. 
"Thanks for letting me stay."

"Letting you!  You know I'm grateful."  She pounded her fist ago inst
the arm of the sofa.  "It makes me so angry that they picked on
Kenny."

"They know your son's important to you."

"Yes."  She glanced back toward the stairs.

Trav followed her thoughts effortlessly.  She was picturing a stranger
breaking into the house and scooping her son up.  "My staying is just a
precaution.  I don't think any-thing's going to happen.  Not this fast,
but tomorrow you and I are going to check in to a motel."

"A motel"

"That way we won't ha~e to watch our backs every minute.  And I'm going
to rent a car."

"Trav, I can't afford a motel.  I can't really afford Dave's camp or
the plane tickets."  She looked as if she wanted to cry.

"It'S on me."

She raised her chin, her eyes !  ~right.  "I can't let you do that."

"You're going to be doing a birth parent search for me.  I'm sure
that's expensive.  Consider it a barter arrangement

"It's hardly a fair trade."

"Don't argue."  '~ She smoothed out several small wrinkles on the
pillowcase.

"Tomorrow night we'll go through your office records."

"I've been thinking about what you said~ About who might have something
to hide.   What if someone--someone who's a celebrity now--had a baby
twenty or thirty years ago and doesn't want anyone to know she
abandoned her child?"

"Or what if a woman who was married to an important man was desperate
to keep him from finding out that she'd borne a child out of wedlock?" 
Travis countered.  "You've been thinking about it, too."

He nodded.  "I was trying to tie in the woman with car.  Maybe she
hired the guy who choked you."

They each threw out a couple more suggestions, but them was really no
point in speculating without more to go on.  ~

Erin sighed.  "I'm too tired to think straight."

She took a step in the direction her go on up to bed.  That would be
the smart Instead he reached for her.  Without hesitation his embrace
and wound her arms around his neck.

He told himself he wanted to reassure her.

felt so damn good that he couldn't lie to himself.

needy one here.

He cupped his hand under her chin, tipped her and stroked his lips
against hers.

Her mouth opened to his as she clasped him more

"If they'd really been alone he would have things got any heavier.  Yet
he knew this was safe.  was going to happen.  It couldn't.  Not when
come down the stairs.  Or Mrs.  Vickel'y.

But they'd have a few seconds warning.  So it was to hold onto her for
just a moment longer.  And other moment.  And another.

He sipped at her lips, nibbled, did all the wonderful things he was
becoming addicted to when his anywhere near hers.

She murmured low in her throat, and her move against his.

His hands slid down her spine to her hips,

middle against his hardness.

Wordlessly they swayed together, their heartbeats accelerating.

She felt so good.  No, wonderful.  Over her shoulder he stared at the
bed she'd just made for him.  "You'd better go back upstairs," he
growled.

"I know."  Instead of moving away she slipped her hands under the hem
of his knit shirt and slid them up the sensitive skin of his back.

LITTLE shivers of heat lightning played over his flesh everywhere her
fingertips touched.  "Erin..."

He heard her draw in a shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have started this," he whispered.  "No.  You
were reading my mind."

"This afternoon.  When you talked about our getting a room at the inn,
I almost did it."

"You've got too much willpower."

"Yeah.  Right."  Neither one of them seemed capable of moving away.  He
didn't know how much more of this he could take before they reached the
point of spontaneous combustion, but he couldn't stop, either.

What if he just.  His hands came up to cup her breasts, stroke across
the hardened nipples, teasing them through layers of fabric.  The
clothing was an intolerable barrier.  He needed to feel her naked skin
against his.

Then she whimpered deep in her throat and arched her back.  And he knew
that if he didn't stop now--this moment-they'd be joined together on
the bed.

He sucked in quick, gasping breaths as he lowered his hands to his
sides.

She rested her head on his shoulder and stood very still.  They stayed
that way for a long time, as if parting might be the end of life.  Yet
he had no right to take anything more from her.

"Darlin', you'd better go on up," he whispered.

She gave him one more quick,~fevered kiss that made his head spin. 
Then she stepped quickly away.

The whole front of his body felt suddenly cold without ~ heat of
hers.

Damn.  He'd just made sure that neither one of them going to get any
sleep. At least they had two would keep him from creeping up the stairs
and into her bed.

That took care of tonight.  What in the name of blazes was going to
happen when they were alone?

Chapter Nine

Trav could move quickly when the stakes were high.  At noon the next
day he and Erin put Kenny and Mrs.  Xrlckery on a plane to Miami.  '

As they walked back up, the pier, they passed an artificial Christmas
tree beside the entrance to one of the gift shops.  Erin stared at the
silver pipe-cleaner limbs with their twinkling lights--and at the
ornaments.  Half of the baubles were advertisements for some product
the store was selling. The whole thing was the kind of commercial
symbol she had always hated.  Yet today it made her think about home
and family and her own uncertainty.

She bowed her head.  "We were going to get our tree this weekend," she
whispered with a little catch in her voice.  "At a farm in Harford
County where you tramp through the woods and pick the evergreen you
want."  Her eyes took on a faraway look as she pictured the scene. 
"Kenny always tries to talk me into a big Douglas fir, but I can't
handle anything over six feet by myself.  So we.  compromise on a
smaller white pine.  Then we have some hot cider in the farm kitchen. 
When we get home we take our decorations out of the attic. 
Everything's handmade.  That's a family tradition with us," she said in
a rush of self-pity.

"We'll do it as soon as Kenny comes back."

"You'll help us?"  she asked in a quavery voice.

?

He swallowed.  "I'm not part of your family."

"Neither was Mrs.  ~r~ckery until last year."   "I'll help if you
really want me there."   "I do."

"Then this year we'll get Kenny a tree that touches calling," he said
expansively.  In the next moment as if he wished he hadn't made the
offer.

Erin wanted to reach for his hand.  Instead arms across her middle and
held on tightly as toward the parking garage.

"Tell me again I'm doing the right thing," she whispered as  they
paused beside the Corsica morning.

"You know you am."

"Kenny's excited about Dave's camp.  But after a of days he's going to
miss me.  And ... and... we've been sep" -- She stopped before her
voice cracked.

Trav patted her shoulder quickly, then dropped his ~ "Making sure he's
safe gives us room to maneuver."

Us, Erin thought.  He kept using if he were part of her life.  As if he
wanted to be.  him a sideways glance as they left the airport the Guest
Quarters Motel a few miles away.

In the confined space of the car he seemed from the man who'd helped
get I~nny to bed and then her in his arms and kissed her so
passionately last expression was shuttered, his shoulders rigid.

He was doing it again.  Putting all his effort into, ing blmself from
her. Was it because he felt what she ~ the invisible strands weaving
around them, get her Soon the threads were going to be so be painful to
pull them apart. He fixedly out the windshield and tried to ance.

She waited in the car while he registered.  Then he drove around to the
back where the suite he'd reserved was located.  After opening the door
to number 105, he crossed the living room in a few quick strides and
set his duffel inside one of the bedrooms.  "We both need some rest, "
he said.  "Um -hum" '

"I'll see you at dinner."

"Trav"

"You should try to get some sleep while you can," he said as he shut
the door between them.

"YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL!  Now you've warned her!"  The words and curses
that blasted from the phone were so loud

Sandra Sobolov had to hold the receiver away from her ear~.  "Please,
honey, don't talk to me like that."

"TH talk to you any way I damn please."

Sandra felt her skin turn icy.  She knew her lover had a temper, but
he'd never turned it on her like this.

"Maybe scooping up the kid's not such a smart move."  She tried to
soothe him.  "I mean, we could get in trouble."

"It was your idea.  You're the one responsible."  He hung up, leaving
her with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.  She'd thought she
had him all doped out.  Her life all planned.

Well, she'd better figure out how to cut her losses.  She considered
calling the police.  No good.  Who were they going to believe?  Sandra
Sobolov from Highlandtown?  Or one of the most respected men in the
city?

She sat with her head in her hands.  The only way out of this was to
disappear until things got back to normal.  If they ever got back to
normal.

She headed for the bedroom and took down a suitcase.  As she began
pulling underwear out of the drawer, she kept thinking about Erin

Maybe the woman wasn't as crazy as he'd made her sound.  And maybe
she'd appreciate a tip.  Quickly, before her courage deserted her, she
looked up the her and punched~in the digits.  She let it ring twenty
times, but no one ~nswered.  Maybe she'd have a chance to try again
later.

ERn~ STOOD grAR~G at the door Trav had just closed.  wanted to fly
across the room and fling it open again.  wanted to beg him not to run
away from her now were finally alone.  Instead, with a heavy feeling in
she stepped into her own bedroom.

Of course he was right, she thought as she shoes and pulled the drapes
shut. But it took only a minutes of tossing around on the bed to decide
that was going to be impossible.  She tried to think But her mind was
consumed by the man ox the sitting room--and by the physical awareness
body.  Her skin felt too warm, her clothes too tight She buttoned the
top of her shirt, unsnapped jeans.  But it didn't help; in a way, it
made things worse.

She couldn't stop picturing Travis lying on a yards away, as restless
and wanting as she was.  was very vivid.  He was wearing only a pair of
His hair was mussed, and a light sheen of the muscles of his chest and
arms glisten.

Little prickles of sensation began to play over her stab at her nerve
endings.  My Lord, she tel with a man she cared deeply about, and she
might as be on the other side of the moon.

No.  Be honest, she admonished herself motel suite ~with the man you
love. And he between you.

She drew in a deep, startled breath, shocked that she had actually put
her feelings in those terms.  Yet she wasn't going to lie to herself.

Nothing was simple or easy.  Nothing.  He cared about her.  She knew
that. From the way he'd protected her, the way he'd spirited Kc~y to
safety, the way he'd held her in his arms.  But he was afraid to let
her get too close. Because he was afraid he wasn't going to be here.

Oh, God, Trav.  Trav.  Let me help you.  You've got to fight for your
life. You've got to believe you're going to get well.  Don't you know
that's the only way you're going to make it?

She had to tell him that.  She had to make him understand.  leaping off
the bed, she pulled open the door.  Trav wasn't in his own bed.  He was
standing just inside the living room, dressed exactly as she'd pictured
him.  Her gaze played over the broad expanse of his naked chest and
traveled upward to his face.

Her knees felt weak, yet she took one weaving step after another. 
Somehow her legs carried her forward.  She and Travis met in the middle
of the room, his arms coming up to band her as she melted against
him.

"Erin.  Erin.  I can't stay away from you."

"You don't have to."

"I don't have any right"

She wound her hands around his neck and brought his head down to hers. 
He hesitated an instant, his lips a breath away from hers, as if he
thought he could still hold back.  : But as soon as their lips touched,
she knew he was just as lost as she.  His kiss was turbulent and
arousing, and she could feel it changing from desperate to passionate
and back again as they clung together.

They were midway between two beds.  She tugged on his hand, leading him
back into her room and down to the yielding surface of the mattress.

They rocked together, clinging, touching,

broken, urgent phrases of lovers.  Oh, God, finally.

Deep searing heat sealed them together.  She was lost, at the same time
vividly aware of every touch, every vibration that made her blood run
like molten fire and her breath come in jagged little gasps.

Then his voice broke though her sensual fog.  promised myself I wasn't
going to make love to you.  "

"But you are.  We are.  And it's right.  You know it is."

"I--I'm not prepared for this."  He swallowed "Getting you pregnant
would be inexcusable."

(~uiefiy Erin got up and retrieved a small from her cosmetic case.  Her
hands were not quite steady she laid it on the nightstand before easing
back down ~ side Travis again.

He didn't speak.  After kissing his cheek, she slid close to his ear. 
"I haven't been with anyone band.  I haven't wanted to be with anyone
until you. letting a bunch of misguided noble impulses get in of what
we both want. Trav, I've been through some fully bad stuff in my life,
and things are pretty now.  But when you put your arms around me
everything has to turn out all right."

His words were barely above a whisper.  "I

too.  But I'm afraid to trust it.  "

"What do you have to lose?"

When he didn't answer, she rephrased statement, "Travis, I promise, you
don't have lose with me."

On a deep groan of need he reached for her,

body tightly against his and sealing their lips, her as if she were the
only vessel that could rible thirst.  She kissed him back with the same
fervor, holding him, stroking him.

"Oh, Lord, Erin, I don't deserve you."

"You deserve every good thing life has to offer," she whispered.  "We
both do.  Starting right now.  So stop worrying about the future, and
let me love you."

He took her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly, then fiercely,
then with all the pent-up passion of a man who found it difficult to
express his feelings in words.

When his hands began to move over her, she shivered with the pleasure
of it. Aching pleasure.

Deftly he finished unbuttoning her shirt, and pulled it off her
shoulders. Slowly and deliberately he slid down the straps of her bra,
caressing the soft bare skin at the tops of her breasts with his lips. 
Then he unhooked the front clasp and pushed the silky fabric aside.

"Last night I wanted to do this," he exclaimed, as he molded her
breasts to the shape of his hands and bent to draw one aching nipple
into his mouth.

"Oh, Trav," she sobbed out, her back arching and her hands tunneling
through his hair.  "I was pretty close to begging you to do it."

She strung little kisses across his neck and chest, across every inch
of his skin she could reach.  "You have too many clothes on," she
murmured, tugging at his sweatpants.

He obliged her by pulling them off, and then took off her jeans, as
well.

They eased back down to the mattress, kissing, stroking,

drawing slow sighs of elation from each other.

"Oh, Erin.  You feel so good.  So good."

She could only gasp in agreement as one of his hands stroked high up
between her legs, sending shivers of sensation radiating to every nerve
ending of her body.

Through the haze of building sensations she strove to give him back all
the gratification he was giving her.

Then, finally, when neither of them could wait, he reached for the
packet on the night table before lowering his body over hers.  He
entered her slowly, carefully, but she

arched her hips, bringing the two of them together with a small cry of
need; She'd known passion before, but this was light-years beyond
anything in her memory.  He made her body pulse with excitement and
need--the urgency build inc, building--until she was shattering in~o a
million points of incredible pleasure.  She clung to him tightly as her
eli~

THEY LAY WARM AlqD CLO~E under the covers, neither them wanting to
break the intimate contact.

"What are you thinking?"  Travis finally whispered.

"About a book we had to read in middle school.  ~1 of Two Cities."

"My lovemaking makes you think of he asked qoi~.~" Jcally.

"I was thinking about the beginning of the book,

it being the best of times and the worst of times.  " stroked the side
of her hand down his cheek and lips.  " Making love with you was so
wonderful, even whole life has been torn apart.  "

He rolled to his side and fitted the length of her more tightly to his.
"We'll find out who's after you~ Kenny."

"That sounds like a promise."

"It is."

"Then let me prom, i~ something, too.

ing to have that bone marrow transplant, and to get well.  " ~:~

"You're nota clairvoyant or a doctor."

a half wistful, half dismissive note out of his voice.

She gripped his shoulders and spoke with

"You're going to get through this because you'll he waiting for you." 
Faith was as much a part of his well as any medical treatment.  Her
faith--and his.

"I can't ask that of you."

"You havefi~t asked for anything.  I'm making the of " Lord, Erin, you
don't even know what I'm up against: To start with, there's the problem
of a donor. "

"We'll locate your relatives--even if I have to personally pry the
information out of Wayne and Peg Stone."

"Okay, suppose we' do.  A transplant doesn't always work."

Her hands on his flesh tightened.  "Don't you under~ stand?  It will if
you have faith in it."

He looked away from her.  "Yeah.  Maybe.  If I've got the guts to go
through with the procedure.  We're not talking about something as
simple and easy as a blood transfusion.  I've read a lot about it. 
It's dangerous.  And your body's So whacked up that you can he in pain
in a dozen different ways. You're in the hospital for weeks or months
in a germ-free isolation room because catching a cold could kill you. 
It's a hell of a lot to live through for a fifty or sixty percent
chance of making it."

She turned her lips to his cheek and stroked her head back and forth. 
"It sounds hard."

"Nobody could make it--unless they really wanted to llve."

"Dadin', I gave up hoping for the best a long time ago.  The only
things you can change are the things you can control."

She couldn't stop her vision from mist inc or her voice from thickening
as she pictured two uncaring adults break-inc the spirit of a little
boy they'd adopted.  "Wayne and Peg let you down," she whispered. 
"won't do that.  I love you too much."

She heard him suck in a ragged breath and let it out in a shaky sigh. 
"Erin, nobody ever said that to me."

"Oh, Trav.  Trav."  Tears leaked from her down her cheeks as she held
him, rocked him, murmured name over and over.

He was so strong, so caring, so unselfish.  Yet no ever made him feel
wanted or special or loved.  The made her heart ache.  Was there enough
time for her to that to him?

Tim BE.  Vr OF aa2vms and the worst of times, she pulled the, collar of
her coat around her throat.  ~moon together had been golden.  Warm and
not just physically.  She'd gotten Trav to open up crack some jokes
with her.  And she'd even gotten admit that his country expressions had
started as a needling Wayne Stone, who was a stickler for what "the
king's English."

The more he talked about his feelings, the more he  trusted her.  So
she'd stretched the time out, him the absolute knowledge that she would
always bel for him.

Neither one of them had wanted to break the spell, so they'd waited
until after eleven to head town.  As soon as they'd hit the wispy
patches Route 95, Erin had felt as if she were drivin~ of her last
nocturnal visit to her office.  side Trav as she tried to peer through
the fog lowed up the familiar downtown landscape.

Buildings wavered into view and then phantoms.  And the headlights of
the few ears ward them were like yellow circles muffled by

At least this time she wasn't the one driving.  sideways at Travis.  As
if he could feel the from her, he took his hand from squeeze her arm. 
"I called Moose Bramble while~ in the shower," he said.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I've been tryin' to piece some stuff together,"

"And you saved your conclusions to distract me if I started getting
nervous on the ride down?"

He laughed.  "You're getting' to kngw me pretty well."  "I hope so."

"Well, the explosion in Doc's garage was caused by a leak in the gas
line to the furnace.  The way the fire marshal fig-urea it, the
thermostat turned on the electronic igniter, and the sparks set off the
gas."

"Then it could have been an accident," Erin murmured.  "That's how it
might have gone down," Trav agreed.  "And the authorities probably
would have assumed the explosion killed Doc.  But our hearing the shot
fired changed the whole equation.  They found a bullet in his heart."

Erin felt goose bumps prickle the skin of her arms.  "Bramble told you
that?"

"It's in the autopsy report.  But they're keeping it out of the papers
for the time being, hoping the killer will do something to tip his
hand."

"Did you tell him about the boathouse getting blown up?"

"Yeah.  He was real interested."

For several minutes Trav focused on the swirling fog.  "I-keep thinking
about the way Harrison sounded the morning he was killed," he muttered
as he stopped for a traffic signal.

"How?"

"Elaborately casual at first, like a guy who's got a winning poker hand
and doesn't want to give too much away.  Then he made me promise I'd
come see him that afternoon.  There was something he wanted to tell me,
all right. Something important."  .

"Something related to my files?"

"Right.  I'd like to find some evidence that we could take to that~
jerk Detective Hillman."  As he finished the sentence Travis turned the
corner onto Light Street.

Erin peered into the mist, feeling her windpipe close--as if steely
fingers were clamping around her throat again.  If she'd been alone she
would have turned around and driven back to the motel.  Instead, after
Travis had parked in the garage across the alley, she climbed out of
the car and stood uncertainly in the gloom, her eyes probing the
shadows.  "My throat. ~It--it's hard to breathe," she wheezed.

"I understand.  But I'm not go' rag to let anything happen to you."  He
slung his arm around her shoulder as they hurried through the shadows
to the service entrance.

Again Erin's footsteps echoed hollowly on the cement floor, and the
steam pipes rattled in the walls.  But tonight Trav's footfalls kept
pace with hers, and he held her protectively against his side as they
stepped into the. service elevator.  He was the one who pushed the
button.

"Lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place," he whispered.

She wished she could really believe him.

The antiquated ca~r groaned and shuddered as it carried them upward. 
Once there, Erin felt dangerously exposed in the darkness as she and
Travis made their way toward her office.

Fumbling in her purse, she found the key and tried to insert it in the
lock.

"What's wrong?"  Trav asked when he saw she was having uouble.

"I don't know.  I've always had some problems with it.  Now it doesn't
seem to fit."

Trav took the key.  After a few moments of unsuccessful trying, he
stepped back and peered at the knob.  "It looks like somebody changed
the"

He didn't get any further.  A door several feet down the hall burst
open, and a dark shape swooped out like an avenging demon.  Erin caught
a flying glimpse of a short, wiry body.  With' a screech that could
have wakened the dead, the man flung himself on Travis.

Chapter Ten

"NOV' Erin screamed, launching herself at the man who'd vaulted from
the darkness.  Her shoulder connected with the hard wall of his chest. 
The air whooshed out of her lungs as she fell back against the door. 
Everything was happening so fast that she barely had time to think.

Travis had been absorbed with the problem of the lock.  He switched
gears like a race car driver in a tight turn.  Whirling in the midst of
the chaos, he shot out his fist.  It hit the assailant's jaw with an
audible thunk.  The man grunted and landed on the floor beside Erin.

"Damn your hide!"  he growled, trying to scramble to his feet, and
falling back again.

When she heard his voice, Erin's gaze riveted on his face.  It was Lou
Rossini, the building superintendent.

Before she could stop Trav, he grabbed a handful of plaid shirt~ pulled
Lou up and drew back his arm for another murderous punch.

"Stop!"  Erin scrambled to her feet and tried to wedge her body between
the two combatants.  "Trav, Lou, stop."

"Wha?"   -- Rossini croaked.

"Lou, it's Erin.  And Travis Stone.  Trav, you're about to deck the
super."

Trav muttered an apologetic curse as he let go of the other man's
shirt.

Lou sagged against the wall, panting.  "What in the name of all the
saints are you doing skulking in the hall at this time of night?"  he
croaked.

"Trying to get into my office," she said.

"Break in, you mean.  Erin, I'm ashamed of you.  Did this druggie put
you up to it?"  Lou asked.

"Now wait a damn minute."  Trav took.  a step forward and reached for
Lou again.  "

Erin shouldered her way in front of him.  "Trav, no!"  When she was
sure he wasn't going to throttle.  Lou, she addressed the super.  "He's
not a druggie!  He's" -- She stopped short.  Trav had confided his
secret to her, but hadn't given her permission to tell anyone else.

"Yeah?"  Lou prompted.

"Where did you get that idea?"  Erin asked.

"Doc Modesto.  He gave me the scoop on Stone when he came down to have
the lock changed.  Said he didn't want him getting' his hands on any
more Silver Miracles property."

"That son of a bitch," Trav grated.

Even in the dim light Erin could see the angry flush of his cheeks.  "I
won't say anything you don't want me to," she told him in a low voice. 
"But I think you'd better let me do the talking.  Okay?"

He nodded tightly.

"Lou, did Dr.  Modesto tell you Travis was responsible for the burglary
the other night?"

"Well... not in so many words, I guess," he admitted grudgingly.  "But
the doe was talking about that drug treatment center.  And he told me
that guys supporting a habit need lots of cash."

Trav swore again.  "There are a hell of a lot easier ways to get dough
than by holding up a charity-run information bureau."

Lou glared at him before turning back to Erin.  "But you were robbed. 
Or is that a cock-and-bull story?"

She felt her pulse drumming in her ears.  Lou had been one of the
people who'd been cold to her after her role in the Graveyard Murders
had come out. Now it was happening again.  He was questioning her
integrity.  She raised her face toward the older man.  "I was robbed
and choked.  But as far as we know, the only money that was taken was
in my purse.  That's why we came down here.  To find out what else is

"Modesto said you're on, uh, administrative leave, he called it. 
You're not supposed to being there.  If you don't go on home, I got to
call the police."

"That's ridiculous," Travis shot back.

Erin gripped his arm, willing him to let her handle the explosive
situation. Above all, she didn't want.  to end up trying to e ~xplain
this to the police. Not after the way Hilt-man had made her feel.

"Lou," she said, "we're pretty sure the burglar break in to get money. 
He came to st~l confidential info~

mat ion from my office files.  "

"Yeah?  Like what?"

"There are all kinds of things in my records that could be damaging to
the wrong person.  Most of my clients were born out of wedlock.  Years
later they try to discover their roots.  But the mother may not want
anyone to find out she has an illegitimate child.  And the father could
be just as concerned about keeping the secret buried.  Someone who
wanted to derail a search might steal the evidence."

June 12, 1961

Today More ingfor a job, and we had a big fight.  We were' other and
somehow the truth slipped out.

"I'm going to have a baby.  Now are you satisfied?"

For a few moments there was deathly quiet.  Mom stared at me as if I
were some monster from outer space, and her face got this sick scared ~
"How could you do this to your father and me?"  she asked, her voice
rising in hysteria. "If this gets out, we'll never be able to hold our
heads up in this town again."

I tried to tell her how sorry I was, but she wouldn't listen.  She
cared more about those old biddies at the church than she did about
me.

"When I tell your father, young lady, you won't know the meaning of
being sorry."

"Can't we keep it a secret?"  I begged.

"That's impossible."

I ran out of the house.  Tears streamed down my face as my tennis shoes
pounded the gravel road.  I'd known she'd be upset.  Somehow I'd hoped
she'd try to help me.

The hot summer air wrapped around me like a suffocating blanket.  I was
soaking wet and my lungs burned, but I kept on running.  Suddenly I
looked up and saw gray water and realized that I was down by the point.
What if l kept going into the water?  What if ljust walked deeper and
deeper into the bay? l wouldn't have to shame my mother or face my
father.

I waded in.  The water felt good against my legs, my stomach, my
breasts. Then the bottom dropped off, and I was' sinking down, down,
down.

I'd thought I wanted to die.  But instinctively I held my breath unttl
l couldn't stan dit any longer.  I started thrashing around and bobbed
to the surface.  But the waves were rough and I couldn't fight against
them. swallo~d a.  01outbful of water.

Distantly, almost as if in a dream, heard a voice calling my name and
then a hand reached out and clamped painfully on my arm~ I must have
blacked out then, because next thing l remember was waking up in the
bottom of a boat and

?  staring up into brown eyes.  A rush of relief flooded over me.  It
was Jimmy.  He'd changed his mind.  Everything was going to be okay. 
Then the boy loaned closer, and my heart sank as I realized it was only
Andreto.

~ COUL~ ~ ~S~ON radiating from Travis as she described the kind of
person who might want to destroy evidence of past indiscretions.  My
God, she could be talking about someone like his own mother.  She
reached for his hand and knit her fingers with his but she continued to
address Lou.  5"I think whoever was going through my files decided to
make it look like he was after money to throw us off the track.  That's
why I got choked and robbed."

Lou gave her a considering look.  "Can you prove that?"

"No.   We can't prove anything until we go through my office records.  
But Dr.  Modesto has made sure we can'tdo that."

Lou's wrinkled face reflected his perplexity.  "I'm really sorry. 
You're making this hard for me.  But," He jerked his thumb toward
Travis.  "If you hadn't come here with him, maybe I could"

"I'm not on drugs," Trav snapped.  "At least, not anything illegal. 
I've been having health problems."

"That's one way to put it."

Trav took a deep hreath.  "I see you're not gonna budge unless I change
your mind about me.  If you want to talk to' Dr.  William Goldman at
the Tare Medical Center in Chicago, yo~u'll find I'm being treated
there for leukemia. I've got the phunenumber if you need it."

- Erin went very still.

Lou's mouth fell open.  "What?"

"I have leukemia."  Travis enunciated carefully, his fingers digging
painfully into Erin's.  'That's why I went on the DL last season.  But
I'd appreciate your keeping that information to yourself.  I'd also
appreciate your letting Erin into her office tonight.  sSince her
dismissal was trumped up, we could get a court order that would give us
access, but that would take several days.  And I don't have any time to
waste.  " '

"$eez!  Leukemia.  Hey, I'm sorry."

Erin's vision misted as she pressed her shoulder to Trav's.  "You
didn't have to tell him," she murmured.

He kept his gaze trained on Lou.  "I told Erin I'd help her," he said. 
"And I'm going to ~ my word, one way or the other."

Lou drew a key ring from his pocket and bent toward the door.

Erin's chest tightened when she glanced around the office.  Everything
looked the same.  Even the little evergreen she'd set up by the window
and the Christmas cards on the slats of the venetian blinds.

Yet she knew nothing would ever be the same again.  Even if she cleared
her name, she was never going to come back here.  Not to work for the
Silver Miracles board of directors.

"Did Modesto pay you to stand guard?"  Trav suddenly asked Lou.

"He asked if I,d mind spending the evening in that empty office."  He
gestured across the hall.  "I didn't see no harm in taking a little bit
of cash for puttin' in the extra hours.  Considering I got lots of
presents to buy for my nieces and nephews.  But now I feel like... you
know..."  He let the sentence Waft off.

"It's okay," Erin told him as she switched on the desk light.  "He made
sure you wouldn't trust us."  '

Lou tunneled the toe of his loafer against the worn rug.  "You mind if
I stay here with you?  I mean, ffanything happened, I'd be respons~le."
 After locking the door he flopped down on one of the sofas.

Erin sat at Robin's desk, booted up the computer and waited for the
system to ask which program she wanted to access.  When it did, she
typed in Info-log. The red fight on the hard drive flickered.  Then a
message flashed on the screen.

File Not Found.  Erin carefully keyed in the command again.  The
results were the same.

She looked anxiously at Travis.  "That's how I always get the daily
log.  Do you think something's wrong with the machine?"

He shrugged.  "You don't have to be computer literate to play
baseball."

Gnawing on her lower lip, Erin listed the main directory and nervously
scanned the entries.  There was no record of any file called Info-log.
"Either I'm completely~ crazy or the record of incoming material is
gone," she whispered around the sick feeling rising in her throat.

"When was the last time you used the computer?"  Trav asked.

"Before the robbery."

"And there's no way to figure out what's missing without the log?"

"Well, I member the recent material that came in."  Jump'rag up, she
went to one of the file drawers, pulled it open and took out a folder
with the name/Ierome Cunningham on the tab.  "His hospital birth
certificate came from Indiana a couple of weeks ago," she explained,
thumbing through the file and pulling out an official-looking document.
"See, here it is."  After replacing the folder she carefully shut the
drawer.

"I don't know what"

"Get in the other room," Lou hissed as he climbed off the sofa. 
"Quick."

Erin froze.  LoWs attention was riveted on the closed door.  After
shooting a quick look at the super, Travis grabbed

Erin's hand and tugged.  He was hustling her into her office when
someone rapped loudly on the glass panel.  Then the knob rattled.

"All right.  Keep your shirt on," Lou hollered.

"Anywhere to hide in here?"  Travis's gaze circled the room and came
back to her.

Heart pounding, Erin led him to the supply closet.  They squeezed into
the far corner behind the metal shelves.  In the dark the storage unit
provided a little protection.  If someone turned on the light, they
would be found.

Her fingers dug into Trav's shoulders as muffled male voices came
through the wall.

"I wasn't expecting you comin' in to Check up on me."  That was Lou.

"I stopped by to find out if everything was under control."

"Stopped by?  At midnight?"

Dr.  Modesto ignored the slightly sarcastic tone of LoWs voice.  "I
thought you said you'd be across the hall.  I don't like surprises."

Trav's arms tightened around Erin as they clung together in the
darkened closet, waiting for Lou to speak again.  An eternity seemed to
pass before the super said, "The old chair in there's got a real bad
set of springs.  So I came over here to sit on the sofa."

Again there was an endless pause.  Erin wanted to burrow her face into
the warmth of Trav's chest and shut out everything but him.  Instead
she turned her head and tuned her ears toward the outer office. 
Neither one of them moved a muscle.

"Put your shoes back on," Modesto grated.  "You fall asleep and you're
not doing me any good."  There was a pause.  When he started to speak
again, his voice dripped with distaste.  "And when was the last time
you changed your socks?"

"What's the matter?  My feet smell?"

"You got it."

Erin's body went rigid when heavy footsteps crossed the tile floor to
her office.  In her mind she pictured Modesto looking around the way
Trav had--searching out' hiding places.

"So everything's been quiet down here?"  the doctor called.  His voice
was very loud, and very close.

My God, she thought, he must be standing a few feet from the closet.

"Quiet as a tomb," Lou assured him.

Erin felt Travis stiffen as the doctor's footsteps crossed the
remaining space.  She held her breath, feeling as if her lungs would
explode.  Trav turned toward the door, his muscles flexed.  At any
moment the doctor would open the door, and Trav would spring at him. 
And then In the outer office the super gave a panicked shriek, and
something crashed against the baseboard.

"What the hell?"  Modesto's footsteps pounded back the way they'd
come.

"A mother-sucking rat!  Pardon my French.  Big as a pussycat.  Stuck
his nose in the door.  I threw my shoe at him, but I missed."

"This building has rats?"  Modesto asked, his voice rising.

"I never seen one before, but it's winter, you know.  He must'a come in
outta the cold."

Modesto said something foul.

Erin heard him march across the waiting room.  "All right, I'm getting
out of here.  I guess you can handle things."

"I know you want the best, Doc."

"I doubt I'll get it from you!"

The door slammed hard enough to shake the walls.  :,

Erin let out the breath she'd been holding and sagged against Travis. 
For long moments they stood unmoving in the dark.

Then Lou cleared his throat and called out, "You climb onto the window
ledge or something?"

"No.  We were in the closet," Erin said as she preceded Trav into the
waiting room.  Lou was standing with his hands on his hips staring at
the door to the hall.  With a little snort he padded across the tile
and picked up the loafer lying against the baseboard.  Bringing it back
to the sofa, he sat down and replaced his shoes.

"Thank you for warning us," Erin breathed.

"Damn interfering jerk," Lou grated.  "Thinks he owns this place.  And
he don't even pay the rent."

"Well, in a way he does," Erin said gently.  "He's on the board of
Silver Miracles."

"How did you know he was going to walk in?"  Trav asked.

"After the two of you snuck up on me, I kept an ear peeled for the
elevator. It stopped on this floor, and someone got out.  He wasn't
trying to be quiet or anything.  I just knew it was his lordship.,"
~"You could have let him, find us here," Trav persisted.

' Lou flushed, but he kept his gaze steady.  "Wasn't sure what I was
gonna do until I heard him coming toward the office."  He made a LITTLE
humphing noise in his throat.  "Guess I didn't like that story about
the drugs."

"You did some quick thinking," Erin said.  "There aren't really any
rats in the building, are there?"

"Not since Modesto left."   Trav laughed.

"I hope he's not coming back," Erin murmured.

"Not likely."  Still, Lou crossed the office again and' 1oclCed the
door.

Erin gritted her teeth.  She wanted to get out before something else
happened, but they still had work to do, and it wasn't going to be
quick or easy.  Turning to the line of filing cabinets, she thought
about how much material she'd have to slog through to find anything
siguifican!  paperwork.

Trav came over and settled his arm around her shoulder.  If Lou hadn't
been, watching them, she would have rested her head on his shoulder. 
Then she thought of something.  "Wait a minute.  Robin and I were
behind with the mail because there's so much else to do during the
Christmas season.  The pile in her In basket was getting prett]

I didn't like the way it looked when people came into office, so I put
it away.  " Triumphantly she brought a box of mail from her closet back
to the waiting room.  " None of this has been logged in yet," she told
the men as she distributed piles of legal-size and manila envelopes.

They each sat on separate sofas and got to work.

"I guess you'd better just open the envelopes and put ~ documents in a
pile. I'll have to look at said.

Fifteen minutes into the process she was scanning certificate when she
gave a little gasp.

"Found something?"  Travis asked.

She handed him the document and pointed to the boX where the name of
the attending physician was type~.  ~

Chapter Eleven

"Dr.  Clark Harrison," Travis read aloud.

"Who's that?"  Lou asked.  "A buddy of Modesto?"

"Don't know," Trav said slowly, as if he were considering a new idea.  
"But he's the one whose garage e~loded the day I met Erin down in St.  
Stephens."

"Harrison's a pretty common name," Lou pointed out.  "Not Clark
Harrison," Erin interjected.  "And this birth certificate didn't come
from somewhere like Arizona or Toronto.  It's from Salisbury, Maryland,
which is pretty close to St.  Stephens."

Travis studied the offidal documenL "The mother's someone named Betty
Willard.  There's nothing where the father's name should appear."

"Male infant Willard was born in 1959.  Omitting the father's name of
an illegitimate child wasn't unusual.  It's not like today when her
boyfriend comes over to baby-sit:'

Erin looked at the bank of filing cabinets.  "Maybe there's a way to
find out if Harrison's name is on any other records.  I was curious
about the geographic distribution of our clients.  So I pulled some
statistics from the log.  Give me a minute."  She began to rummage
~rough some files she'd left on the radiator cover in her office.  When
she returned, she was carrying the section from the Eastern Shore.

"Now we've got to look in the corresponding folders," she told the
men.

"Got one," Lou called out after fifteen minutes.  "See.  Right here. 
Clark Harrison."

Twenty minutes later Trav found another.  Erin, who knew the files
better than her two helpers, located three in the same amount of time. 
It took an hour to find ten adoptees delivered by Dr.  Harrison;

"So what does all this prove?"  Lou asked.

"Maybe he got a reputation in the community for helping girls in
trouble," Erin suggested

"Or maybe it was a business deal," Trav muttered.  "A privately
arranged adoption where the physician gets a payment from the new
parents."

Erin nodded, t~ying and failing to tie that to the doctor's murder. 
But she was too tired for feats of logic.

Perhaps Trav saw her sway slightly on her feet.  "Three in the
morning's way past everyone's bedtime," he said.

She glanced at his weary face, feeling gu'fity that she'd kept him up
SO long.  She didn't care what his blood count was or how many pounds
he could bench press, he needed:': some rest.  Sweeping the folders
into a pile, she pulled out one of the plastic grocery bags Robin kept
in her desk, and tucked them inside.

"Should you, uh, be takin' that stuff out of here?"  Lou asked.

"I won't tell if you won't."  She watched his face iou sly

Maybe he realized this was a kind of personal loyalty test;?

"Okay.  I guess I can live with that."

"Lou, thanks," she breathed.

"I just want to see things come out right for mumbled, his face
slightly flushed.  " And you," he said Trav.

153

Eton HAD THOUGHT she and Travis would both fall into an exhausted sleep
the moment they got off their feet.  Instead, they lay in the
queen-size motel bed trying not to disturb each other.

"I'm sorry.  I'm keeping you awake," he apologized when she turned her
face toward him.

"No.  We're both tense."  She adjusted the D'dlows more comfortably
under her head.  "I can't turn my brain off.  I was thinking about
Harrison's nurse. Miss Margaret.  She's our best lead."

"Yeah."

Silence stretched between them.

"What are you thinking about?"  she tried.  He gave a half laugh. 
"First grade."

"Why that, of all things?"

"When I was in elementary school I was jealous of all the other kids
because they belonged to their parents."

In the semidarkness Erin's heart squeezed painfully.  Fumbling under
the covers, she found his hand.

"By the time I got to high school I'd decided that I was never going to
be jealous of anyone again."  He sighed.  "But I can't stop myself from
lying here picturing you with your husband."

Her breath caught in her throat.  "Don't."

"You must have.  loved him."

"Of course.  But our marriage seems like a long time ago," she said, a
little shocked and a little surprised to realize she wasn't just saying
that to make Travis feel more secure.

"I wish"

"Bruce and I were a classic case of the boy and girl next door.  He was
a year older, and we were friends from the time our moms took us out in
the backyard in diapers to splash in a wading pool.  His house was like
a second home to me.  Our families did everything together--picnics,
trips to the beach, Thanksgiving dinner."  She worked to sketch in the
picture.  "He was the first boy I kissed.  The guy who took me to the
senior prom.  Everyone used to tease us about our growing up and
getting married, and somewhere along the line we started taking it
seriously."  Erin paused for breath.  "I felt comfortable with that. 
In fact, I liked having things all planned out. Other girls had to
worry about a date Saturday night.  I always knew I had Bruce."  She
tipped her face toward Travis in the dimly lit bed.  "But loving him
wasn't the same as falling for you,"

She felt the tension in his body as he waited.  "With Bruce, it was
inevitable.  Like the seasons following each other because that's the
way you know it's going to happen.  First spring.  Then summer.  With
you, it was like the sun finally breaking through a bank of gray
clouds.  Bright and shiny.  Welcoming.  Warming my skin and then
sinking deep down into my bones.,

She found his mouth with her lips, his shoulders with her arms.  In the
darkness she kissed him deeply and drew him close.  "This time I got to
choose, and it's the most exciting thing that ever happened to me."

He returned her kiss, gently yet hungrily.  "I'm afraid I'm becoming
addicted to you," he said.

"The feeling's mutual."

She clasped him along the length of her body, her senses awakening with
deep passion, her whole being throbbing with deep protective
instincts.

"Erin, I'll keep you safe," he growled.

She wanted to tell him the same thing.  Instead she held him tighter.
Whatever it took to keep him safe, she'd do it.

Em~ AWAg~V~D just before ten.  After a few seconds of disorientation
she realized Travis was talking on the phone in the living room,
although she couldn't make out his end

of the conversation.  When he came back to the bedroom, she saw that
he'd gotten up, showered and dressed without disturbing her--probably
in the room at the other end of the suite.  She also saw that the
tension she'd soothed away in the dark hours of the morning was back in
his face.

She sat up quickly, dragging the bedclothes with her.  "What's
wrong?"

"I was talking to Jake Wallace," he said.

"You called him?  Why?"

"We're having brunch with Jake and your friend Laura Roswell in forty
minutes."

"I've been thinking about a lot of things since Lou let you into the
office last night.  Modesto wants us isolated.  Alone.  So he can pick
us off.  But we're not going to let him do it.  Jake may have some
contacts who can help us."  He swallowed hard.  "And maybe he's the
right person to break the Travis Stone story."

"You're going to tell people about being sick?"  she whispered.

He came down beside her on the bed and held her tightly, his lips
skimming the line where her hair met the side of her face.  "I guess
saying the words to you was like breaking an invisible barrier.  It was
easier to tell Lou."

"You don't have to include the whole world if you don't want to."

"Yeah, well, I've been thinking about my motives for keeping quiet. 
And about what Modesto said--about the kids who look up to me.  I guess
I am a sort of role model, and if they think I'm on drugs, that could
tip the balance in the wrong direction for them."

"I didn't think of that."

"There's something else, too.  Keeping a secret gives Modesto leverage
over us.  As long as he can spread that drug-treatment garbage, we're
go' rag to have a credibility problem I told Jake I had a story for
him, but he'd have to agree not to print it until I gave him the
go-ahead."

Erin nodded.  "While we're spelling things out, there's something you
probably don't know about Jake Wallace.  He was married before he met
Laura. His wife died of breast cancer."

Travis swore softly under his breath.  "You're right.  I didn't know
about his background.  I just thought of him as smart and tough, and
someone with the inside scoop."

"Well, he also understands that life can be rough.  He'll be a good
person to have on our side.  And Laura, too."

They talked quietly for a few more minutes.  Then Travis ran his hands
slowly down the long cur, re of Erin's back.  "You'd better get
dressed, or we're not going to make that brunch date," he finally
said.

"Yeah.  Right."

After showering and pulling on jeans and a sweater, Erin made a quick
call to Florida to make sure everything was okay.  In fact, Kenny could
spare only a couple of minutes for his mother because he was getting
ready for his first canoe trip.

"I told you he'd love the place," Trav said when she hung up the
phone.

"I may have trouble getting him to come home,"

wistfully.

"At the moment, that's good."

"Yes," she murmured as she followed Travis parking lot.  Back to the
real world.  Where someone trying to kill her and do God-knows-what to
her son. :~: ?  i~'/~i!

Jake and Laura were standing uncertainly inside the front i door of the
coffee shop, as if they hadn't really been sttr0~.  i.

that she and Travis would show up.

The men shook hands a little stiffly.  Laura embraced

Erin.  "I've been so worried about you.  I'm glad Travia/~il/ii!~

asked if I wanted to come along.  " ~

"He thought I'd be more comfortable with you here," Erin said.

"What's been going on?  Are you okay?"

"We're fine.  But we've got some pretty complicated problems," Erin
added.

"Let's make a quick trip to the ladies' room," Laura suggested after
the waitress had shown them to a booth in the back.

About to decline, Erin caught the look on her friend's face.  "Okay."

As soon as the door closed behind them, Laura turned to her.  "Are you
really all right?"

"Yes and no."

"Oh, God, I knew it.  Jake told me that Travis"

Erin shook her head.  "Don~t say anything else!  The rumors about him
are a pack of lies," she said vehemently, and then looked nervously
around the little room to make sure they were really alone.  "I guess
it's okay to tell you, because that's why he called Jake.  Laura, he's
not on drugs.

He's got leukemia, and he didn't want anyone to know.  " Shock washed
over Laura's features.  " Oh, my God.  " " Getting sick--not be' rag
able to play baseball--made him question all the things he thought were
important in his life.  That's why he couldn't talk about it.  "

"How can you deal with all... all... that?"

"I love him.  I have to deal with it."

"I knew that the minute I saw you with him."

"That bad, huh?"   "Does he love you?"

"He's afraid he's going to die, and that if we're... involved ... and
the worst happens, it won't be fair to me."  She stopped abruptly and
struggled to keep the tears brimming in her eyes from spilling down her
cheeks.  After she was sure she could speak again, she went on, her
fists clenched tightly at her sides.  "He's got to have some pretty

?

serious treatments--stuff that would kill you if you didn't have a good
reason for living.  So I have to make him understand that I'll be there
waiting for him, that what we have together is worth fighting for.  "

"Oh, honey."

"But we can't even get to that until we solve a couple of other big
problems."

"Then let's go back to the guys and pew wow

Erin gave her friend a grateful look.

When they returned to the booth Erin knew from the indirect looks and
awkward body language on both sides of the table that Travis had
dropped his bombshell.

She and Laura each slid onto the bench beside their men.  Under the
table Erin found Trav's hand.  She could tell Laura was doing the same
thing. Probably she was thinking about what it would be like to lose
the man you loved to a devastating illness.

Trav took a sip of his coffee.  "It's a real bitch when you wish
leukemia was your only problem."

Jake looked at Him uncertainly.

"A lot of bad stuff has gone down since I saw you Saturday morning in
St. Stephens."

"I guess I know some of it from the newspaper article," Jake allowed. 
~!  /

"I'd like you to hear the straight version.  Like for ex~

ample, that Dr.  Harrison's death wasn't accidental.

murdered.  " Travis looked at Erin.  " Since most of it's directed at
you, why don't you tell them about it?  "

Erin began to summarize recent events, starting with the  ~

robbery, including the kidnapping aRempt and ending with/~;~

the midnight visit to 43 Light Street.  After glancing at Trash su, i o
od to sore, he involved ' ~;

Jake whistled through his teeth.  "I see why you're hidil~]i out ."  '
~

Trav gave him a considering look.  "Listening to Erin made me realize
we can't go public with the leukemia story yet.  If my face is
plastered all over the local media, I'll be too recognizable to go
skulking around trying to find out why Harrison was killed."

Jake exhaled.  "I guess you're right."

"If you don't mind some of our friends knowing the real situation, I
think they might be able to help," Laura suggested.

"Who?"  Trav asked.

"Clan Cassidy in the state's a~torney's office.  Jo O'Malley.  Did Erin
tell you about her?  She's a private detective.  They co~d both do some
discreet snooping for you."

"I was thinking Sake was well connected."  Trav glanced from Erin to
Laura. "You two take the cake."

"Don't count me out," Sake objected.  "I'll do some arm -twisting with
that jerk, Garrison Montgomery, who wrote the story about Erin in the
Sun."

"Thanks," she said.

"And I can do some checking into Modesto's background," he continued. 
"I've been after Travis like a hound from hell.  Helping you will make
me feel a little better."

Trav shook his head.  "Jake, I'm glad you're on our side.  But as far
as reporters go, you don't have the killer instinct."

The SKY WAS LaAD~, and rain splattered the windshield as Trav and Erin
left for the Eastern Shore right after brunch.  Their first stop in St.
Stephens was the county courthouse, where they looked up the deed to
the property on which the boathouse had stood.  It was recorded in the
name of a Jeremiah Gloucester.  When the deed had been filed he'd had a
local address.  But that house was now occupied by a f~mily named
Phillips, who said that Mr. Gloucester had moved to Massachusetts. 
?

"I guess we can contact him later," Erin said as they climbed back into
the rented car.

"I want some answers," Travis muttered.

"Then let's try Miss Margaret again.  This time we won't take no for an
answer."

Trav pulled up under the low-hanging branches of a maple tree halfway
down the block from her house.  They were stir trying to think of an
approach that might work when the front door opened and a thin~
stoop-shouldered cautiously tiptoed to the edge of the porch.

"Is that her?"  Erin asked, her eyes traveling from the wispy white
hair to the black orthopedic shoes.

"She looks too frail to be a nurse?"

"She looks like she's aged ten years in the last couple of months,"
Trav mused.

After looking quickly left and right, the old' woman dumped down the
stairs and rushed toward an old parked in the driveway.

"Wh//t's-she afraid of?"  Erin wondered aloud, trained on the back of
Margaret's white head as the ~

pulled onto the street with a blast of black exhaust "Being followed? 
" Getting a ticket for air Er/n snortS.

Trav waited until the old Ford turned the following.  Staying several
cars behind was difficult they reached the heavy traffic on Main
Street.  Margaret was only going as

"Maybe she's mcedngModesto by the canned

Erin suggested.

"I think this e~perience is changing your thought cesses," Trav
observed as she reached for the door

"I hope so.  I'm not going to get caught again the did in my office
that night."

"I'm not going to let you!"

"Is it SNOWING of~r THERe?"  Melissa Guilford asked Winona Ferris as
she bustled into the sanctuary and took off her coat.

"Not yet, but it's getting colder, and they're calling for two to four
inches this evening."

"Then I guess we'd better get a move on," Michelle Beauford observed as
she turned back to the branch of blue spruce she was taping to the side
of a pew.

There was a murmur of agreement from the four other members of the
ladies' auxiliary who'd gathered to decorate their church for
Christmas-week services.  After just a few hours' work the Gothic
chapel was starting to take on a festive look and an evergreen smell,
with plenty of pine boughs, holiday wreaths and the hand-carved
Nativity figures that were being set up in the three-foot-taller~che in
front of the pulpit.

The women were more than just good friends who'd known each other for
over thirty years.  They had something else in common--the terrible
loss they'd suffered.  Melissa, Winona, Michelle, Lois, Audrey and
Justine, and a number of other women in St.  Stephens, were members of
a secret, exclusive sisterhood who still needed each other's help and
support.

"Heard down at the drugstore that they don't have a clue about what
happened at Doc Harrison's," Lois said as she set the figure of Joseph
next to Mary.

Melissa saw Michelle tenderly pick up the baby Jesus and hug him before
setting him gently in the cradle.  As she watched her friend, her chest
tightened.  Christmas was such a joyous time of the year.  But it
always brought Michelle such heartbreak--because that was when she'd
been forced to give up her baby.

Audrey brought Melissa back to the discussion.  "Most folks thought Doc
could do no wrong.  But we know better,

don't we?  I couldn't go to the funeral and listen to all that stuff
about his good works.  "

There were murmurs of agreement

Melissa pursed her lips.  "That young something he's not saying."

"What?"  several voices questioned.

"I don't know.  He and the woman from B'mh Data, Erin Morgan, came in
for lunch the other day.  they wanted to be alone.  And at first I just
you know.  But they were having a pretty serious discussion.  So I got
to thinking about her job and all.  asked me for Miss Margaret's
address.  gan's investigating the home, or something?  And

Audrey and Lois looked reflexively toward the still worry after all
these years.  I mean, the way they us not to talk about the place,"
Audrey whispered.

"Yes, let's just get back to work so we can finish the snow starts to
come down," Winona suggested,

Melissa watched the group of women.  For years been afraid to speak up,
except among themselves.

wasn't only fear in their hearts.  There was anger, too.

It had come out in Audrey's outburst against

Doc was dead.  What would they do if they confronted with the real
nemesis from their past?

DucK too HER I-mAD, Erin followed Margaret into produce depa~haent. 
Was Harrison's nurse make contact with someone sinister?  ,

In fact, she only bought carrots and Granny pies and proceeded to the
dairy section for milk and Yet Erin felt her tension mount as she
loitered fruitcake display while Margaret joined a checkout Something
was going to happen.  Or maybe her intuition was working overtime.

Margaret finished at the cash register and started toward the door. 
Erin slammed down the tin she'd been holding and sprinted after her
quarry.  The timing was tricky now.  She'd have to make a wide circle
back to Trav's car, or Margaret might spot her.

As the old woman left her cart at the rail and started across the
traffic lane, a low burgundy-colored sedan parked just around the
corner of the store glided forward and picked up speed.

The driver was going much too fast in such a crowded parking lot, Erin
thought.  Then she gasped When she realized what was happening.  The
vehicle was heading directly toward Margaret.

Chapter Twelve

"Watch'out!"  Erin screamed.

Margaret froze--her arms rigid, her eyes wide and staring as the car
bore down on her.

For a split second Erin was paralyzed; too.  Then she lunged forward,
hooking her fingers into the old woman's coat.  With a frantic yank she
pulled, snatching her back jnsi as the car reached the spot where she'd
been standing.  It hurried past, so close that Erin felt the exhaust
fumes stinging her eyes.  Thrown off-balance by the car, she tumbled
backwards. Margaret came down on top of her in a tangle of bony arms
and legs.

"Erin!  Erin!"  Trav was beside her.  "Oh, Lord.  Dar She lifted dazed~
eyes to his horrified face, even as he shifted Margaret's weight off
her body.

"I" -- she wheezed.  "I'm okay."

Gawkers had gathered in a circle around them, and Erin caught fragments
of excited conversation as Travis helped her sit up.

He let out a shuddering breath.  "The car blocked my view.  I couldn't
see you .... "

"i'm fine," Erin managed.

Travis nodded and switched' his attention to the intended victim.  She
reached out and clutched his arm, her fingers white and thin against
his leather jacket.

"He tried to run me down," she quavered,

The sentiment was echoed by several.  bystanders

"Are you all right?"  Erin asked.

For the first time the old woman looked directly at her.  "You saved my
life."  Then she peered more closely into her face, and a LITTLE gasp
broke from her llps.  "You were at my door the other day.  Trying to
ask questions."

Erin's reply was cut off by a man in a blue uniform with a shoulder
patch that gave the name of a local security company.  You hurt, ma'am?
 You want to file a report?  "

"I want to go home!"  Margaret said, her voice brit He as she tried to
struggle to her feet.

"You should wait until a doctor checks you."

"I'm a nurse, young man.   I can check myself."   "Wait."   Travis
looked around at the bystanders.   "Can anyone give a description of
the driver? The kind of car?   Or did you happen to get the license
number?"

"The guy had a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes someone said,

"There was mud smeared across the license plate," another voice chimed
in.

"The car was a burgundy Honda," someone else volunteered.

"Only a couple million of those in Maryland," Travis muttered as he
helped Margaret up.  "Let's get out of here."

This time she didn't object when Erin offered to drive her home.  But
she gave her a sharp look as they pulled out of the parking lot, with
Travis behind them.  "You were following me, weren't you, my girl?  You
want to ask me questions about poor Clark Harrison.  He was a good man.
He saved so many lives.  And he did a lot of good in the community. 
Can't you leave the past be?"

"I never even met Dr.  Harrison.  All I know is that a man in a blue
pickup truck shot him before he blew up the garage.  And he's after me
and Travis, too.  He choked me in my office.  He tried to shoot us when
we cornered him at the doctor's house.  And I think he sent a woman to
try and kidnap my little boy."

Miss Margaret's face drained of blood.  "Oh, my dear Lord.  I didn't
know any of that."

"Please.  We're not going to be safe until we find out what's going on.
 If you can tell us anything, we'd be very grateful."

The old woman sighed.  "He should have accepted the will of God.  But
he wouldn't take my advice."

"What did you tell him to do?"   "That was between me and him."

Erin bit back more questions.  It was obvious Margaret v~as deeply
ambivalent about sharing any of Clark Harrison's secrets with them.

Travis, who had stayed close behind them, parked at the curb in front
of the house.

Margaret winced as her left foot came down on the gravel surface of the
driveway.

"You're hurt," Erin said.

"I just need to elevate the limb and apply an ice pack."  She began to
hobble up the driveway, probably using the leg as a delaying tactic.

Erin looked at Trav and was pretty sure he wanted to sweep the old
woman up into his arms and carry her to the front door.  Instead he
turned and surveyed the street, and she knew he was contenting himself
with guard duties.

The house was dimly lit, musty smelling and era mined with massive old
sideboards and china cabinets that would have made great accent pieces
in the right setting.  All together they only added to the oppressive
atmosphere that choked the rooms.

Margaret sank into a faded morris chair.

I'll get you an ice pack," Erin offered.

Trav followed Erin down the hall to a kitchen that reminded her of
visits to her grandma when she'd been a little girl.

"Did she say anything in the car?"  Travis whispered as soon as they
were alone.

"Just that Harrison should have accepted the will of God."

"Oh, great."

"She's in danger.  We should call Chief Bramble," Erin said.  "The man
in the car--Modesto, if that's who it is--could come back."

"Not while we're here."

"He's getting erratic.  Itwas taking a big chance trying to run
Margaret down in front of a crowded grocery store."

"If we pull Bramble in on this, she'll clam up!"

Erin gave him a troubled look before opening the freezer and starting
to yank on an ice tray that was fused to the she if

Travis reached past her and gave the tray a swift tug.  It came out
like a corn stick from a greased baking pan.  Turning to the sink, he
began to run it under cold water.  Then, his face grim, he banged it
sharply against the kitchen counter.  "I've had about all I can take,"
he muttered.

"I know.  We're both on edge."

Ice cubes scattered across the counter, and Travis reached to plop them
back into the tray.  "It looks like you're handling it better," he
muttered.

"I think I can get her to talk," she said, "if you give me a little bit
of time with her."

He sighed and nodded.

Instead of barraging Margaret with questions, Erin returned to the
living room with an ice pack, adjusted the footstool and fixed her a
requested cup of tea.  Really, it was

like when Kenny had been little, and she'd had to complete a series of
requests before he'd lie down in his bed and let her turn off the
light.

From the corner of her eye she saw that Travis had pulled out one of
the chairs at the dining room table and sat down in the shadows.  He
started to drum his fingers on the table but caught himself and shoved
his hands into his pockets.

Finally Margaret sighed.  "You're not going to leave until you get what
you came for, are you, my girl?"

"We need your help," Erin repeated.

"This isn't the big city wberc the people across the street mind their
own bus' mess This is a small town where you can't sneeze without the
fellow next door saying Godbless you.  A lot of women arc going to be
mortified when the neighbors find out what they did a long time ago."

"This isn't about reputations, it's about murder and kidnapping," Erin
replied sharply.

The old woman flushed and gestured toward the secretary between the
windows. "All right.  You can look at the list.  And the pictures. 
They're in the top drawer.  Underneath the second lace tablecloth."

"The list?"

Margaret folded her arms across her chest.

Erin felt through the pile of linens and extracted a legal-size
envelope. Travis came over beside her and watched as she took out a
sheet of notebook paper.

Down one side of the page written in neat black script was a list of
names. Lois Kendall.  Winona Balston.  Justine McDonald.  Theresa
Patterson.  And twenty-one more.  Down the other side were more
names--a number of them followed by question marks.

"Some of them are the same as from the folders in your office," Travis
muttered.

"The ones on the right," Erin agreed.  "They're people who came to me
looking for their birth mothers."  She pointed to the other column. 
"Some of the mothers are listed here."

"But it's backward," Travis pointed out.  "There are more names of
mothers than children.  What is this, anyway?"

Erin shook her head and held the paper up, noting from the indentations
that there was something written on the back, as well.  Turning it
over, she stared at the top of the page.  Instead of the neat black
script that covered the other side, there was what looked like a
hastily scrawled name.  For a moment she wondered whether her mind was
playing tricks.  Then, feeling a strange prickling sensation all over
her scalp, she carefully spelled out the letters.

There was no mistake.  The name was Travis Stone.  "

BESIDE HER, TRAVIS uttered a startled exclamation and whirled toward
Miss Margaret.  "What in the name of blue blazes is this?"

The old woman looked down at the bony hands clutched tightly in her
lap. When she spoke, her voice seemed to come from very far away.  "The
women. And the babies from the home."  '

"What?"  Trav grabbed the envelope from Erin.  A pad0 ct of
black-and-white photographs fell out onto the rug.  He knelt and
scooped them up.  They were hospital pictures of tiny infants.

"Doc didn't do anything wrong.  He didn't get any of the" -- She
stopped abruptly.  "He was helping them.  Those poor girls were in real
trouble. They had nowhere else to turn," Margaret continued, as if
talking to herself.

Erin looked from her to Travis.  He was kneeling in the middle of the
room, his body rigid, his face drained of color as he stared from the
list to the pictures.  "I--what is my name doing with these others?" 
he managed.  At that moment he looked more utterly lost than she'd ever
seen him.

What~ This

Quickly she went to him.  Wtlen she slipped her arm around his shoulder
she could feel his body shudder.  His intense gaze was fixed on
Margaret.  "Tell me," he grated.  "Tell me!  You've got the family
names of women matched up with the adopted names of their children. 
Why am t on the list, and not her?"

The old woman looked back helplessly.  "l~don't know.  He gave me the
envelope a month ago.  Then last week he called me up.  He told me to
put your name on the list with the others.  I went to get a pen, and
when I came back I heard him talking to someone in the background.  The
next thing I knew, he'd hung up."  Margaret twisted her hands in her
lap.  "I'm sorry.  I don't know any more than that."

"That must he what Doc wanted to tell you," Erin breathed.  "He knew
who your mother was."

He stared at her as if he were having trouble following the words.  She
pulled out one of the dining room chairs.  Then she gave his arm a
quick squeeze.  "I think you'd better sit down," she murmured.

He sat, his expression a jumbled mass of conflicting.  emotions as he
stared down at the pictures still clutched in his hand.  Shock.  Hope. 
Disbelief.

Erin crossed the room and knelt beside the old woman.

"Please.  You say all these girls went to the same home for unwed
mothers?"

She nodded.

"What can you tell us about it?"

"It was a long time ago," she murmured.  "For years I never heard
mention of the place.  Then Amy Hastings had a heart attack.  She was
only thirty-three. Lord, what a surprise that was.  The hospital wanted
her family medical history.  Only she was adopted, so we didn't have
any information.  When she died, the doc was sure upset."

"How long ago was that?"  Erin asked.

"Six or seven months.  Just after he'd cut his practice to a few hours
a week."  She closed her eyes for a moment.  "He said they might have
saved Amy if they'd known her family history.  And he wasn't going to
let something like that happen again.  I know he was going through his
old records, because he'd call me up and ask for information about
local families."

"And somebody didn't want those records opened," Travis grated.

"Was the home here in town?"  Erin prompted.

"No.  Down by the river.  Ashwood.  It was such a beautiful old estate.
Mrs."  Gloucester said they might as well put it to good use.  So they
opened it to the girls--for three or four years, it must have been. 
"

Erin shot Travis a startled look before turning back to Margaret. 
"Mrs. Gloucester?"

"Did you know her?  No, that's noI likely.  She's been dead for twenty
years. Such a fine woman.  She was always so responsive to the needs of
the community, God rest her soul."

"Was there a boathouse on the property?"  Erin asked,

sure that she already knew the answer.

"Why, yes.  I believe there was."

"And someone named Jeremiah inherited the estate?"  Margaret snorted.
"Jeremiah.  Her son.  He didn't approve of the home--thought it tainted
the property.  As soon as his mother died he kicked all those poor
girls out. SIX months later he tore down that beautiful old house
because he said it would cost too much to put it right."

"But he still owns the property," Erin prompted.

"Yes.  I think so.  He never did get what he was asking for the land,
so he just let it sit idle.  Out of spite as much as anything else."

"Did Dr.  Harrison run the home?"  Erin asked.

Margaret looked wary.  "Oh, my, no.  He was only there for part of the
time. Mostly, it 'was another doctor."

"The other doctor was in charge?"

Margaret looked down at her hands.  "No.  The commit " Who.  "

"That was... private information," she whispered.  "Private
information? What do you mean?"  Erin asked.  "I didn't stick my nose
in where it didn't belong.  I just wanted to help those.  poor girls. 
They were so frightened, so alone.  You don't know what it was like
thirty years ago to be pregnant out of wedlock in a small-minded
community like this or any of the other towns up and down the
peninsula.  They were outcasts.  They had nowhere to turn for help: And
the poor little babies."  She gestured toward the pictures.  "Those
innocent darlings.  What do you think would have become of them?"

Missy Perry's diary

Sunday, July 30, 1961

Today l felt the baby move for the first time.  It was a strange
fluttering like a moth beating its wings on the inside of my rummy. 
Then it was gone almost before I knew what was happening.  But even
after it had stopped, I kept imagining the tiny little person growing
inside of me.  My baby.  For months all I've thought about was how
messed up my life is.  Now there's someone else, and the responsibility
scares me.  Thestaff here at Ashwood is big on responsibility.  Miss
Margaret-the nurse who comes in to check us every week--says I owe it
to my child to give him to a family that can give him a good home and
provide for him.  I know that's true, but it makes me feel kind of sick
inside.

I've only been at Ashwood three weeks, but it seems like centuries
spent in some medieval prison.  There are enough rules here to make you
puke.  Don't leave the estate grounds; read the Bible two hours eve~
day; clean the kitchen,

the floors, weed the garde~ We eat three square meals a day, get plenty
of exercise, see the nurse once a week, but we can't watch TV or listen
to the radio--Ashwood doesn't have them.  They 'd probably take this
diary away if they found out I was keeping it.

I hate being here, hate my father for making me come.  At night when
we're supposed to be in bed, me and some of the other girls talk about
running aunay.  But it's Just talla Cause there's nowhere to go.

TRAVIS'S FACE WAS twisted by some emotion Erin couldn't read.  She
turned from him to Margaret.  "Someone must have been very caring and
concerned to help those girls.  " Can't you tell us who it was?  "

Her eyes had taken on a shuttered look.  "I told you.  I didn't know
who paid the bills.  It was handled through a lawyer."  Her eyes slid
away from Erin as she mouthed the lie.  "I've already said too much. 
They'll come get me, the way they came for Doc."

"They already tried to get you!"  Travis grated, and then fell silent
again.

The old woman looked fearfully toward the window, but her lips were
pressed together in a stubborn line.

Erin gave it one more try.  "We won't be safe and neither will you
until this is all over."

Margaret looked down at her fingernails.  "I'm sorry."  Switching
tactics, Erin laid her hand over the ones clenched in Margaret's lap. 
"I'm worried about you after what happened in the parking lot.  And
Travis and I will he too busy to protect you, Is there somewhere safe
you can stay?  Somewhere out of town, until we get to the bottom of
this."

If she thought she could frighten Margaret into coughing up more
information, Erin soon realized she was badly mistaken.  Instead,
Harrison's nurse looked relieved and began coming Up with names of
relatives who would be delighted to have her visit.

Erin rolled her eyes and glanced over at Trav.  But he'd tuned out the
proceedings and was staring down at the baby pictures, his eyes
unfocused.

When she massaged his shoulder, he nodded absently.  "Trav?"

His voice seemed to drift toward her from a great distance.  "I'm
sorry.  Can you... take care of things?"

"Yes."  Her heart squeezed painfully.  God, he must feel as if he'd
been hit by a ton of bricks.  She wanted to help him deal with it, but
the old woman interrupted.  "I need the telephone.  It's on the desk;"
Erin got up and retrieved the instrument.

After calling several relatives Margaret finally located a niece in
Annapolis who was willing to have her visit so close to Christmas.  And
Noel Zacharias, one of Erin's friends from 43 Light Street, volunteered
to be the chauffeur.

THeY DROVE IN A CONVOY of tWO ~ toward the bay bridge, with Erin and
Trav bringing up the rear to make sure nobody else was following.  This
time Erin was at the wheel, casting frequent glances at Trav, who sat
slumped in the front seat staring straight ahead.

The sky was darker, and a few snowflakes had replaced the earlier
dri~le. Erin's hands clenched as she grappled with frustration.  She
wanted Trav to talk to her, but she wasn'tgoing to push him.  And she
wished they'd gotten more out of Margaret.  The whole time she'd helped
her pack, the woman had kept giving her sideways looks.  Erin had
wanted to grab her shoulders, spin her around shake the truth out of
her.  But force wasn't the way to deal with Dr.  Harrison's stubborn
old nurse.  So hoped that Margaret would change her mind before they
left.

She didn't.

Erin felt her tension growing as they approached the bay bridge.  When
Margaret crossed it, they'd turn around and go back to St. 
Stephens--without any clues to the identity of Doc's murderer.

They were on the flat stretch of highway after the Kent Narrows when
Noel honked.  Then she put on her turn signal and pulled off onto the
shoulder.

"Now what?"  Trav muttered.  "Does the old lady need to make a trip
into the bushes?"

Erin cut the engine.  "I'll go see what's wrong."

The temperature had fallen, and snowflakes whirled around her, as she
drew abreast of Noel's car.

"Are you all right?"  she asked after she opened Margaret's door.

"I shouldn't do it, but I'm go' rag to tell you something," the old
woman said in a barely audible voice.

Hunkering down, Erin gripped the inside door handle.

"He was getting a lot of money for the babies," Margaret hissed.

Erin's head jerked up.  "Who?  How much money?"

"Fifteen thousand dollars each.   Or more."   "Who was getting the
money?" Erin pressed.   "Never mind about that."   "How do you know?"

"I was the one who handed over some of the newborns."  "But"

"I've said more than I should."

"Did the mothers get any of the money?"  Erin questioned urgently.

"No," Margaret muttered, folding her arms in the way that Erin had come
to recognize as marking the end of a discussion.  "Now go back to your
car, and stop following me.  '

Over the old woman's head Noel widened her eyes.  Erin waited for
several more seconds, then she got up and Margaret pulled the door
closed.

Noel's car drew away, leaving Erin standing on the edge of the
highway.

"So wrmT WAS ALL TaAT?"  Travis grated as Erin climbed back into the
car.

Erin pulled into the left lane, crossed the highway at the first
available opportunity and headed back the way she'd come.

"What is it~ A big secret?"  Trav snapped.

"I don't keep secrets from you.  I was just trying to think through
what she said."

"She told me what was going on at Ashwood.  Whoever was in charge of
the place was running a black market adoption operation and selling the
babies for fifteen thousand dollars apiece.  Sometimes more."

Trav let out a startled curse.  "You mean my mother sold me?  '

"No.  Margaret said the girls didn't get any of the money."

"I think we're talking about a lucrative operation.  Didn't she say
that the home was in existence for three or four years?  So how many
girls are we talking about?  A hundred?  Two hundred?"

Travis didn't know how many.  He only knew his mother had been one.

THEY STOPPED AT THE first motel they came to on the outskirts of
town--a modest line of connected rooms smmg out along a parking lot,
with a second strip at right angles around the back.  Since it was
hardly the high tourist season in the watedront community, they had
thdr pick of accommodations.

Travis flopped into the chair.  beside the window and sighed.  "Erin,
I'm sorry I haven't been much help since I saw my name on that
paper."

"It must have been a shock."

"You don't have to make excuses for me."

"I'm not making excuses~," With quick steps she crossed the room and
knelt beside him on the floor.  When he against his and resting her
cheek against his shoulder.

Travis sighed deeply, and his fingers began to strohe through the
strands of her hair.

She wasn't sure what she could give him besides the physical contact,
so she snuggled closer and said nothing.

"My mother was probably just a kid.  And she was frightened and alone. 
She went to the home because she didn't have anywhere else to turn."

"For the first time in your life you've gota little bit of information
and you've started thinking of your mother as a real person, haven't
you?"  Erin whispered.

"Yes."  He swallowed.  "I imagined a lot of things.  When I was LITTLE,
I made her into a fairy godmother who was going to take me away from
the evil Stones.  Then I got older and made her into the villain. 
Mostly, when I got old enough to think about being abandoned, I wanted
to hate her.  I guess I pictured her as a tough bitch who figured she'd
made a stupid mistake.  At least she waited until I was born to get rid
of me."

"Oh, Trav."

"It's okay.  I came to terms with it a long time ago."  He swallowed. 
"When Margaret started talking about what it was like to be in trouble
thirty years ago around here, I got a hell of a different picture."

"I know."

The silence stretched again.

"We still don't have any real information about her.  Do you think
she'd want to see me?"  he asked.  "Or is it like Margaret said?  Will
she hate having me come back and raking up the past?  She's probably
married.  Suppose I'm a secret she's kept from her husband all these
years?  Suppose my coming back would screw up the life she's made for
herself?"

Erin wanted to assure him that of course his mother would be glad to
meet him, but she'd been through enough searches to be realistic about
the prospects.  "I don't know.  But if it were me, I'd want you to be
part of my life."

"That's because helping people comes naturally to you."

"You didn't have to arrange to spirit Margaret out of town because you
thought she was in danger, but you did everything except buy her a bus
ticket.  If it was up to me, I would have stomped out in disgust and
let her fend for herself."

"No, you wouldn't."

His voice grew gritty.  "There were two people involved back then.  Who
knows?  Maybe I take after the son of a bitch who left my mother in the
lurch."  His whole body went rigid.  "My God, maybe he's the one who's
behind all this.  Maybe my real father is the one who killed Doc
Harrison.  And that's why my name is on the back of the Sheet of paper
instead of with the rest."

Erin felt her throat close.  For all they knew, that could be true. 
Yet it didn't fit the pattern they were uncovering.  "No.  Suppose Dr. 
Harrison knew you were sick.  Like the woman who had the heart attack. 
Suppose he wanted to put you in touch with your family?"

"How would he know?  I made sure nobody was going to find out."

"Well," he heard the rumors like everybody else.  Only he was a doctor,
so he'd have sources of information the public and the press wouldn't. 
Maybe they tried to stonewall him, too.  And he wouldn't take no for an
answer.  "

Trav's brow wrinkled.  "Yeah, that makes sense."

Erin felt her excitement build.  She'd started talking before she'd
thought the argument through.  But it rang true.  "And how about
this--the guy who ran the home found out Harrison was trying to put the
mothers and children in touch with each other, and he panicked."

"How would he know?"

"Maybe Harrison told him.  Maybe he didn't know about the large sums of
money involved and thought the guy would cooperate."

Travis nodded.  "But Harrison doesn't get the reaction he expects.  The
guy is horrified at the prospect of the secret coming out, so he kills
Harrison and tries to make it look like an accident.  Only we show up. 
But who is it?"

"Modesto?  Is the adoption operation where he got his money?"

"We need to talk to some of those women."  Reaching for her purse, Erin
found Harrison's list and began to study it again.  "The trouble is, we
can't just go through the phone book, because I think these are the
women's maiden

"How do you know?"

"I remember a few of the cases from my office files."  She ran her
finger down the sheet.  "Like ~lustine McDonald.  Her son was adopted
by some people named Manis.  He was one of my clients."

Travis sat up straighter.  "I know where we can get the married names,
at least for the girls who were from St.  Stephens."

"The high school.  The alumni assodation will have them' in their
records. Even if we can't find my mother right away, we can get some
information about Ashwood by talking to the women."  Travis l~oked at
his watch.  "I might just be able to get to the school before the
office closes."

"It's kind of late."   "I'd like to try."

Erin caught the note of urgency in his voice.  "Okay."  Standing, she
reached for her purse.

"I--I think it might work better if I go by myself.  I can try the
personal angle--say that I'm looking for my mother."  ,

She was about to remind him that she was a trained professional.  Then
she took a closer look at his face and closed her mouth.  Despite what
he'd said a few minutes ago, he needed to be alone.

'l~v s'mPP~ n, rro the parking lot and stopped in surprise.  The
earlier flurries had changed to something more substantial.  As he
maneuvered the rented Corsica out of the parking lot, snow splat ted
against his windshield in big, wet flakes, and he turned his wipers on
to keep up with the pace.  It was only a few miles to the high school,
but the roads were already getting slick.  If he had a lick of sense
he'd go back to the motel until the storm had passed.

Not just to the warm; dry room.  To Erin.  He could still see the
mixture of disappointment and understanding on her face when he'd told
her he was going out alone.  But he needed some time to himself.

He was one of the babies from Ashwood.  He'd been born right around
here. And his life was somehow fled up with the awful chain of events
that had unfolded since Erin had been choked into unconsciousness and
left in the boathouse.  Right after the explosion at Doc's he'd thought
he'd dragged her into danger.  Well, he'd been wrong.  But he'd

been right, too.  His involvement went back more than thirty years, and
he was damned well going to find out why.

Tension surged into him when he saw the high school.  Gingerly he edged
the car into the snow-covered driveway and found the lot was empty.  He
parked in front and tried the door, anyway.  But the place was locked
and the lights all turned off.

He stomped down the steps, got back in his car and slammed the door
hard enough to knock the new snow off the windshield.  He ought to
drive back to the motel, he thought as he started the car.  But he
could feel the frustration revving up inside him like a motorboat out
of control.

So instead Trav inched his way down the highway.  At the edge of town
he made a right and drove to its dead end down near the river.  He
turned off the ignition and sat looking out over the gray water as if
it somehow hid the secret of his birth.

The water would tell him nothing.  But the baby pictures were still in
his pocket.  He pulled them out, turned on the overhead light and
studied the LITTLE faces, feeling hh heart begin to pound.  Was the
bald one him?  Or the one with the half-closed eyes?

He'd always taken his lack of roots for granted.  Now he needed to
reach out to some part of himself that he'd never touched.  For
himself.  And for Erin, too.  Because if he found out who he was, he
might have the answer to who was trying to kill them.

ALONE AND DEPRESSED, Erin looked around the room.  Maybe talking to
Kenny would give her a lift.  She called Dave's and listened to ten
minutes of excited descriptions of his canoe trip and the meal they'd
cooked around the camp fire.

"I'm glad you're having a good time."

"Not good.  Awesome."

Before she could say anything else, he informed her he was on his way
to. the dining hall and he couldn't be late because he was in charge of
setting the tables.

Still feeling lonely but at least reassured, she called Laura
Roswell.

Her friend answered on the first ring.  "Erin.  You weren't at the
number you gave Noel."

"We're at a motel.  Did you find out anything important?"

"I, think so.  Jo did some digging into Modesto's background.  i'm
pretty sure she's discovered why he's so hyper about drugs."

"You mean he's not just out to get Trav?"

"No.  A couple of years ago when he found his son, Gary, was into
cocaine, Modesto pressured him into entering a treatment center.  The
kid wasn't committed to the program, so it didn't work.  When the good
doctor discovered he was still on the stuff, he threw him out of the
house."

"That's pretty bad."

"It gets worse.  About nine months ago Crary was found dead from an
overdose."

"Oh, my God.  How horrible."  Erin took a moment to digest the
information. "Then I guess Modesto thought he had a legitimate reason
to be hostile to Trav, since he believed the stories about him."

"Looks that way.  Jo also found out he was making rounds at the
hospital Sunday morning."

"So he couldn't be the one who killed Dee Harrison and shot at us. 
Which means we're at square one again."

"Maybe not.  Jake talked to Garrison Montgomery.  Seems Modesto isn't
the one who gave him the information about the Graveyard Murders.  It
was Judge Arlington."

"Judge Arlington," Erin repeated, her mind making a rapid shift of
gears. "When the committee came in to give me the ax, he was the only
one who seemed sympathetic."

"He claimed he was sonj, to be calling your background into question. 
But in the interest of full disclosure"

"Yeah, right," Erin interrupted as she struggled with a new feeling of
betrayal.  "Laura, thanks for doing this."

"I'm sorry I couldn't confirm our theories."

"No."  She sighed.  "It's better to stop looking in the wrong
direction.  Uh, does Jo happen to know where the judge was on
Sunday?"

"She didn't get that far, but I'll see what she can, find out."  Laura
paused.  "What does Travis think you should do next?"

"I don't know.  He's out checking on a lead."

"In this weather?"   "There's only a little snow."

"Well, it's coming down like mad in Baltimore, and the storm's supposed
to be moving east.  That's one reason I was thinking about you."

"I... I guess I should turn on the radio or something."

"How far did Trav go?"

"Just a few blocks," Erin fibbed before ending the conversation
quickly. Hurrying to the window, she snatched the drapes aside.  In the
spotlights mounted along the edge of the motel roof she could see a
cloud of impossibly large flakes swirling out of the sky.

Her anxious gaze flicked to the blacktop.  In the short time since
Travis had left, his parking spot had disappeared under a solid blanket
of white, and the driveway was 'barely distinguishable from the grass. 
Probably the rural highway was just as bad.  She paced to the
television and turned it on.  One of the local news programs was just
starting, but she couldn't wait the twenty minutes or so before they
got to the weather, and she switched it off.

For a moment there was blessed silence.  Then a muffled noise--like a
car backfiring.  Only the sound seemed deadened by the falling snow.

Silence again.  But now she was vividly conscious of the hush around
her. Standing very still, she strained her ears.  She was sure there
was no one in the rooms on either side of her, may he no one else in
the whole motel, except the manager.

She was alone.  Isolated.  Vulnerable.

Once she allowed her imagination to run wild, she couldn't pull it back
into check.  With a little shudder she pictured the motel, set back
from the road and a quarter of a mile from any other houses or
businesses.  Tonight it was wrapped in a cocoon of swirling snow.  ;

She glanced anxiously toward the door, Travis had left her alone.  And
she wanted him back.  She needed him.  Because she'd stopped being able
to cope. With a jerky motion she opened the drawer in the bedside
table, pulled out the phone book and called the high school.

There was no answer.  She prayed that meant Travis was on his way home,
and not that he'd driven down to the dock to sit and think.

Stepping to the window again, Erin swept the drapes aside.  Something
was different.  The spotlights along the edge of the building had gone
out, and only the bulb from a utility pole several yards away
illuminated the back of the motel.  Reaching for the switch beside the
door, she plunged the room into darkness.  Now she could see the sky
again.  Unfortunately, the blizzard hadn't let up.

"Damreit, Travis," she muttered aloud, and then softened her voice into
something more like a prayer.  "Please come back."

As she was about to let the edge of the curtain drop back into place,
she spotted a set of headlights cutting through the swirling
whiteness.

He was here!  Finally.  Erin strained her eyes to see through the
snow.

The car skidded on the icy pavement, and her heart leapt into her
throat as she watched it drift toward the ditch at the back of the
parking lot.  Then it came to a stop with its side facing the door to
her room, and she could see that it wasn't Trav's rental car, In the
dim light from the electric pole she could just make out the burgundy
color.  And the shape.  It looked like a Honda.

Perhaps there were a million of them in Maryland.  But the blood froze
in her veins as the driver got out of the car.

His head was covered with a ski mask with dark circles around the eyes,
two dots of color on the cheeks and an elongated red mouth.  It was the
distorted parody of a human face she'd stared into as powerful hands
had closed around her throat.

Chapter Thirteen

While she watched, transfixed, he closed the car door very, very gently
and headed straight for her motel room.

She stood rooted to the spot, clutching the curtain with icy fingers
and staring at the approaching figure, knowing he was going to raise
his head and lock his malevolent gaze with hers.  But he kept his face
lowered.

Blood drummed in Erin's ears.  He was coming back to get her.  To
finish what he'd started that night in her office.

Her eyes.  stung and her throat constricted as she imagined him
grabbing her again, pulling her close against his body in a deadly
embrace.  Press'rag his powerful fingers into the vulnerable skin of
her throat and cutting off her life's breath.  But this time she wasn't
going to wake up in the boathouse down by the water.  This time was for
keeps.

T~E SNOW WAS COM~ NO DOWN harder now, gathering like a fluffy, cotton
blanket on the windshield of the rented Corsica.  By degrees, Trav
became aware of his surroundings: the sharp coldness of the air inside
the car, the layer of snow insulating him from the world.

He started the engine and turned on the windshield wipers.  As they
cleared away two wedge-shaped patches, he could see that the navy sky
was almost obliterated with swirling flakes.  He sat up straighter and
checked his watch.  Good Lord, it was after five, and Erin didn't have
an idea where he was.  First he cleared the snow off the windows, then
he backed onto the road.

The car fishtailed on the slippery pavement, and he had to fight to
keep from plowing into the rocks at the edge of the river.

More cautiously he started up the road.  Every time he tried to speed
up, the wheels felt as if they were sliding on glass.  He had to get
hack to Erin. Probably she was worried.  about him, and he didn't have
the right to lay that on her.  He reached toward the console and
remembered there was no phone in the Corsica.  Maybe he'd pass a phone
so he could call and tell her he was on his way.

For months he'd been so focused on himself that he could hardly think
about anyone else.  Then that day on Main Street when he'd.  discovered
how much Erin needed him, something strange had happened.  While he'd
been helping her, some deeply buried part of himself that had almost
died started coming back to life.

He grimaced.  If Wayne and Peg Stone had taught him

- anything it was how to be independent.  Which was why when he'd felt
so alone and terrified six months ago, he hadn't been able to reach out
to anyone.

Now.  Now he knew he needed Erin more than she needed him.  That
knowledge still frightened him as much as hearing the leukemia
diagnosis.  What if she decided when all this was over that getting
tangled up with him was too much of a risk?  She had a son who needed
her.  Kenny was her first responsibility.  It didn't make sense for her
to take on one more burden.

But she cared about him.  He knew that.  And he wasn't doing her any
good now.

His stomach muscles tightened as he pictured her anxious and worried. 
And as he honed in on that image, he knew that he never should have
left her alone. That it wasn't safe.

He told himself he had enough problems without making up more.  But
that didn't stop the sense of dread from clogging his throat.  He'd let
himself get wound up with his past when he should have been thinkin~
about the man who had tried to run Miss Margaret down this afternoon. 
The same man who'd choked Erin and probably left her to' die in the
boathouse.  The man who'd shot Doc Harrison.

He pressed down on the accelerator and almost ended up in a ditch.  So
he drove on sedately through the storm, trying to ignore the hard knot
of tension blocking his windpipe.

SOMEHOW Eton BgOK~ the spell.  Somehow she unclamped her fingers from
their death grip on the drapery.  With a wordless little whimper she
backed away from the window.

The knob rattled, and her eyes flicked to the s~urity chain.  It would
keep him out for a little while.  Not for very long.  Whirling, she
looked around the motel room, lit by a shaft of light coming from the
bathroom.  Her gaze focused on the phone.  Could she call for help? 
The knob rattled and twisted again.  No They'd never get here in time. 
She had to stiffen her knees to keep from sinking to the carpet and
crawling under the bed.  He'd find her there as surely as a hunter
finds a rabbit in its burrow.

She was running toward the bathroom when a muffled curse reverherated
in back of her.  It was followed by a sharp report.  Her ears honed in
on the sound. He'd shot the lock.

And a few minutes ago?  When she'd thought she heard a backfire.  Was
that a shot, too?  Had he killed someone else?  Had he ambushed Trav?

In one smooth motion she slammed and locked the bathroom door.  Then
with strength born of desperation she threw all her weight against the
window on the other side of the tub, pushing upward.  Nothing happened.
Bracing her foot against the smooth porcelain, she tried again. 
Finally the window groaned and opened' a few inches.  But not far
enough for her to squeeze through.

She heard the rending of metal tearing from wood.  Then the chain
ripped from the frame, and the outside door crashed open.

Heavy footsteps hammered across the rug.  Then he was at the bathroom
door, throwing his weight against the barrier, trying to batter his way
through.

With a frightened sob Erin gave one more shove.  The sash flew up, and
she wiggled through the window just as more bullets spattered into the
bathroom door behind her.

She fell through the opening headfirst, breaking her fall with her
hands as she landed in a pile of mulch covered with snow.

There was no time to think.  No time to plan.  Picking herself up with
a moan of pain, she stumbled into the swirling whiteness.

She wasn't dressed for this kind of weather.  In seconds she felt the
biting cold of the winter night seeping through her jeans and sweater
and into her bones.

When she reached the corner of the building, she risked a look at ~e
bathroom window.  In the back light she could just make out a large
shape trying to shoulder its way through the opening.  But he was
bigger than she.  Perhaps he wouldn't make it.  Perhaps she could
disappear into the blackness of the night and hide.

No.  She'd freeze to death if she had to stay outside in this blizzard
for very long.  She'd better double back to the motel office and get
help.

As she tried to plan her route she looked back the way she'd come--and
gasped in horror.

Stretching behind her was a Wail of footprints in the snow.  A trail
that would follow her no matter which way she dodged and wove through
the blanket of white that covered the ground.

Once more her gaze shot to the window.  He was gone!  He hadn't been
able to get through.  But he would come around the end of the building.
 He wasn't going to give up now.

How much time did she have?  There was no way of 'knowing.  Every
instinct urged her to keep r~nning headlong into the darkness.  To put
as much distance as she could between the killer and herself.  Instead
she carefully took several steps forward until she'd reached the
snow-free strip under the roofline, along the edge of the motel.  Then
she forced herself to retrace her steps, walking backward half a dozen
yards in her own snowy footprints until she came to the place where the
corners of the building met.  Between them was a passageway that
probably led to the soft drink and ice machines.

Leaping across the space between her trail and the sidewalk, Erin
landed on the concrete and darted into the shelter of the covered
passage.

She heard him coming then, his footsteps heavy and his breath hissing
in and out like a giant snake.  Trying to stifle her own labored
gasping, she pressed' backward into a shadowed doorway.

Every muscle of her body tensed as he drew abreast of the covered
passageway and stopped.  She could feel him listening for some sign of
her.  Listening for a clue to where she was hiding in the darkness.

He had a gun.  He could end this quickly.  Somehow the thought of
getting shot was far less frightening than the terrible memory of his
hands around her throat.  Yet what

did it matter which way he did it?  Tomorrow Chief Bramble would find
her cold, lifeless body in the snow.

She cowered farther back into the shadows, wishing she was wearing a
cloak of invisibility.  Again time stretched, drawing her nerves taut
as bowstrings. Did he know what this was doing to her?  Was that his
game?

When she thought she couldn't stand another second of waiting for him
to pounce, he moved off in the direction from which she'd come,
following the false trail she'd forced herself to make.

Erin clamped her teeth together to keep them from chattering and
stumbled from the hiding place.  The icy cold had sunk into her flesh
and bone, making every movement a small torture.

At first she could only shuffle painfully toward the front of the
building, her breath puffing in front of her in a misty cloud.  Then
she picked up speed.  When she came out of the passageway, she started
toward the manager's office.  She could hide inside while he called the
police.

She stopped dead in her tracks.  The Vacancy sign was no longer lit,
and only darkness greeted her on the other side of the windows.

Oh, God, where was the manager?  Was that the shot she'd heard?

Unable to stop her teeth from rattling, Erin tiptoed along the front of
the building, pausing to try several of the doors.  The knobs were icy
cold, and they were all locked.  There was nowhere to hide.

Behind her came the stealthy pad of footsteps.

Choking down a frightened moan, she peered across the white expanse of
the parking lot illuminated by another utility pole.  Beyond it was a
snow-covered line of evergreens.  Beyond that, the road.  If she made a
break for it--No, he'd shoot her in the back.

A car was coming.  First she caught a glimpse of the headlights.  Then
her body swiveled as she strained to see the vehicle through the
driving flakes. It was half-covered with snow and moving very slowly.

When it drew near the entrance to the back of the motel it stopped,
veered away from the slippery incline and pulled up in front of the
manager's office.

Erin wondered if her eyes were playing tricks.  It looked like Tmv's
rental car.  Then a figure got out, and she knew that her prayers had
been answered with the worst possible timing.

"No.  Trav, get down," Erin screamed.  "He's here.  He's got a gun."

The warning was punctua~l by a shot, and then another reverberated in
the frosty air.

Her heart blocked her windpipe as she watched Trav's body drop to the
snow-covered pavement beside the car.

Chapter Fourteen

In the next second Erin gasped in relief as Trav rolled across the
snow, putting the car between himself and the shooter.  A moment later
he was on his feet dodging and weaving his way toward the line of
evergreens at the edge of the property.  Then he disappeared.

The shooting stopped.  Erin wanted to scream Trav's name into the
silent, swirling snow.  All she could do was pray that he hadn't been
hit.

Then a savage curse to her left reminded her that she was the one in
the greater danger now.  The ~11er was coming toward her in the
darkness again. Only now he knew where she was.

She heard the man's taunting words as he closed the distance between
them. "Bitch!  I've got you now.  Then I'll get your boyfriend.  Too
bad I don't have time for the leukemia to take care of him."

Erin moaned.  In the dark she couldn't see him.  But she heard every
footstep.  She could stay and let him catch her or she could make a run
for it.

She'd rather get shot in the back.

The gun cracked and a bullet whiz~ed by her head as she ran.  In the
dim light she almost bumped into something large and rectangular. 
Dodging to the side, she realized it

was the soft drink machine.  With a little prayer of gratitude she put
its armored bulk between herself and the killer.

When a bullet slammed into the soft metal, she cringed but kept
sprinting down the line of doorways.  Another shot sounded, and
another.  This time they weren't aimed in her direction.  They were
tearing into the trees, and she knew Trav was drawing the gunman's
fire.

Oh, God.  Stop.  Stop, she screamed silently.

Then the awful noise ceased, and quiet filled the frosty night.  The
silence stretched, and the only conclusion Erin could draw was that the
killer was out of ammunition.  Un' less he was trying to trick them.

Reaching the end of the last of the doorways, Erin hesitated for a
moment. But she couldn't stay where she was.  And this might be her
only chance to get away.  Taking a deep breath, she turned and dashed
across the stretch of open ground between the motel and the trees where
Travis had disappeared.

Even as she prayed the gun was empty, she still expected to feel the
hot pain of a bullet slicing into her flesh.  So she crouched low to
make as small a target as possible, and tried to imitate Trav's dodging
and weaving motion as she made for the evergreens.

In front of her, pine boughs bobbed aside.  Then Trav stepped into
view, making himself a perfect target.

"No!"  she screamed.

"Erin, get behind the trees," he bellowed.  She saw his arm wind like a
pitcher on the mound.  A moment later he let fly with a round white
missile. Then another.  And another.

Snowballs!  My God.  He was facing a man with a gun, and he'd stepped
from the protection of the evergreens so he could throw snowballs.  Yet
in his hands they were formidable weapons, whisfiing through the air at
what sounded like a one-hundred-miles-an-hour velocity.

Across the field she heard the impact of the first ball against
something soft, and the killer yelped.  The second projectile found its
mark, only the sound was different, as if it had hit a target less
forgiving than flesh. The third strike came as Erin crashed through the
protective barrier of the trees.  Behind her she heard a scream of
pain.

Winded, Erin sank into the snow as Trav continued to pick up balls from
the ground and throw them with the re-lenfless force of a pitching
machine.  Erin turned to see what was happening.  The next snowballs
hit a moving target--a man running in the other direction.

Another missile whacked him in the back.  She saw him lose his footing,
saw his hands cartwheel as he righted himself.  Then he disappeared
down the curve of the hill.

Erin leaned her head back agaimt a tree trunk, her whole body shuking
violently.

Travis's face was grim as he started forward.  Reali=ing he intended to
go after the killer, Erin sprang forward and grabbed his pant leg, pain
tearing at her icy fingers as she struggled to maintain her grip.  But
it was no use. She was too numb from the cold to hang on to him.

Trav looked toward the driveway, then he came down beside her, pulling
her into his arms.  "Darlin', oh, darling'.  He could have shot you."

"He could have shot you!"

"He was out of ammunition."

They stared at each other, and Erin realized they'd both taken the same
desperate gamble on the gun being empty.  She clung to Travis as a
squeal of tires sounded on the driveway.  Seconds later a car shot past
and skidded onto the road.  Erin heard the clank of chains biting into
the pavement before the vehicle disappeared into the bli~and.

He was gone.

Shaking, sobbing with relief, Erin sagged against Travis.  He took her
numb hands in his larger ones, rubbing her flesh.  "Darlin', you're
freezing."

When he started to shrug out of his leather jacket, she protested. 
"You need it."

"Not as much as you.  You're freezing."  He helped her up, draped the
heavy garment over her shoulders and pulled her arms through the
sleeves.  The jacket was warm from the heat of his body, and she
shuddered with relief. The ice had reached her brain, and she might
have stood there forever if he hadn't started to lead her away.

"Come on."  Almost too stiff to move, she leaned heavily against Travis
as they made their slow way back across the field.  When they reached a
spot along the motel strip that was tramped down by footprints, he
stopped.

Erin looked down at the scuffled area.  When she saw a glint of black
in the snow, she gasped.

Trav followed the direction of her gaze.  "The gun."  He stooped to
pick it up, and when he straightened again, he was also holding several
bullets as well as the weapon.

"You knocked the pistol out of his hand while he~ was trying to
reload," she breathed, staring at the open cylinder.

Trav inspected the chambers.  All but one was empty.  "I'm good, but
not that good.  It was ari aran lucky shot."

Erin didn't waste the energy arguing that no one else could have come
close. Instead she let Trav lead her to the manager's office.  When
they reached the doorway, however, the darkness inside made her shrink
back.  "I think I heard a shot.  Before he came after me," she
quavered.

Travis glanced down the road where the killer had disappeared.  Then he
ushered Erin inside the office and turned on a small lamp on a table
cluttered with brochures and tourist information.  "Wait here," he
instructed as he ducked around the counter and into the back room. 
Shivering violently, she huddled in a wood-and-plastic armchair, her
gaze shifting between the front window and the archway where Travis had
disappeared.

He was back in a few minutes, and she knew f~'0m his grim expression
what he'd found.

"The manager?"  she whispered.

"Oh, God."

He picked up the phone on the counter and dialed 911.  Erin could hear
the ringing on the other end of the line.  Four, five, six.  Finally a
voice. answered "St.  Stephens po " We have an emergency"-- He stopped
and gave Erin an incredulous look.  " It's a damned answering machine. 
On 911!  "

"The ... storm.  Accidents..."  Erin managed to say between chattering
teeth, and then gave up.

"Yeah.  This two-bit police department probably has all its units out
on the road."  Trav left a message saying that the manager of the motel
had been killed and that he and Erin had been attacked in the parking
lot.  When he got to the part about where they could be reached, he
broke off and hung up. "I don't know where the hell we're going."  He
looked down the road and then back at Erin, who couldn't keep her teeth
from chattering.  "And if I did, I'm not sure

I'd tell an answering machine.  "

"The... police..."

"Can be bought!"  Travis grated.  "You may be right about the storm. 
I'm not going to bet my life on it."  He looked from Erin to the
window.  "We have to get out of here.  Is your coat still in the
room?"

"Ye-yes."

What Child I~ ~.  ~?

He strode into the back again, reappeared with several blankets and
wrapped them around Erin.  She clutched the scratchy fabric, as much
for security as warmth.

When Travis stepped back, she murmured a protest.  "Hold me."

He folded her into his arms and crushed her against his body. 
"Darlin', I never should have left you alone.  I should have known
better."

"You didn't think he'd find us."

"The bastard must have driven by Miss Margaret's and seen our car. 
Then he started checking out motels."

In the darkness Erin nodded against his shoulder.  My God, they weren't
safe anywhere.  "When I saw you get out of the car," she whispered, "I
thought he was going to shoot you."

He held her tighter.  "I ran like hell to the trees.  Then I had a
couple of seconds to think, and I knew he was going to come after you. 
That you'd given yourself away.  Erin, don't take that kind of risk for
me again."

She moved her head against his shoulder.  "It was the only choice I
had," she murmured.

December25, 1~1

I'd been feeling bad all day yesterday, kinda achy with cramps.  But
that was nothing like the pain when my labor pains started for real
after supper.

The contractions kept squeezing me so hard l thought I'd die.  They
didn't take me to the hospital, but to a private clinic I'd never seen
before.  I was scared, but Doc Harrison was there, telling me that
everything was going to be all righi, and to hang on a little while
longer until he could give me something for the pain.

The night passed in a blur.  The nurse holding me while they stuck a
needle in my back, a man I'd seen around the Ashwood office bending
over me, telling me I had to sign some papers and shoving a pen into my
haru~ Miss Margaret whispering in my ear that it was best for my
baby.

When it got time for the delivery, the doctor clamped a mask over my
face.

The only thing I can remember after that is a nurse taking my baby
away. "You've had a boy, and he's fine.  Go back to sleep."

Christmas morning I woke up back in my bed at Ash-wood.

"Where's my baby?"  I wanted to know.

"He's gone to a fine family where he'll have the best of everything,"
Miss Margaret told me.  "You signed the papers in the hospital.  Don't
you remember?"

"No?"  But somehow I did remember the man telling me the only way I
could keep my baby was to come up with the two thousand dollars to pay
for the delivery and my keep at Ashwood.  "I didn't even get to hold
him!"

"It's really for the best, " she insiste~ "Someday you 'll be grat~l
that you didn't let this ruin your life or his."  I turned my face away
and cried into roy pillow.

I hate her.  I hate her and the people who took away my baby.  But
someday I'll get my child back.

"WE leAVE TO LF.  AVE," Travis muttered.  When he reached for the door
handle, Erin stopped him.  "Wait, your coat."

She shrugged out of the leather bomber jacket, handed it to him and
rearranged her blankets.  Then he led her to the car.

The engine had been off for only a few minutes, and a toasty blast came
from the heater.  Erin held her hands toward the blessed warmth and
rubbed her fingers together as Travis looked toward the back-of the
budding.  "I'm not

going to leave you alone again, and I don't want to risk that hill. 
Maybe we can come back for your staff in the morning with the police. 
"

She nodded, and he made his cautious way out of the parking lot.

There was no other traffic on the road.  Travis drove in silence and
Erin watched his hands as they gripped the wheel.  After several
minutes, he asked, "When did he come?"

Erin looked at the clock on the dashboard and was astonished to see how
little time had elapsed since the car had first appeared outside the
motel room.  "Maybe a half hour ago.  He shot his way into the room."

Travis cursed when she told him the rest of what had happened, up until
she met him in the trees.

"I didn't think you could fight him off with snowballs."  She smiled
weakly.

"With rocks in them," he explained.  "I was the relief pitcher on my
high school i~un.  I had an eighty-mi lean-hour fastball.  I just
couldn't hit the strike zone often enough to impress the scouts."

"They'd be impressed tonight," Erin murmured, sliding as close to him
as she could get and resting her head on his shoulder.  They were
driving through a transformed landscape where the blanket of snow on
the fields and the delicate lines of white built up along the tree
limbs made it look as if they were driving through the movie set.  for
White Christmas.  Yet when a pair of headlights came down the road they
both tensed.  The two cars slowed on the narrow road, and the other
driver pulled to the side to let Travis pass.  He was a pudgy man with
a round face.  When Erin saw him she let out the painful breath she'd
been holding.

Partly to fill the silence, she began to tell Travis about her
conversation with Laura.  "It's not Modesto.  He was at the hospital
Sunday morning." Erin swallowed hard.  "I--I just remembered.  All~r
you ~disa~ into the trees he starred cursing and calling me a bitch."

"I heard him say something.  I couldn't get much of it from where I
was."

"He said he wished he could just wait until... until the leukemia
finished you off."

"Oh," yeah?  "

"Trav, did you confide in anyone else?"

"Just you, Jake, Laura and Lou."

"Well, that means he talked to one of them, because I didn't tell
anyone."

Trav turned to her, his eyes bright.  "Then we've got a fix on the
bastard!"

"It must be someone they trusted."

"All we've got to do is call and find out who they talked to.  I've got
Jake's number.  How can I reach Lou?"

Erin gave Trav the number of the superintendent's basement apartment.

"Can we get him tonight?"

"I can't believe he's out in this storm."

After repeating the number under his breath, Travis sped up. 
Immediately the car began to slide, and he tapped the brake.  But the
wheels found no traction on the snow-covered pavement, and the car kept
gliding fort yard heading for an embankment.  His knucldes white, he
tried to steer the vehicle, but it was obvious to Erin that he had no
control.  She watched helplessly as they slid farther and farther
toward disaster.  Then, at the last second, the car coasted to a
stop.

Travis expelled a long breath.  "Damn!.  There's just no way to
hurry."

"It's all right."

"No, it's not."  He nosed the Corsica back onto the road, and kept on
going more slowly.

FROM mS H~D~NG PLACE behind the gas station he watched the Corsica come
slowly around the bend.  A satisfied smile curved his lips.  He'd made
them think he was on the nm, but he had other plans.  He knew they
weren't going to stay in the motel.  Not with a dead body in the
office.  Not when they wouldn't be able to raise the police.  And they
weren't going to risk the trip back to Baltimore in a rental car that
was hardly equipped for this kind of weather.  So their only option was
to head for St.  Stephens.  Would they be stupid enough to hole up at
Stone's cottage?  Probably not.  But it didn't matter.  He was '.  in
the catbird seat now.

He let the Corsica round a curve before pulling across the parking lot
and onto the road.  Slowly, with his lights off, he followed Erin
Morgan and Travis Stone, their names a snarl on his lips as he turned
the wheel.  His arms hurt where Stone had whacked him with those damn
guided missiles of his. But he tried to ignore the pain.

He was going to win in the end!  And if he couldn't, he was going to
take them down with him.

In the darkness he shook his head.  He wasn't going to go down.  Things
always Worked out for him.  Like with Ash-wood.  A do-good church
committee had set it up, but they hadn't had the money to keep it
going.  He'd hidden his identity behind a phony charitable trust he'd
set up, and stepped in with an offer of cash.  Then he'd taken over
control without ever getting directly involved in the day-to-day
operations of the place--and turned it into a gold mine.

Fifteen to twenty thousand dollars a head.  Babies as a cash crop. 
That was a lot to pay for a kid back in those days.  But he'd had the
connections to find couples willing and able to cough up that much
cash.  And the beauty of the whole deal was that nobody wanted to talk
about it.  Not when the girls were so ashamed of what they'd done.  And
the couples were afraid they'd lose the kids if anyone found out about
the black-market deal.

That bluenose Jeremiah Gloucester had closed the place down.  But by
then it hadn't mattered.  The upkeep on the old house was getting to be
too much, anyway.

So he'd pulled out, used the money to set himself up nice and
snug--with a wife from a snobby Baltimore family and then a couple of
mistresses.

It had all worked out perfectly.  The past had stayed buried until that
old fool Doc Harrison had gotten a touch of conscience in his old age
and gone poking into moldy adoption records that were supposed to be
sealed.  Only he'd had duplicate copies of some of the records.  And
he'd figured out who was really running Ashwood.

Ahead of him the Corsica came to a halt in front of a signboard.  He
knew which one even without seeing the sign.  The Osprey Inn.  Owned by
Melissa Guilford, one of his girls.  Funny how she and Travis Stone had
gravitated toward each other.

His eyes narrowed as he waited to see if they'd turn in.  If they did,
he had them!  All he had to do was make a short trip down the road to
pick up another gun.  TRAV HESitATED at the entrance to the driveway. 
"We don't have many options," he muttered.

Erin knew he was giving her an opportunity to make another suggestion,
but she couldn't think of anything better.  They were still miles from
town, and the longer they stayed on the road, the more chance there was
that they'd plow into a snowbank or slide into a drainage ditch.  And
she wasn't exactly dressed to get out and walk.

"I think we can take a chance," she said.

Trav turned in at the entrance.

The two-lane highway had been bad, but the driveway leading to the inn
was much worse, since there had been hardly any traffic in the past few
hours. More than once Erin thought they were going to have to complete
the trip on

foot.  But Travis finally brought the car to a skidding stop in the
empty parking lot.

He'd just cut the engine when the front door flew open, making the
evergreen wreath attached to the knocker flap and sway.  Mrs.  Guilford
appeared at the top of the steps, a shawl draped over her
salt-and-pepper hair.  She was wearing a colonial dress similar to the
one they'd seen the other day, but she'd taken off the apron and the
cap.

"We need a room," Travis said as he got out of the car.

"I've sent the staff home, but come on in.  What are you doing out on a
night like this?"

Erin joined Travis on the pavement and heard the innkeeper give a
startled exclamation.

"Lord preserve us.  What in the world happened to you?"

Glancing down at her blanlmts, she realized that she must look like a
refugee from a war zone.

"We've had some trouble," Travis said.

"You'd better come in, then."

Mrs.  -Crnilford hurried them through the front door and past the
enormous Christmas tree in the empty lobby.  Opening a door tucked off
a little hallway, she settled her unexpected guests in a cozy sitting
room where comfortable couches were arranged around a roaring fire.

For the first time in hours Erin felt safe.  Kicking off her shoes, she
sank back into the sofa cushions and stretched her feet toward the
fire.  Tears gathered behind her closed lids, but she fought them
off.

"You poor thing," Mrs.  Guilford murmured.  "What happened?"

Erin looked at Travis.  All she'd wanted was a refuge.  " She hadn't
thought about how much they were going to tell this woman.

"It's better if you don't get involved," he said.  "But we would
appreciate the use of your phone."

"Of course.  I'll get you some food while you're making your call." 
She looked at Erin.  "I made a whole pot of beef burgundy this morning
before I knew the weather was going to turn so nasty.  How, does that
and some hot tea sound?"

"Heavenly."

THE PHONE WAS IN A LITTLE office behind the front desk.  Mrs.  Guilford
hesitated for a moment after telling Travis how to get an outside line.
"I'm not the kind to turn my back and look the other way when trouble
comes down the road," she' told him.  "Especially when it's following
you and that nice young woman of yours:'

Travis swallowed around the lump in his throat.  More' than once he'd
wondered what it would have been like to grow up with a mother like
Melissa Guilford instead of Wayne and Peg Stone.

"Does this have to do with what happened at Doc's the other day?"  she
asked suddenly.

"Yes.  But I wasn't kidding.  The less you know, the better."

She didn't press him further.  Instead, she closed the door quietly and
left him alone.

The office was cluttered, with papers spilling across the desk and a
stack of menns sitting in the middle of the swivel chair.  Instead of
moving them, he leaned down and reached for the receiver.  He was too
tense to sit still, anyway.

As his fingers closed around the cold plastic he paused.  Now that he'd
gotten Erin out of the storm, he was thinking a little more clearly. 
He'd been planning to call Jake and Laura.  But they probably weren't
the ones who'd let the news slip, since their conversation at brunch
had been completely confidential.  So the killer wouldn't even have
known about them. More likely, he'd come down to 43 Light Street
looking for information and run into Lou.  And if he was

someone the superintendent trusted or someone in authority, then there
was no telling what the old guy would have said.

Fighting a sensation of breathlessness, Trav dialed the number.  Every
muscle in his body tensed as he heard the circuits click and then the
ringing on the other end of the line.

Finally!  Finally he was going to find out the name of the bastard who
was stalking them!

A mechanical voice answered.  "We're sorry.  All circuits are busy. 
Please hang up and try your call at a later time."

He cursed vehemently and tried again, but he didn't even get the
recorded message.  Probably the circuits weren't busy.  Probably the
storm had knocked out the phone lines into Baltimore.

Running a frustrated hand through his hair, he looked around the office
as if he thought he might find some alternative means of communication.
Like the desk, the shelves across from the door were cluttered--with
books, knickknacks and family photographs.  There was a much younger
Mrs.  Guilford and a man he guessed must be her late husband.  Then a
trio of children--two boys and a girl shown at various ages.  To the
right of the other pictures was a smaller one in a silver frame.

His eyes fixed on it, Travis came around the desk.  It was an infant's
picture.  The kind that was taken in the hospital.  Like the ones he
had in his pocket, the ones that he'd been staring at while he sat and
brooded down by the river.

Pulling out the envelope, he shuffled through the aging photographs of
the Ashwood infants and found a match.  The same blond hair.  The same
fat cheeks.  The same half-closed eyes.  One of the babies was the
same.

A dizzy feeling swept over him, and he stumbled backward, banging
against an old-fashioned metal floor lamp.

As it swayed and started to topple, he dropped the pictures and caught
the pole just in time.

He was kneeling to sweep up the photographs when Mrs.  Guilford hurried
back into the room.  "What?"

She stopped short when she saw the picture in his hand.  "Oh, my God,"
she gasped.  "Where did you get that?"  Travis could barely make lgs
voice work. But there was no way to check the crazy, mind-boggling hope
expanding in his chest.  "I was born at Ashwood.  Thirty-two years
ago," he managed.  "Are... are you my mother?"

Chapter Fifteen

Her face took on a look of profound sadness.  "No," she whispered.

He stared at her, bewildered.

Mrs.  Guilford crossed the gulf between them and knelt beside Trav, her
motherly arms circling his shoulders.  "You're the child of one of the
Ashwood girls?"

He nodded.  "I found out this afternoon.  From Miss Margaret."

"All the babies.  were taken away from their mothers.  It was the worst
day of my life when they made me give up my little girl."

"You had a girl," he repeated, as if he needed confirmation she was
telling him the truth about her own child.

"Yes.  I wanted to keep her so much.  But they didn't give me 'any
choice. They said if I wanted to leave with her, I'd have to pay all
the fees.  And there was no way I could do that.  So I signed the
paper."  The words rushed out of her like a confession.

His emotions were in shreds, yet l~e found he was comforting her,
patting her broad back, whispering reassuring words.

"I didn't know your background," she said.  "But I knew you needed
loving?"

He didn't meet her eyes.

"Then you came by with Erin the other day, and I decided I could stop
worrying about you.  I saw the way the two of you looked at each other
and I knew you'd found the right woman."

Oh, Lord.  If only.  If only.

"We came down here to find out about Ashwood," he said, bringing her
back to their most pressing problem.

Her gaze was unfocused, her voice edged with regret.  "For years none
of us talked about it.  We'd see each other on the street and look
away.  We were all afraid to bring up the past.  Then, one afternoon
out of the blue maybe eighteen or twenty years ago, Justine McDonald
called me.  Said she needed to talk to someone, and I'd understand.  I
didn't have to ask what was all bottled up inside her.  We'd been at
Ashwood at the same time.  So I had her over for tea and cake, and we
talked about the bad old times, and about our babies.  It made us both
feel a little better.  In fact, we decided we were going to try and
find our children.  It took Justine three years, but she located her
son in California.  I never could find my daughter."  The innkeeper
paused and wiped a hand across her eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"That's the way it was for a lot of the girls, the ones who wanted to
locate their children.  You see, the adoption records are hard to
trace."

Travis gripped her shoulders.  "Do you mind--I think Erin should be
hearing this."

They helped each other up and returned to the sitting room, where Erin
was drinking a mug of hot tea.  She took in the drawn expression on
their faces and sat up straighter.  "What's happened?"

"I was one of the girls from the home for unwed mothers," Mrs. 
Guilford said in a surprisingly steady voice.

"I recognized a baby picture in the shelves in her office," Travis
explained as he crossed the room and sat be Mrs.  Guilford took the
sofa opposite them. "Please tell me what's going on."

"Someone's trying to kill Erin and me to protect the cret of Ashwood.
They've already murdered Doc Harrison because he was trying to put the
mothers in touch with their

"But the newspaper said it was an accident.  That there was a gas leak
in his garage, and the sparks from the electronic pilot ignited it when
the furnace came on."

"The killer must have loosened one of the joints in the gas line after
he shot Doc.  I guess Bramble had his reasons for keeping the murder
quiet."

Mrs.  Guilford pressed her hand over her heart and whispered a little
prayer.

Quickly Erin told her about their visit to Miss Margaret and what had
happened that evening.

The blood drained from the older woman's face as she

Erin leaned toward her.  "Do you know who ran the home?  Miss Margaret
said it was a cowmittee."

"There was a church committee that had something to do with it at
first. Good worksl Charity to the least fortunate.  That's why Mrs. 
Gloucester let them use her estate.  Then somebody else stepped in and
took over the p=oject.  But didn't know who.  It wcs better not to poke
your nose that."

"Why?"

"We were all so young and so ashamed.  And they let us know we weren't
to talk about it, ever.  Then one of the girls" -- She choked off and
then began again.  "One of the girls disappeared after she said she
wasn't going to give up her baby.  We heard them take her away in the
middle of the night."

Erin's face was white.  Travis clasped her hand, and she hung on to
him.

"Didn't her family want to know what happened?"  Erin whispered.

"She was an orphan.  But we didn't feel as if there was all that much
difference between her and us.  In those days you can't imagine the
kind of power they had over us."

"I know what it's like for adults to intimidate children," Travis
growled.

"But what does any of it matter now?"  Mrs.  Cmilford asked.  "In this
day and age when so many babies are born out of wedlock."

"The man who ran Ashwood was taking away your babies and selling them
on the black market.  For fifteen thousand dollars each or more.  At
least, that's what Miss Margaret told us," Erin said.

Mrs.  Guilford looked dazed.

"Amy Hastings was one of the babies;" Trav continued.  "After she died,
Doc Harrison was trying to match up the mothers with the children so
they'd have their medical records.  And the chief honcho from Ashwood
was afraid the whole mi.~erable story was going to come out.  He must
be someone with a lot to lose if his sordid past is exposed.  He killed
Dog, he stole records from Erin's office and tried to have her son
kidnapped."

Mrs.  Guilford looked stunned.  "All these years--I didn't realize." 
She folded her arms across her ample bosom.  "I think it's time to see
if we can figure out another part of the story.  If it's safe to sit
here talking."

"It's safe.  The killer took off like a bear with a swarm of bees on
his tail after I chased him away from the motel.  So he doesn't know
where we went."

"What year were you born?"  the older woman asked.

"Nineteen sixty-one."  Just a simple request for informarion, yet his
voice cracked in the middle of the answer.

"What date?"

"That's-- I think" -- She stopped abruptly.  "I'd better not say
anything until I'm absolutely sure."

Travis felt as if a hundred-pound weight were pressing against his
chest. Erin gripped his hand, and he clamped' down on her fingers as if
her flesh could anchor him to reality.

"I'm going to call my friend Michelle," Mrs.  Guilford said.

"Michelle."  Travis stumbled over the syllables as he repeated the
name.  Was someone named Michelle his mother?  Today he'd begun to
realize that she'd suffered just the way he had.

"I thought the phones weren't working," Erin said.

"The lines across the bay go out all the time in bad weather.  But the
local system is more reliable."

"Let's do it, then," Travis rasped.

HE KNEW THE LAYOUT of the inn.  Knew they were in the little sitting
room Melissa liked to use for special guests.

He reached for the knob, pulled the front door open and stepped into
the foyer.

Just then, footsteps sounded in the hall, and he ducked around the
corner into the cloakroom, holding his breath as he peeped around the
corner.

It was Melissa, in that dumb colonial costume she liked to wear,
heading for her office with Stone and Morgan right behind her.  He'd
better stay out of sight until the coast was clear.

Stone and Morgan.  God, what a pair!

It was bad luck that they'd latched onto each other.  Separately he had
them taken care of.

Morgan was easy.  He'd pushed her for director of Birth Data, Inc.  ,
because he'd known she was vulnerable.  All he had to do was bring up
the Graveyard Murders and he could get her fired any time he wanted. 
Or make it look as if she'd been pilfering cash and raiding her own
files.  He thought his demolition expertise acquired courtesy of the U.
S.  Army would end the problem once and for all.  But she'd gotten out
of the boathouse before the explosion.  And his plans to say anything
he wanted about the bitch had gone up in smoke.

He'd still thought he could take care of her--until Travis Stone had
come along to stiffen her spine.

He cursed vehemently under his breath.  Stone had been the real wild
card in all of this.  He'd come back to look for his mother at just the
wrong time. But why not?  He'd learned that once things started going
rotten, everything could come down around your ears.

Well, what goes around comes around, he thought.  Only now he had the
chance to give it one more explosive twist.

ERIN AND Travis followed Mrs.  Cmilford back to the office and waited
while she phoned her-friend.

"I think I have some good news for you," she began.  Trav stood there,
his stomach in knots.  Maybe she'd think it was good news.  Maybe not. 
And maybe she wasn't even his mother.

"I want to make sure I have this right.  I remember your son was born
on Christmas day.  What year?"

When she got the answer, Mrs.  ~ Guilford raised her eyebrows. 
"There's a young man here who was born on December 25, 1961 at Ashwood.
 He wants to talk to you."

Trav gulped.  Automatically his hand closed around the receiver as Mrs.
Guilford handed it to him.  All he could hear on the other end of the
line was rapid breathing.

"Hello?"  he croaked.

' 215

"Hello?  Who is this?"

"I--my name is Travis Stone."

"Travis Stone--the ball player?  Is this some kind of joke?"

He felt as if he wanted to sink through the floor.  "No joke," he
managed.

"I--I'm sorry.  Really.  I'm just"

"Stunned," he finished for her, his heart thumping in his ears.

"Melissa says-- This is so unreal.  Trying to meet you on the phone
like this.  Can I come over and see you?"

"I'd like that," he managed.   "Travis."

When she said his name, he felt a strange lightheaded sensation.

"I've prayed for something like this.  How did you find me?"

He started to give her a brief explanation of why they'd come down to
St. Stephens, but she cut him off.

"I don't want to waste any more time on the phone.  I've got a Blazer,
so the roads won't be any trouble.  Andrew and

I will be right over.  "

"Andrew?"

"My husband.  Your father's brother.  I'll ~xplain it all when we get
there."

The strained phone conversation was over, and he felt as much relief as
anticipation.  As he dropped the receiver into the cradle, he looked at
Erin. "That was pretty stilted."  He looked chagrined~ "I didn't even
ask her full name."

"Michelle Perry Beauford," Mrs.  Guilford supplied.

"It's hard to meet your mother on the phone," Erin added.

"She sounded nervous."

"Of course she's 'nervous.  But she wants to meet you.  Why else would
she be coming out on a night like this?"

"Maybe it's all a mistake.  Maybe there was more than one baby born
that day."

"No.  I don't think so," Mrs.  Guilford answered.  "Now that I think
about it, you look just like Will."

"My father?"

"Missy's son.  He's twenty-five.  She had three boys and three girls. 
She never did get over losing you.  So she tried to makeup for it after
she married Andrew."

Trav looked as shell-shocked as he had at Margaret's, so Erin was
profoundly grateful when Mrs.  Guilford offered a distraction, "Why
don't we eat while we're waiting.  I wouldn't want the stew to go to
waste," she said.

Erin and Trav sat at a wooden table in a corner of the large kitchen
while their hostess bustled about getting them a meal.

The food was delicious, but Erin could manage only a few bites.  Travis
pushed his fork around the plate.

"Eat some," Erin whispered to Trav when the innkeeper got up to put on
a kettle for tea.

"I can't."  ~

The woman turned off the spigot and set the kettle on the stove.  "The
hot water heater must be on the fritz," she muttered.

Erin nodded, only half hearing.  From under lowered lashes she studied
Travis.  She'd seen this before, the jittery anticipation of an adoptee
waiting for that first fateful meeting with his birth mother.  There
was always a mixture of hope and dread.  But this time a lot more than
usual was riding on Missy Perry's reaction to her long-lost son.

Unable to sit still, Trav paced out into the hall and stood at one of
the windows, looking down the driveway toward the road.  Erin got up
from the table and came up beside him, slipping her arm around his
waist.  A few flakes were still drifting down, but the storm had pretty
much abated.

"I'm acting like a kid waiting for Christmas," he muttered.

"This is important to you.  And it looks as if this year you're getting
Christmas early."

As they stood staring out at the glistening fields, Erin shivered and
pressed closer to Travis.

"What?"

"Is it my imagination, or is it colder in here?"

"Should I ask Mrs.  Guilford to turn up the heat?"   "Please."

Trav crossed to the kitchen.  "Would it he all right to" -- The phone
rang, interrupting his request.  "Maybe it's my mother.  Maybe she's
changed her mind."

"No."

They all retraced their steps 'to the office.  Mrs.  Guilford picked up
the receiver and listened intently.  When she spoke,

she sounded perplexed.  "I don't know Only Travis and his friend
Erin..." "Who is it?"  Travis asked.  "Michelle.  On the car phone. 
She's down by the entrance to the driveway, and there's a sedan pulled
off the road.  It looks like someone got stuck in the snow.  But
there's no one around."

"There weren't any cars down there when we reached the driveway,"
Travis told her.   "Well, you're the only ones who have showed up, so
the motorist must have gotten a ride with someone else."   The hairs on
the back of Erin's neck stood on end.   "What kind of car?"   she asked
sharply.   Mrs.  Guilford relayed the question.   "A Honda."   Erin's
windpipe constricl~l as if fingers were closing around her throat.   It
was him.   Somehow he knew they were here.   And he was out there in
the snow.

What Child Is This?

"Tell Mrs.  Beauford to drive to the police station," Travis grated.

"Why?"

He snatched the receiver from Mrs.  Guilford's hand and spoke rapidly. 
"It's the man who's been stalking us.  That's his car.  The son Of a
bitch has figured out we're here."  In response to an exclamation on
the other end of the line, he continued.  "The man who ran Ashwood is
trying to kill us to protect his reputation.  Don't come up here.  He's
outside the inn, and he may be armed.  Drive to the police station. 
Get help."

"But why?"   --~ The shrill question came from the other end of the
line. ~"He was selling babies on the black market.   The babies from
the home." Through the receiver Erin heard Michelle gasp.   "I'm sorry
to drop that on you.   But we'll have to talk-about it later."   As
Travis hung up, he turned to Mrs.  Guilford.   "I'm damn sorry I got
you into this."   "Don't waste time apologizing.   What are we going to
do?"   "Do you have a gun?"   "Up in the bedroom."

OFFICER RALPH

CALASONI unlogked the door to the St.  Stephens police station and
stepped inside.  He took off his wet coat and flung it on a chair. 
What an awful night.  Snow and sleet had turned the roads into a damn
skating rink.  He'd already been out on half a dozen accident calls,
Bramble was out on a four-car smashup north of town and it was only
seven-thirty.  After heating a cup of coffee in the microwave, he' sat
in the chief's leather chair and propped his boots on the desk as he
listened to routine business.

The county council meeting for tonight was canceled.  There was another
accident out on Route SO.  But suddenly the word murder and the name
Travis Stone had him sitting up so fast he spilled coffee onto his
lap.

He rewound the message and phyed it again.  It sounded as if these
people were in a heap of trouble.  And wasn't it damn lucky for Uncle
Billy that he'd been here to take the call.

Reaching for the button, he erased the tape.  Then he grabbed the coat
he'd just taken off.  If another call' came in, he didn't want to be
here.

ERIN WRAPPED HER ARMS around her shoulders, shivering.  Travis stared
at her.

"It's cold in here," she whispered.

Travis's brow wrinkled as if he were making a series of lightning-fast
calculations.  "I think we'd better check on something.  How old is
your furnace?"  he asked Mrs.  Guilford.

"Why, it's only a few years old.  But what?"

"Where is it?"  He cut her off urgently.

"In the cellar."  She pointed toward the end of the corridor.

"Come on."

As Travis shepherded them toward the door Erin caught a whiff of
something unpleasant drifting toward them.  It grew stronger as they
approached the entrance to the basement.

Mrs.  Guilford threw open the door, and a wave of noxious vapor poured
over them.

"Gas!"  Erin gasped, falling back as Trav slammed the door again.

"He's done it again," Travis growled.  "If the igniter comes on, this
place is going to blow.  That's why there's no

hot water.  He turned off the pilot before he loosened the gas valve. 
"

Erin's heart began to pound as she took in Trav's explanation.  She
didn't understand the exact mechsni.  ~m, but she knew the killer had
rigged the furnace in Doc's garage.  Somehow he'd done the same thing
here.  "Oh, God," she gasped.  "And I was going to ask you to turn up
the heat."

Travis squeezed her arm before pivoting back to Mrs.

Guilford.  "Where's your thermostat?"

"In the dining room."

He whirled and pounded down the hall, Erin and Mrs.  Guilford trailing
behind him.

The thermostat was set at fifty-five.  Travis flexed his fingers. 
Theft in one smooth motion he pushed the lever to Off "Was the front
door locked?"  he asked.

Mrs.  Guilford's brow wrinkled.  "Why, no.  I guess I didn't lock up
all~r I let you in.  In case some other poor soul came up the drive."

Travis dropped to the rug, felt the area around the thermostat and
stood again, his hand palm up.  A film of water glisteaed on his
fingertips.  "He was in here.  While we were sitting nice and cozy by
the fireplace, or maybe in the kitchen, he was lisl~aing and making
plans to fini.~h Ils Off."

Erin stifled a little moan.  "We have to get out of the house."

"No.  He's out there, to make sure we don't get away."  Travis stepped
down the hall and rammed home the bolt on the front door.  "What about
the back?"

"I--I'll lock that," Mrs.  Ouilford quavered.  "Any other exits?  Is
there one in the basement?"

"A bulkhead."

They quickly secured the first floor.  "The gas is next," Travis said,
starting toward the ~ellar.

Erin grabbed his arm.  "No!  You can't go down there!"

"Someone has to.  Or the whole basement might as well be one big bomb."
He turned to the innkeeper.  "Where's the furnace located?  And the
light switch?"

"Are you sure there's no other way?"

"Please--you're wasting time."   ~ "The light is out here in the hall."
She flipped on the switch.   "And the furnace is to the right when
you get to the bottom of the steps."

Travis took several deep breaths.

Erin moved to block the basement door with her body.

"If it has to be done, then let me," she whispered.

"No.  I can run faster than you.  I'll do it."

She felt sick inside, but she' knew he was right.  And she probably
wouldn't know which switch to pull, either.  Nails digging into her
palms, she moved away.

"Close the door behind me."

He took more deep breaths before slipping inside the stairwell.  Then
he was thumping down the tie ads shaking the structure with his rapid
footfalls.

Her heart in her throat, Erin counted off the seconds.  How long could
he hold his breath?  One.  two.  three.  fifteen.  twenty. 
twenty-five. thirty.  forty.  fifty.  She strained her ears, but she
could hear nothing. Her nails pressed deeper-into her own flesh as she
imagined Trav slumped to the floor.  Oh, God, he'd thought he could do
it.  Now he was in trouble.

Erin's hand opened and closed on the knob.  She was about to fling the
door open.  Then she heard him cough.  "Trav!"

He didn't answer.  Couldn't answer without making things worse.  But at
least she could hear him moving around.

An eternity passed before stumbling footsteps came up the steps. 
Coughing and gasping for air, Travis fumbled with the knob.  Erin threw
the door open, and he staggered out.  He slammed the door closed and
leaned heavily against it.  His face was gray, and spasm after spasm
wracked his chest.

Erin wanted to hold him close.  But she had to let him breathe.  All
she could do was clutch his hands, hanging on to him until he could
draw in precious air.  Finally the coughing subsided.  "Are you all
right?"

"Lord, I didn't know what that would be like."  He dragged in more air
and steadied himself against the wall.  It was several moments before
his color came back to something approaching normal.

"I threw the emergency cutoff switch.  And closed the gas valve," he
wheezed. "Then I opened the bulkhead door."  Straightening, he threw
the bolt and stood back, eyeing the metal fastening.  "It won't hold
him if he decides to try and come in."

Erin pointed toward the heavy sideboard a few feet down the hall.  "We
can use that."  Together 'the three of them pushed it in front of the
entrance.

"How long will he wait before he decides your mother isn't coming?" 
Erin asked.

"Don't know."  He took several strides toward the front of the house,
then stopped.  "From now on, we stay together."  Erin and Mrs. 
Guilford followed him to the dining room and watched as he took the
cover off the thermostat. Then he ripped the rest of the mechanism off
the wall, leaving only exposed wires.  "Now let's go get that gun," he
growled.

When Melissa paused at the bottom of the steps and reached for the
light switch, Travis stayed her hand.  "We don't want to give him any
more information than necessary.  It's better if he thinks we're still
downstairs waiting."

"I'm sorry," she quavered.   "I'm not used to this."   "Nobody is."  
Erin patted her on the shoulder.

Slowly Mrs.  Guilford led the way up the shadowy steps to the second
floor. Luckily she'd left a few lights burning, in-eluding one at the
end of the hall.

The older woman shuffled away into a darkened bedroom.  As it turned
out, she was better armed than Erin had imagined.  When she reappeared
she was carrying a .  32 and two hunting rifles, all of which had
belonged to her late husband.  Trav checked the mechanisms, loaded all
three and looked at Erin.  "What do you know about guns?"

She answered in a steady voice.  "My friends are into self protection,
so they've taken me to the shooting range."

"Good."

He handed her the pistol.  She made sure the Safety catch was on and
tucked it in the waistband of her pants.  "Now to get you into the
attic."

"I'm not going up there!"  Erin protested.  "Darlin'"

"I'm staying with you."

He gave her a fierce look.  She didn't drop her gaze or back off. 
"Don't waste time arguing," she said.

Travis didn't.  Instead, he dragged a chair across the room with the
attic access panel and pushed the rectangle of plywood aside.  Then
they boosted-Mrs.  Guilford up, along with several blankets from the
linen closet.

"Sit tight and don't make any noise.  We'll come back for you when it's
safe," Travis whispered.

"Be careful," the older woman called.

"We will."  Erin hoped she didn't sound as frightened as she felt.

Mrs.  Guilford closed the panel.  Trav pushed the chair back where he'd
found it.

In the darkness he wrapped his arms around Erin and hauled her close.

She held him tightly, needing his strength.

"This guy has been a step ahead of us every move we make," Travis
grated.

"Not now.  You figured out what he was up to."

"Yeah, but he's still got the advantage."

She couldn't stop herself from trembling as a risky plan began to form
in her mind.  "What if we could get out of the house?"  she whispered. 
"How far would we have to go for help?"

"As soon as we stepped out the door we'd stand out like ants in a sugar
bowl."

"Maybe not.  When we got the blankets and I saw all those sheets in the
linen closet I started thinking about how I'd dressed up like a ghost
one Halloween.  If we covered up with sheets, we'd blend into the
landscape."

Trav glanced through the window at the layer of snow obliterating the
natural features.  "Yeah."

"I just need some warm clothes to wear."

Trav held her very close, so close that she could feel his heartbeat
speeding up.  "You'll have a better chance~ to get away if I draw his
attention."

Chapter Sixteen

"What?"  Erin choked out, her voice rising on the end of the
question.

"You'll put on a sheet and slip out of the house.-I'll pretend I've
spotted him and start firing the rifle."

"No!"  Erin gasped, the thought of what he was proposing cutting
through her flesh like shards of glass.

"That way, you'll really have a chance," Travis plowed on.

"But what about you?"  She gripped his shoulders.  "I

won't let you take a bigger risk than I'm taking.  " " Dadin', you're
talking about a guy who"

She didn't let him finish.  "No!  Haven't you been paying attention to
any of the things I've told you?"

His features were drawn into fierce lines.  "The most important thing
for me is getting you out of this."

"Trav, please."

"If something happens to you, then there's not much reason for me to
keep pushing."

Erin let out a strangled moan.  She'd told him she'd there for him. 
And he'd used that to back her into a corner.  She wanted to scream out
a protest, but she didn't know what to say.

"The sooner you get out of here, the better it will be for both of
us."

Her fingers dug into his arm.  When she felt him wince, she unclenched
her grip.  She was pretty sure he was just talking about her, but the
basic theory was right.  They had to make their move while they still
had the element of surprise.

"All right," she whispered.

Trav knocked on the attic panel and explained in clipped tones that
Erin would go for help while he drew the killer's attention, so she
shouldn't be alarmed if she heard shots.  Then he asked where Erin
could find warm clothes.

She struggled with a feeling of unreality as she pulled on extra socks,
a pair of white galoshes that had belonged to one of the Guilford
children, white knit pants over a pair of tights, and a down ski
jacket.

The inn was silent as a tomb as she and Trav descended the stairs.  He
stood to the side of a window and looked out.  "I wish I knew where the
bastard was, But the best guess is that he's between us and the road,
where he can keep an eye on the driveway and the front door.  So I
think the back way out is best."

Erin's gaze bounced off the garage, the hedgerow, the gazebo at the
foot of the garden.  Where was the killer hiding?  If they'd figured it
wrong, she'd run right into his arms.  Into his hands.  With those
strong fingers wrapped around her neck, squeezing the life out of her. 
Clenching her teeth, she fought to repress a shudder.

"Don't head directly for the road," Trav Was saying.  "Find a good
place to lie low and wait untilI get his attention.  When you hear the
rifle, cut across the fields to the driveway."  His hands gripped her
shoulders.  "Are you listening to me?"

Reaching out, she hugged him to her breast.  "I love you.  I don't want
to leave you now."

"You have to!"

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"We will!"

A fris son went through her body, and she tipped her face up so she
could look him in the eye.  "Travis Stone, are you making a
commitment?"

He swallowed hard.  "Yeah."

"Then you'd better not welsh on me when the going gets rough!"

"Darlin', I've never wanted anything more than to spend the next
hundred years with you."

She lifted her arms to him.  His head came down, and he took her lips
in a fiery, aggressive kiss.  She cleaved to him, her hands sliding
over his back and shoulders, her mouth moving urgently against his.  If
they could stay like this.  Just the two of them.  If they could only
shut out the world.

It was Trav who broke the contact.  Trav who thrust her gently yet
forcefully away from himself.  "Erin, you have to leave.  Or it'll be
too late."

Before he could see the moisture in her eyes, she reached down to pick
up the sheet she'd dropped on the floor.  Slipping it on top of her
head, she pulled it down so she could see through the eye holes Travis
had cut.

Silently he secured the covering around her waist with white shoelaces
fled together.  Then he stepped back to give her a critical inspection.
"You could play Casper, the friendly ghost in the live-action
version."

She tried to laugh.

"Just keep your hands under the sheet," he added as she pulled on a
pair of gloves she'd found.  They were brown leather and lined with
rabbit's fur.

He gave her one more savage hug and she longed to tell him she'd
changed her mind.

"Go," he whispered.

Crouching low, she slipped into the night.

T~m T~m'~ HAD dropped, and the wind bit into her skin through the thin
fabric covering her face.  Knees bent, she made for what looked like
the gracefully arch ins branches of a forsythia bush.  She expected a
hand to grab her or a-slug to whistle past her head.  But the only
sounds she heard were her feet crunching in the snow and the wind
moaning across the winter landscape,

Erin breathed a sigh of relief, less exposed as she ducked under the
naked branches.  But the bush was too close to the house for safety~
Her next goal was a towering rhododendron.  She had just slipped behind
the twiggy branches when a rifle shot sliced through the frosty air, It
was followed almost immediately by a series of blasts from somewhere
off to her right--and the sound of shattering glass.

In her mind she screamed Travis's name.  She wanted to go back, but she
knew her options were very limited.  If she got herself shot, it wasn't
going to do Travis any good.

With a little whimper she ~took off down the driveway, praying she
could bring back help before it was too late.  Again she half expected
a bullet in her back, but it didn't happen.  Trav had been right.  The
killer was focusing on him!  And fear for him expanded in her brain as
she ca-teened down the winding driveway.

Frigid air hissed in and out of her lungs, making her chest ache.  More
shots rang out behind her, more exploding glass, but she didn't break
her stride.

Rounding a corner, she let out a muffled scream.  A Blazer with its
lights off was chugging up the driveway.  Inches from the bumper, she
threw herself off the road and into a snowbank.

The vehicle ground to a halt.  In the next moment someone was on top of
her, rolling her over roughly in the snow.  "Please," she cried out.

"Quiet!  Let's see who you are;" The words were punctuated by the
ripping of the sheet.

Erin shrank against the snowbank.  But he held her fast.  Then she was
staring up into a man's lined face.  She blinlaxi.  He looked a little
like an older Travis.

"It's a woman," he called to someone behind him.

"Please," she begged again.  "I'm Erin Morgan.  The killer's up at the
inn. Travis Stone is drawing his fire."  Behind the man, a woman
gasped. "Travis!"

"Are... are you Mrs.  Beauford?"   Erin managed.

The man let her up, and she struggled to a sitting position.  Another
dark shape had stopped behind the Blazer.  ~And another one behind
that.  As she peered down the driveway, she saw a whole row of
vehielcs.

"Who are all these people?"  :

"Lois Kendall Stallings.  Barbara Livingston.  Winona Balston Ferris.
Justine McDonald, Terry Hazelton."

"The women from the home," Erin breathed, realizing suddenly that Mrs.
Beauford had somehow brought them.

The women began to get out of their cars and move up the driveway to
where she and the Beaufords stood.  Most were accompanied by their
husbands.  All of them were armed.

Struggling to her feet, Erin stared wide-eyed at this group of good,
solid country folk.  They had all suffered under a terrible burden for
years, and they'd come here to put things right.

Just then another exchange of gunfire froze the blood in her veins.
Whispered conversations erupted in the crowd.

"The killer is outside.  The man who ran Ashwood," Erin told them in
clipped sentences.  "He tried to blow the house up and us with it.  The
way he killed Doc Harrison.  But it didn't work this time.  Now he's
probably near the top of the drive.  He~s got Travis Stone pinned down
inside."

Stone.  one of the men asked;

"Yes.  My son.  Born at Ashwood," Mrs.  Beauford clarified.  "I sure
don't want to find him and lose him all in the same night, you
understand?"

After a hurried conference among the newcomers, Mr.  Beauford was
giving terse instructions.

Erin's heart pounded as she watched the faces of the men and women. 
All of them had suffered for years.  Now they had a chance to even the
score. "Wait," she cautioned.  "The man up there is dangerous."

"Don't you worry, honey," Mr.  Beauford growled.  "We know how to hunt
skunk."

Oh, God, what had she set in motion?  Erin wondered as the group fanned
out, some on one side-of the r/arrow lane, some on the other.  It
could.  have been a picture postcard Christmas scene, except that
everyone was armed. "I'm going with you."

"You stay in the back.  Travis said the man's been trying to kill
you."

"Travis is the one in danger now, not me."  Erin ran to catch up with
the line of people advan~ting steadily but cautiously on the inn, the
tramp of their boo led feet muffled by the blanket of white that
covered the fields.

They rounded a bend in the drive and stopped abruptly.  A menacing
figure crouched in the snow behind the wishing well, his attention
focused intently on the inn.

Erin followed the direction of his gaze and saw a flash of movement at
one of the windows.  The killer rose up, gun in hand.  "No," Erin
screamed.

The man whirled, already firing as he turned.  It was a mistake.

A volley of gunshots rang out in the frosty night air.  The killer
screamed and dropped to the ground.  Then there was

Her hand unclenched, and she realized she'd pulled the trigger along
with everyone else.

A tall fellow rushed forward and pulled the ski mask from the dead
man's face.  Erin gasped.  My God, it was William DeG-eorge. 
Assemblyman William DeCa~rge, the third member of the executive
committee who'd come down to Light Street to fire her a few days ago. 
The one who'd stood in the background and let the others do the
talking.  The one who'd kept his hands in his pockets because he knew
Travis had seen the hand with the gun pointed at him,

De George Andrew muttered.  "I never would have suspected him."

"I was gonna vote for him when he ran for the U.S.  Senate," the man
holding the ski mask chimed in.

There were murmurs and exclamations around the group.  But Erin didn't
react to them.  Inslead she started toward the inn.  It was dark and
silent, and she felt fear knife through her breast.

"Trav!  Trav!"  she called, making a wide circle around the man on the
ground as she hurtled toward the building.

An eternity stretched, and she felt her heart blocking her windpipe. 
Oh, God, what if, after all this Then the back door flew open.  Trav
stood with a rifle in his hand, staring at the unlikely scene spread
out in front of him.

"Who are all these people?"  He echoed Erin's earlier question, as if
he didn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"Your mother brought help," Erin said as she launched herself into his
arms. Trav's hands came up to clasp her tightly and she clung to him
with all the strength she possessed.

"I was so scared when I heard the shooting.  But you're all right," she
breathed.  "You're safe."

"Lord, Erin, I didn't want to send you out there with him," he
grated.

"You didn't.  It was my idea."

He kissed her the way he had before she'd left the house~ Only now
there was a feeling of triumph and relief as his lips moved over hers. 
For long moments he was the only thing that existed in the world.  This
man who would have given his life to save her.

"Don't put yourself in danger for me again," she whispered against his
mouth.

"I want you around for a long, long time."

"Darlin', I want to be."

Released from the terrible tension of the past few days, they kissed
again. Then, gradually, Erin remembered that they weren't alone.

"Your mother," she whispered, turning slightly.

He looked up at the woman who was standing hesitantly at the edge of
the crowd, a dozen yards away, her arms folded tightly across her
middle.  Missy Beauford raised her head and stared uncertainly at
Trav.

"Morn," he said, his voice gravelly.

"Travis.  Travis.  My son.  Finally, after all these years."  She took
a step forward, and then another, ending in the circle of their arms.

IT HAD SNOWED AaAIN on Christmas Eve and the vista outside the
Beaufords' beautifully restored eighteenth-century farmhouse was truly
magnificent.

A crowd was gathered in the enormous kitchen-family room.  Beauford
children and grandchildren and several guests were all staying with the
family.

Kenny got up from the model train layout he and his new friends were
putting together and came over to where Erin was sitting.

His eyes danced with excitement.  "Some Christmas!"

"It's awesome Mrs.  Beauford asked us and Mrs~ Xrlckery to spend the
week. She'd make a great grandma, wouldn't she?"

"Um-hum."  Erin didn't trust herself to say anything more.  She knew
what Kenny was really asking, since he'd been told that Mrs.  Beauford
was Trav's birth mother.

Her son tried again, from a different angle.  "Could, uh, we go back to
Dave's camp some time?  I mean, you and me and" -- he hesitated for a
moment "--Travis."

"I'd like that."

"Hey, Kenny.  You said you'd put this house together," one of the boys
called out.  "And we need it."

With a little sigh Erin watched him return to the group of railroaders.
She still wasn't sure what to tell her son--not until she and Travis
got things sorted out.

Her eyes slid to the doorway.  She could see Trav standing alone in the
front hall, gazing out the window at the snow~ Quietly she slipped ~up
behind him.

The nightmare of being Stalked by William DeG-eorge was over.  Now all
they had to do was figure out what came next.  She knew Travis
shouldn't delay going into the hospital for his transplant.  But she
also knew how rough it' was going to be.  For him it meant treatments
that would make him feel about as sick as you could get.  For both of
them it meant months of separation because he'd be in a room completely
isolated from germs, where they'd have to talk through a plastic
barrier.

Erin circled Trav's waist with her arms, thinking about how precious
every moment with him was.  All she wanted was to be close to him, to
love him. But she knew it was important to keep him talking about his
feelings.  "You haven't told your mother why you'd decided to search
for her."  It wasn't a question; it was a statement.

"I wanted everyone to enjoy Christmas."

Erin rested her cheek against his broad back.  "This is the best
Christmas of my life.  Even better than when my parents gave me the
puppy I'd begged for."

"It's just hard to make myself believe that I really he-long in that
scene." He gestured toward the group in the family room.

"Well, you do.  Trav, can't you tell you've given Missy the best
Christmas--the best present she ever had?  And her children are pretty
excited about having you as part of the family."

"What are they gonna think when they discover my motives for wanting to
contact them are a LITTLE selfish?  And that I have a pretty big favor
to ask from them?"

Erin felt a knot of tension expand in her chest.  What if he couldn't
understand why she'd lifted that burden from- his shoulders?  "Missy
already knows."

"What?"  He whirled to face her.

"That first night, after... after Bramble finally finished interviewing
us and you went to bed, Missy and I were up all night talking.  De
George rampage was over, but she could see I was still worried about
something. That frightened her, so she asked what was wrong.  And I
couldn't lie to her. But

I realize it wasn't my place "Her voice trailed off as she waited
warily for his reaction.  He said nothing, and she found she could
hardly breathe.  Then his hand came up to gently stroke her cheek.  "
Erin, what am I going to do with you?  " " Love me.  " " Lord, you know
how much I do.  " She gave him a hard, possessive kiss.  " It scares me
to need you so much.  To need her.  " " Oh, Trav, I understand.  But
that's what families are all about.  They help each other when there's
trouble.  " She saw he was looking over her shoulder.

?

"Oh, pardon me.  I didn't mean to intrude," Michelle

Beauford said from the doorway.

"You're not intruding."

Erin turned and saw the love shining on Missy's face.  "I told him that
you know."

"I don't care about the reason.  I'm grateful you came looking for me,"
she said.

Trav swallowed painfully.  "I was always afraid to.  Afraid that you
wouldn't want me."

"Well, I hope you realize how wrong you were."

They held each other then.  Three people bonded together by ties that
were becoming stronger by the moment.

"We're going to have the family tested, to see who*s the best donor for
you," Missy whispered.  "I hope it's me.  I gave you life, but they
took you away so quickly that I felt completely empty.  Donating my
bone marrow to you would he like getting a second chance."

Travis patted her shoulder a LITTLE awkwardly.  "You've already done so
much."

"Well, you do something for me.  Tell me you'll fight to get your
health back."

"I will.  Because I've never had more to live for."

Missy dug into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a small
leather-bound book.  For a moment she appeared to be uncertain.  Then
she handed it to Travis.  "My diary.  From back then... when..."  She
stopped.

Travis stared at the book.  "Your private thoughts," he whispered.

"I want you to understand how it was for me.  At first I was terrified
when I found out I was pregnant.  But my feelings changed so much." 
Her eyes were misty, and so were Trav's.  Erin would have left them
alone, but he kept a firm hand on her arm.

"I've been wondering how you'd feel about my taking the middle name of
Beauford."

"I'd be honored," Missy said.

"I've got to stick with Stone for a last name, because that's how I'm
known to the public," he continued.  "And I'm going to need the media
identification to help get my foundation off the ground."

"Is that why you've been on the phone, laying some more groundwork?" 
Erin asked.

"Yeah.  And I've been thinking about what to call the project, too." 
He tipped his head toward Erin.  "What do you think about the Light
Street Foundation?  I mean, we can rent office space in your building. 
And Light is kind of a symbol of hope."

"I love the idea," Erin breathed.

"One thing I feel pretty strongly about is offering birth parent
searches. Would you be willing to head that office?"

"You know I would."

He grinned.  "Well, we've gotten a lot of business transacted Christmas
morning."

Missy smiled at them.  "It's time for Morn to leave the young people
alone."

They watched her return to her other guests.

"She's so warm;" he whispered.  "So generous.  So strong.  In fact,
she's a lot like you."

"You're just feeling expansive."

"I'm just feeling lucky."  He took Erin's hand and led her into the
den. When he closed the door behind them, she looked at him
questioningly.

"Dadin', I've been thinking about a lot of stuff, not just about the
foundation."

He sounded so serious that Erin held her breath.  Everything had been
go' rag so well.  Too well.

"I was going to ask you to marry me."

She felt the blood drain out of her face.  "" But?

"I thought I could wait for the ceremony until we knew I was go'me to
be all right.  I mean after I got out of the hospital."  He gripped her
hand so hard that his grasp was almost painful.  "Now I've been
thinking about you and Kenny and things like insurance and retirement
funds, and the money from the product endorsements I've done, and such.
And if ... if something happened to me, you'd be a lot better off
financially if you were my wife."

"Is that a roundabout proposal?"

"It's not very romantic."

He swallowed, and she knew how hard it was for him to ask for what he
really wanted--to dare to claim their future.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked down at
her with such longing that she could hardly breathe.  "I love you.  And
I've never wanted anything more than I want you to be my wife."

"Oh, Trav, yes!"

He crushed her in his arms, and she held him just as tightly.

THEY ~ MAR~n~ three days later, in the beautiful stone church that the
Ashwood women had decorated for Christmas.  There hadn't been any
trouble getting the chapel on a weekday afternoon.  And with so many
people working to make the wedding a success, it looked as if months of
planning had gone into the event.

Still, Erin was a bundle of nerves as she waited with her friends in
the bride's dressing room.

"You look so beautiful," ~Iessica Adams murmured as she raised a
minicam to her shoulder and began to tape the scene while Abby fussed
with the skirt of the pink sillf suit Erin had bought on Main Street,
and Sabrina handed her a bouquet of roses and baby's breath.  ~Iessica
had offered to

record the event, and Erin had been thrilled at the prospect.

Kenny knocked on the open door.  "Mom, hurry up.  Everybody's
waiting."

The women laughed.  "Well, they'll just have to wait because they can't
get started without her," Noel pointed out.  Erin smiled at her son. 
"I'm ready."

"Trav wants to get it over with," Kenny volunteered.  "Is that how he
put it?"  Erin asked.  "No.  But I can tell by the way he looks."

"Then we'd better not keep him standing there."

Most of the group went to take their places in the reserved pews at the
front of the church, which was packed with Beauford relatives, Trav's
teammates and Erin's friends.  Kenny and Sabrina stayed behind. 
Sabrina was the matron of honor.  And Kenny was giving the bride away. 
Erin squeezed his hand.

"I'm nervous, too," he whispered.

"We'll both do just fine."

"And Trav, too," her son added, and she knew he wasn't simply thinking
about the ceremony.

On Christmas Day the two of them had sat down with Kenny and told him
they were getting married.  Erin had hated to spoil her son's elation. 
But she'd wanted him to be prepared for what was coming.  So they'd
talked about leukemia and about Trav's needing to be in the hospital
for a couple of months.  Later they'd face the press together, and tell
the world.  But not yet.  Because they both wanted the next few days to
he very private.

"Yes.  And Trav, too," Erin said in a strong, clear voice.  As they
entered the back of the chapel, the organ played the opening bars of
the bridal march.  Erin could see Travis in front of the congregation
next to Jake Wallace, his best man.  Both Andrew and Missy Beauford
were there, as well,

?

standing proudly beside Travis as he waited by the altar for his bride
to come down the aisle escorted by her son.

She reached Trav's side, and his fingers knit with hers--strong and
binding.

"Dearly beloved," the minister be gall

Erin gave Travis a brimming smile and then tried to focus on each
precious moment of their wedding service as it unfolded.  The clear
tone of Trav's voice when he said, "I do."  The Beauford family ring he
slipped on her finger.  And the ring she gave him in return as a pledge
of her love, a love that would last a lifetime.  A long lifetime.

Epilogue

"Mom!"

'

Erin caught the note of excitement in Kenny's voice.  "Can you come
home early?  There's this package that arrived, and you gotta see
it."

"Something from UPS?"  she asked.

While Trav had been recovering, he'd been confined to his house, except
for trips to the hospital for checkups.  One of the ways he'd amused
himself was by sending Erin and Kenny presents ordered from catalogs. 
These days she never knew what was going to be waiting for her.

Her son giggled.  "I'm not telling."

She had a desk full of work, but if there was one thing she'd learned
in the past seven months it was that work, even at the Light Street
Foundation, was never as important as being there for the people you
loved.

"I'll have to see if the boss will let me off early," she teased.

"Do that, More."  Kenny knew what the answer was going to be.  Erin was
her own boss, and if she wanted to come home early, she could.

After taking care of a few details that couldn't wait until tomorrow,
Erin hurried down the hall toward the elevator.

The best of times and the worst of times, she thought as she unlocked
her car.

The best because Trav was doing so well.  Maybe it was the power of
love. Maybe it was his athletic physique.  Or the excellent bone marrow
match from one of his half brothers: But whatever the reason, he was
routinely surprising his doctors.

That didn't mean the past few months had been easy, however.  Until
Trav's immune system was up to par, the two of them couldn't even kiss
each other, let alone anything more intimate.  What's more, the doctors
had advised not bringing new people into his environment, so Erin was
still living at her town house in Arbutus.  Two or three times a week
she had dinner at Trav's and then reluctantly went home to her own bed.
Although it was hard to be together and barely touch, being with Trav
any way she could was better than not being with him at all.

Her thoughts were still turned inward as she approached her house.  And
she didn't come back.  to reality until she stepped through the living
room door and focused on Ken ny's face.  He was grinning from ear to
ear.

"Ta-da!"

He pushed open the kitchen door, and Travis stepped through, the
expression on his face almost a mirror image of her softs.

"Some package from UPS, huh?"  Kenny giggled.

Unable to believe her eyes, Erin stared at the man she loved.  "But...
but what about... ?"  she stammered.

He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper and
flipped it open.  She could see it was a lab report.  "It's real good
news.  The best news I've had in months.  I don't have to live like a
hermit anymore."

As he spoke, he crossed the space between them and swept her into his
arms, raising her feet off the floor as he swung her around.

It had been so long since she'd held him like this that all rational
thought fled from her mind.  She lifted her mouth to his for a
passionate kiss.  And for a few moments they might have been the only
people in the room.

Kenny made an exaggerated throat-clearing norse.  "Trav, do you have to
spoil it all and get so mushy?"  he muttered.

Erin and Trav looked at each other as they eased away.  But he kept a
tight hold on her hand.

Then Mrs.  Vickery bustled down the steps, a knit shawl over her arm. 
"Travis and Kenny and I have had a lot of fun this afternoon sitting
around the kitchen table planning our big surprise," she told Erin. 
"But now Kenny and I are going out to the movies and to dinner. 
Because we know the two of you have a lot to talk about after all these
months.  So don't expect us back until around eight."  She gave Erin
and Travis a knowing little smile.

Erin flushed, but she didn't make any protests about the plan.

"Remind me to give her a raise when we all move in together," Travis
whispered as they watched the old woman and the boy descend the
steps.

Erin closed the door, and Trav folded her back into his arms.

"I can't believe this is real."

"Oh, it's real, all right."  He grinned and m'bbled playfully at her
mouth, then turned and slid his lips along her cheek, burying his face
in her hair. "You know, at night after we'd been talkin' on the phone,
I'd lie in the dark and think about the woodsy scent of your hair."

The reality of holding him in her arms again was beginning to sink in. 
Her hands moved over his strong shoulders, down his back and tugged at
the hem of his shirt.  Whenher fingers sphyed again.  ~t his heated
flesh, they both sighed gratefully.

"And I'd think about our wedding," " she whispered.  " And about how
wonderful it was going to be when we could live together.  "

"My wife."  His voice cracked as he said the words.  "This is the real
beginning of our life together, you know."

"Oh, Trav"

Her words were cut off as his mouth covered hers, and they exchanged
tender kisses that quickly grew more passionate.

"Come on up and let me show you my bedroom."  "I'd like that."

During the endless hours they'd spent talking on the phone, Travis had
said be wanted to picture her room.  And she'd wanted to make the image
as vivid as possible.  So she'd redecorated with a four-poster bed, a
lacy coverlet and lots of ruffly pillows.  As the private space had
taken shape, she'd described each detail so well that he'd told her
he'd dreamed about being there.

He looked around, his eyes taking in the romantic setting.

Erin turned on one small lamp.  In the warm glow they began slowly to
undress each other, caught up in the wonder of being allowed' this new
beginning.

Tenderly he took her face in his hands, his eyes grave as he looked
down into hers.  "Before I went into the hospital I tried not to think
about having to leave you, but it was there, hovering over us."

"The shadows are all gone," she whispered.

"And this is our real wedding night, dar!in'."  '

She felt the intensity of his words, felt him tremble as he carried her
down to the bed.

It was sweet and passionate and powerful, the love they made together,
building to heights she had never imagined.  Because she had never felt
more free.

As she came back to earth, she clasped her husband to her, rocking,
kissing, stroking her hands over his passion-damp skin.  "That was
perfect. Everything I've been dreaming about for months."

"Erin, I love you so much.  It's been hell having to keep my
distance."

"I think we're back in heaven.  For as long as we want."  He nodded,
his cheek against hers.

"Do you know how lucky we are?"  she whispered.  "To be together?"

"That.  And a lot more.  Most couples don't know what's really
important in life."

"I think we found that out."

"And they don't have a clue about what it would be like to lose each
other. We've got that, too.  And it makes our loving all the richer."

"I'm going to devote myself to that," he whispered, his teeth nibbling
at her ear.

"I'd like that in writing--later," she giggled.  Then her arms
tightened around the man she loved.

Street" book by , coming to you in August 1996

He had power.  Incredible power.

With his ebony eyes, he could draw her in.  And with his midnight kiss,
he could make her his--in every way.  Don't miss MIDNIGHT KISS, only
from and Silhouette Intrigue!

The window rattled in its frame, and her whole body went rigid with a
mixture of longing and dread.

Like a child afraid of nameless horrors, she burrowed farther under the
bed covers~ "No.  Leave me alone.  I don't want you," she whispered,
squeezing her eyes shut and tensing every muscle in denial.

For just a moment she basked in the potency of her resolve.  This time
it would be different.  This time she would conquer the need to be with
her midnight lover.

The barest brush of wings seemed to flutter against the casement.  But
she wouldn't look.  She was stronger than

"Let me in, my sweet.  Don't lie to me.  Or to yourself.  You know you
want to feel my kiss."

"No," she protested again.  Yet this time her voice carried less
conviction.

His voice was a soft buzzing in her ears.  His words pure sensation. 
Rich and seductive.  Like a blur of coalescent warmth that flooded her
with a sweet, enticing fire.  Tendrils of longing wove their way past
her defenses, coiling around her body, seeping into the very essence of
her being.

With trembling fingers she plucked at the scarf around her neck.  The
scarf she'd lied in place to hide the tiny marks that marred her
neck.

His brand.  On her flesh.  On her soul.

"Come to me .... " '

The scarf fluttered away, forgotten.  Throwing aside the covers, she
climbed from the bed and stood barefoot on the soft carpet, her face
turned toward the moonlight flooding in through the diamond-shaped
windowpanes.  "Please. I can't see you."

"You will."

Like a sleepwalker she crossed the space between them and reached for
the latch.

One moment she was alone in the room--yearnln toward a phantom as
insubstantial as mist.  In the next, he was beside her, real and solid.
She stared up into his eyes--needing to see the fire in their burning
depth.

"At last, my love."  His long pale fingers combed through her raven
hair, stroked down her arms, brushed tant~llzingly across the gossamer
fabric that covered her breasts.

She moaned softly, holding out her arms to him, feeling the strong
throbbing of the pulse in her neck.  "I want you."

"Oh, yes."  His lips teased along her hairline, across her cheek, down
to the warm hollow of her throat, sending a stab of white-hot need to
her core.

Stepping away, he reached for the tiny row of buttons that closed the
front of her gown.  Her flesh burned where his fingers touched.  She
swayed on her feet, feeling his gaze like a physical touch.  Then he
swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed.

In a kind of drugged haze, she stared at him through half-closed eyes,
her limbs too heavy to lift.

Kneeling beside her on the coverlet, he pulled off his shirt so that he
was naked to the waist.  Then he took her small hand in his larger one
and flattened it against his pounding heart.

"Feel how you excite me," he whispered.

Speech was beyond her.  But it was a far deeper response that he sought
as his hands and lips began to move over her body.  She remembered
this, the deep sensations that he roused.  The need beyond endurance
shimmering through her being.  Oh, yes, she had craved this, even as
she had tried to bar him from her bedroom.

"Ah, sweet, let me give you pleasure," he crooned as he took her to
still greater heights.  "The ultimate pleasure.  Even as you give
yourself to me."

And then his mouth was on her neck, and she felt a tiny stab of pain.

She winced, and he gentled her with his hands even as he began to draw
her life force into himself.