bayou moon
by
rebecca york

REBECCA YORK

Z ILHOUFTTF

DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was
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All the characters in this book have no existence outside the
imagination of the author, and hove 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
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Silhouette and Colophon are registered trademarks of Harlequin Books S.
A. " used under licence.

First published in Great Britain 1997

Silhouette Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey

TW9

1SR

Ruth Glick 1992

ISBN 0 373 22188 6

46-9711

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chothom PLC, Chatham

LOUISIANA

C of Mo

Prologue

A sudden cloudburst peppered the dark surface of the bayou like a blast
of bird shot.  The young woman standing on the bank shivered as the
cold drops pounded against her shoulders.  But she didn't step back.

For the first time since she'd stumbled off the set of the Brad Everett
Show, her tortured thoughts cleared and a blessed sense of peacefulness
came over her.  The feeling came from having finally made the
decision.

The rain plastered dark hair around a face that was white as marble.
Then, as if the sun had peeked from be, hind a cloud, the hint of a
smile so the set line of her

She'd come to the spot she'd been looking for.  The ruined icehouse
where she and Vance had played.  Twenty years ago it had been a heap of
moss-covered bricks.  Now they'd crumbled even more.  Vance had tried
to teach her how to skip flat pieces of brick across the water, but
she'd never gotten the hang of it.  Maybe only boys could get that flip
of the wrist.

Reaching out, she picked up a chunk.  For a moment her thumbnail grated
across the rough surface.  Then she quickly slipped the broken
rectangle into the outsize pocket of her loose cotton dress.  Six,
eight, ten others followed.

Wet from the rain, they soaked the thin fabric.  The sharp edges dug
into the flesh of her thighs.  Yet the ballast felt reassuring.  Solid.
As if she were squirreling away emergency supplies.

The bricks were heavy.  It was too much effort to stand up, and she'
hunkered down on the bank, tucking her skirt around her ankles.

Vance.  For a moment her heart squeezed painfully.  He'd wanted to
help, but the grief on his face had stopped her from lelling him any of
the details.  They would have made him angry.  God knows what damn fool
thing he'd have tried to do.

Struggling to her feet, she took a decisive slep toward the water.
She'd made a royal mess of her life.

Haunted eyes turned to see a figure hurrying down the path.

"Lisa, wait--don't"

She was more afraid of him than of the water.  What if he slarl in
again with the endless questions, the endless accusations.

"Stop!  You can't"

He couldn't reach her in time, could he?  Heart pounding, she launched
herself off the bank.  The cool water received her.  The bricks helped
carry her down to the bottom.

Chapter One

Tess Beaumont looked up from the TV monitor and con-sullxl the notebook
on her desk.  "Give me 6327 again--the sound bite where Jenny is
standing beside the empty crib."

Stan Reardon's coffee brown fingers tapped the keyboard on the editing
machine, and the young woman on the screen began to speak:

"When you can't have a baby of your own, you'll do just about anything
to get one.  Even find another woman to bear a child for you."

Tess felt her chest tighten as she listened to the soft, wobbly voice.
"That's the most powerful part of the interview.  I want to start with
it," she whispered.

Stan's Afro bobbed.  Usually he joked around when they weren't on
deadline.  This morning he was quiet.

The tape starl again.  On the screen the two young women talked in low
voices.  Tess listened.  There was something so powerful about this
piece.  She'd been drawn to the subject as soon as she'd seen the press
release on the surrogate mother program at University Hospital.

Her research had included interviews with wives who'd agreed to have
their husband's sperm impregnate a surrogate and with women who were
willing to carry a child for nine months and then hand it over to
someone else.  About the only ones she hadn't questioned were the
babies.  But she'd held them and cuddled them and played with them--and
wondered fiercely what it would be like to find out you were someone
else entirely different from the person you'd thought.  The notion was
disturbing.

More tape rolled.  Tess realized with a little shiver that she was
scrutinizing her own face on the screen as if she were a stranger.  Ash
blond hair.  Finely molded cheekbones.  Lips that were soft, but not
too generous.  Blue eyes under long lashes remarkably dark for the rest
of her coloring.  She'd heard it said behind h back that her looks had
gotten her the reporting job at KEFF.  That had only made her fight
harder for the tough stories.

She sensed Stan's gaze on her and sat up straighter.  "Let's skip to
9073."

Laurie, one of the surrogates, began to talk about how hard it had been
to give away the baby she'd bOrne.

"Roll back a sentence and cut it off there," Tess di-recUxl.  "Don't
you like the part about her needing the money?"

"It's a side issue she barely mentioned.  And it creates a false
impression.  We only have four minutes to tell this story.  Every
second has to count."

The editing took another forty-five minutes.  While Stan stretched out
his long legs under the desk, Tess slipped into an audio booth to do
the voice-overs.  When she came out, Stan was snapping his fingers to
the jaz-aaj opening theme of the Brad Everett Show.  It must be ten
o'clock.

Tess looked up at the monitors.  Rumor was that Studio Seven had been
remodeled to order for the talk-show host--to the tune of $100,000.
Tess thought it looked like a cross between a boxing arena and the
bridge of the star

A tall, agile man came prancing down a runway--a microphone held
jauntily in his right hand.  His wide brown eyes were his best feature.
When he turned them on you, they conveyed s'mcerity.  Probably a trick
he'd learned in acting school.

Thunderous applause.

Tess couldn't repress a grimace.  While she and Stan had been editing,
she'd forgotten about everything except the surrogate mother story. Now
she was face-to-face with a larger reality.  In the two months he'd
been here, Brad Everett had become a symbol for her.  A symbol of what
was wrong with modern society.  And a symbol of what had gone terribly
wrong at station KEFF in New Orleans.

From the monitor Brad gave a little bow to the camera.  "Thank you,
thank you.  All week we've been exploring some of the problems and
choices of women in the nineties.  Child abuse at day care centers.
Personal safety on the college campus.  Today we're going to take a
look at a problem all too many women encounter in the
work-Place--sexual harassment."

Tess knew how she'd treat the subject if she were running the show. But
she wasn't in charge.

On the screen, Brad continued.  "With us are two women who say they
lost their jobs because they wouldn't--uh--play ball with the boss."

The camera foil owed the dramatic sweep of Brad's hand to the front of
the studio where three women and a man sat in stylish barrel chairs.
Sooner or later, they were going to find themselves in the hot seat. It
was usually sooner.

"Let's start with Erica Barry, who claims she was fired from her
middle-management job at a major New Orleans corporation because she
declined to have an affair with her immediate supervisor."

A slightly chunky but attractive woman in her early thirties, Ms. Barry
was wearing a buttoned-up silk shirtwaist set off with a brightly
colored scarf at the neck.  Her blond hair was pulled back in a severe
bun.  As she told about her late-evening work schedule, frequent
out-of-town trips with her boss and unwelcome physical contact, women
in the audience began to murmur sympathetically-until Brad interrupted
to flash a photograph of Ms.  Barry on the screen.  In the picture she
was wearing a tight blouse that revealed a generous view of ripe
cleavage.

"Bat that was a publicity photo when I was trying out for the Miss
Sugar Cane Page"

Brad cut her off with a rapid series of questions about her after-hours
relationships with male employees.

tried to swallow over the tar paper coating her throat.  She was
suddenly feeling very sorry for Erica any.

AT THE OTHER END of the hall in the KEFT executive offices, Desmond
LeRoy reached into his desk drawer, found a bottle of antacid tab leto
and shook out two.  You were supposed to let them dissolve in your
mouth, but he couldn't stand the taste of minty chalk.  So he ground
them up with his back teeth and swallowed rapidly before reaching for a
cigar.  The acrid smoke washed away the mint--but not the fear.

During most of his adult life, Desmond LeRoy had felt a great kinship
with Prince Charles.  It was damn tough waiting for your mom to bow out
so you could take over the reins.  Then nine months ago, while
Desmond's old lady was on a cruise to Alaska, he'd gotten a frantic
call from the ship's doctor saying she'd died of a massive heart
attack.

For the first time in his life, Desmond felt alone--and strangely
helpless.  Sure, he'd resented his mother's power, but she'd always
been there.  When he was a little boy, she'd kissed scraped knees and
made sure the freezer was stocked with chocolate ice cream.  When he
grew up, she'd bought him a silver blue Jag, a condo with a great view
of the Mississippi and a membership in the Pontchartrain Club.  Once or
twice she'd even fixed things up with the police for him.  Her will had
left him set for life.  It didn't offer a clue how to cope with on his
own.

Without waiting to be announced, Larry Melbourne, his station manager,
breezed into the office for their la-thirty meeting.  "So what do you
think of the new schedule?"  The tone of voice and the cocky angle of
the bulldog jaw assumed that approval was going to be a matter of a
quick signature.

"Expensive."

"You gotta spend money to make money.  See, we needed a big-draw game
show for the mid-morning slump," Larry continued as he pulled up a
chair.  When he leaned over, the top of his bald head looked like a
giant light bulb.  It was like the light bulb cartoonists sometimes
drew over a character.  To Desmond, it symbolized the creativity
inside.

"One where they give away plenty of cash," the station manager
continued.  "I would've gotten Wheel of Fortune, but House of Cards is
hotter.  And I'm moving Worldwide Crime Beat to Tuesday night.  It'll
play stronger than what we've got up against that new detective show on
CBS.  And it will help set us up for when Brad leaves."

Larry didn't look too upset about their star attraction going nova. But
Desmond felt sweat gather under his collar.  Brad Everett wasn't going
to be a permanent fixture at KEFT because the talk-show host didn't
have a permanent base of operation.  Instead, independent stations vied
for the honor of his presence.  Three or four months in a city, and
then he moved on before the format got stale.  Which meant KFFT in New
Orleans had only six to ten more weeks before he jumped ship.  Of
course, they were still going to run his syndic ai show.  But it
wouldn't be quite the same once he was no longer broadcasting from a
studio right in the Crescent City.

Were they going to 10se the audience they'd built?  If they did,
everyone would find out that Desmond LeRoy was a failure.

IT HAD A LONO DAY, including a remote taping on the Stranger Danger
program at McDonough Elementary School Number Four.  Tess was clearing
the last folder off her desk when Chris Spencer, the news director,
stepped into her doorway.  He was a slender, boyish-looking man, with a
shock of wheat blond hair.  Around the station, he had a reputation for
keeping his cool under pressure, except when he was afraid somebody
else was going to get the drop ona news story.  The glitter in his
green eyes brought Tess back to instant alertness.

"I've got a drowning in Savannah Bayou," he said, bouncing lightly on
the balls of his feet.  "If we hustle, we can open the six o'clock news
with a shot of the police pulling the body out of the water."

Tess shivered.  And not simply because of the graphic image of a
drowning victim that rose to the surface of her mind.  The name
Savannah Bayou conjured dark water as fiat as a windowpane.  Gum trees
and cypress pushing against each other.  Insects choking the air with
their bnrAqg.  Snakes and alligators slithering through the tangle of
underbrush on the shore.

Chris must have caught her expression.  "Drowning.  Yeah.  Not exactly
a fun gig for a woman.  Maybe I can send Roger."  Roger was Roger
Dallas, another one of the field reporters.  Teas loathed his
heavy-handed techniques.

"No.  I'll take it."  Her voice was stronger then she'd imagined it
would be.

"Good.  Ken's got the directions.  Can you be ready to go in fifteen
minutes?"

After closing the door to her office, Tess reached for the zipper down
her back--grateful that she didn't have to sit and brood about the
assignment.  Her dress was wilted from a long day at work, but she'd
learned to keep a spare at the ready.  After she'd made the quick
change; she pulled the makeup case from the bottom left-hand drawer of
her desk.  Viewers expected a certain look from Tess Beau-mont, and she
would try to give it to them.  When she was finished with her face, she
still had a couple of minutes to spare.  Before she left her cubicle,
she stuffed a pack of Oreo cookies into her tote bag.

"No rest for the weary," Ken Holloway, the cameraman sound technician
observed when she climbed into the front passenger seat of the KEFT
van.

As they wove through the first wave of rush-hour traffic, Tess wished
she could plan the news report she'd give as she stood at the camera.
But with no details, there was nothing to work with yet.  After a few
minutes of riding in silence, Ken honed in on her tension.  "What's the
matter, doll?"

"I'm just tired."  They were southwest of the city now, in Madison
Parish.  Bayou country.  Tess slid down in her seat and closed her
eyes, trying to find the calm, peaceful place where she'd learned to
hide when she was a child.  It eluded her.  Instead, the disturbing
images swirling in her brain grew more vivid.  Dark water.  A trailing
creeper curling around her ankle, sending her toppling to the ground. 
A man's urgent voice.  Others joining him in a chorus of anger.  Where
had that last part come from?  she wondered as her eyes snapped open
and she forced her mind back to the here and now.

"Chris give you any information?"  she asked.

"Just that the woman drowned herself."

They rode in silence for a few moments past fields of green sugarcane.
"You--uh--got any Oreo cookies?"  Ken finally aslaxL

"Would I let you down?"  Reaching in the bag, Tess fished out a
cellophane-wrapped stack and set it on the

They grinned at each other.  Whenever they went out on a. i?  ment
together, he drove and she supplied the Oreos.  Ken polished off six.
Tess ate two and had to stop herself from wolfing down another.

She hadn't been to this precise spot before, but she had an egcellent
idea of what the road to Savannah Bayou would look like.  Twenty minute
later, she wasn't surprised when the KFaVF van pulled off onto a narrow
byway bordered with bay trees and live oaks, theft branches thigk with
gray green stream eta of Spanish moss.  They looked like witches'
fingers reaching toward the van, and Tess unconsciously edged away from
the window.

"Chris shouldn't have sent you to something like this."

"I'm okay."  She sat up straighter.  "I'm always a little spooked by.
this part of the world.  It's so isolated out here.  I guess anything
could happen."

Ken nodded.  "The way people tell it, there's some bad stuff that goes
on in the back country, all right."

"What have you heard, exactly?"

"Well, you know, drug pirates.  Swamp rats who'd kill you if they
thought you'd found their illegal traps.  Barus where the main activity
is betting on cockfights.  Voodoo.  What about you?"

Tess pleated the fabric of her shirt.  "The same kind of stories.
Nothing anyone can prove."

"You think the dead girl stumbled into something she wasn't supposed to
know about?"

"I guess we'll find out."

At the end of the lane, the way was blocked by two police cars and an
ambulance.  A small crowd of onlookers watched as two men in wet suits
maneuvered a pale, lifeless form toward the side of the bayou.

Ken swore under his breath, pulled off onto the shoulder and jounced to
a halt.  Cutting the engine, he twisted

Tess was left sitting in the van.  She didn't want to watch the divers.
But there was nothing else to look at besides the wall of vegetation
that crowded the windows.  The wet gxeen lichens on the bark of an oak
tree were so close she could have reached out and scraped them off with
her thumbnail.

But she wasn't being paid to sit here scrutinizing lichens.  Briskly
she jumped down from the van and started toward the water, her
high-heeled shoes sinking nois'dy into the gravel of the road Maybe one
of the Police officers or a bystander could give her some background
about the dead woman.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ken lift his camera to his
shoulder and begin to shoot.  The sound of her shoes was drowned out as
tires squealed on the lane in back of the van.  Tess whirled around
just in time to see a tall, rangy man jump out of a red Mustang.  His
jeans and blue shirt were faded, and his western boots were scuffed.
But they were expensive.  Alligator, her reporter's eye noted.

As he paused for a moment, his deep-set eyes focused on Tess, and all
her carefully collected composure evaporated like drops of water
splattering on a hot stove.

She didn't know the man.  But she knew the type.  Ignorant.  Arrogant.
Clannish.  Dangerous when provoked.

Eternity stretched as he pinned her with his ebony gaze.  Then one of
the divers climbed up on the bank, and the newcomer's attention snapped
toward the scene at the edge of the water.  In the next moment, he was
striding toward Ken.  Under the dark stubble on his cheeks, his skin
had gone oyster white.  His full lips were set in a slash of a line.

"H.  H ia bast" he snarled at the cameraman.  "You there!"  Then he was
jogging down the path.

Ken's head jerked up as the stranger grabbed his shoulder.  "What
the"

"Non tltvision.  No pictures."

"Listen, buddy"

The newcomer's large hand transferred itself from shoulder to Minicam.
The next second, he'd ripped it from Ken's grasp,

"You can't do that, mister."  Ken snatched frantically for the camera.
With his free hand, the stranger shoved him to the ground.  Then he
strode to the bank.

As Tess watched in stunned silence, he swung back his arm An instant
later, the expensive Minicam arced through the air.  It hit the surface
of the bayou with a loud splash and vanished beneath the dark water.

Chapter Two

The phone in the van wasn't working, and the only place in town open
after eight was the Paradise cafe, which was more of a bar than a
restaurant.  As Tess bent toward the scarred wall phone between the
restroom doors, a drunken patron jabbed her in the hip.  "Pardonne,
ma'am."

"Sure."

On the other end of the line, Chris Spencer was speaking.  "What?  I
can't hear you."

"Sorry."  Tess didn't bother to explain about the little side
conversation.  Instead she went back to what she'd been saying before
the interruption.  This time she tried to pitch her voice above the
loud talk from the rough-looking patrons and the recorded Cajun fiddle
mnsie.  "You should have been here.  It took a football team to subdue
the guy.  They have him in custody now."

"He sure as hell is going to pay for the earn era

"His name is Vance Gautreau.  People seem reluctant to answer a lot of
questions about him.  But I found out he's the victim's brother."

"Anything else?"

"He's a carpenter--restores old houses.  Learned the trade from his
uncle."

"Think he'd talk to you?"

Tess pushed at a pile of sawdust on the floor with the toe of her beige
pump.  Too bad she hadn't brought anything more comfortable.  "After
what happened?  I wouldn't count on it..  Maybe I could interview some
of the local"

"Forget it.  We've already lost our edge on this.  Channel Four did it
as a special report fifteen minutes ago--with plenty of speculation
from the locals.  I don't want to come in with anything second-rate."

"Sorry."

"I, uh, was wondering."

"NOV'

"You haven't let me ask you the question yet."

Tess sighed.  "All fight.  Ask."

"What if you went over to the jail and bailed Gautreau out?  He'd have
to be grateful."

It was fit difficult to come up with three excellent objections.  "How
can I bail him out when he hasn't been before a judge yet?"  Tess
asked.  "Even if I can, he'll think it's some kind of stunt.  And where
am I supposed to get the money?"

Chris carefully demolished the arguments.  "The sheriff will take your
money.  I'll bet Gautreau will give you an interview.  And use the
emergency stash in the van.  Ken knows where it is.  Teas, if anyone
can pull it off, you can."

"Oh, sure."

"Sweetie, it's important.  This story's bigger than you think.  Trust
me."

Tess found she was having trouble drawing a steady breath.  She'd given
Chris logical objections.  She knew they were only excuses.  On some
gut level, Vance Gau-treau represented a threat.  And it wasn't just
her imagination.  She'd seen his violent streak firsthand.  But what if
she really did confront him?  What could happen?  He wasn't going to
assault a woman in a public place.  Was he?

She glanced over at Ken, who was enthusiastically polishing Off a
heaping bowl of red beaus and rice at one of the tables in the back.
The thought of eating anything at the moment made her own throat clog,
but she wouldn't interfere with the meal.  He'd be finished dinner
soon.  And he'd look out for her ff she got into something she couldn't
handle.

Chris must have sensed her wavering.

"Tess--please.  Doesn't the name Gautreau ring a bell?"

the news director asked softly.

"No."

"His sister--the dead woman--was Lisa Gautreau."

"And?"  Tess thought back over the recent programming.

"She was the star attraction on the Brad Everett Show a couple of weeks
ago."

A couple of weeks ago Everett had been going for the sleaze factor. The
underbelly of the Crescent City, the ad promos had promised.  "She a
prostitute or something?"

"No.  It was the program he did on rape victims."

Tess sucked in a jagged breath.  She'd avoided finding out how Brad
would handle that particular topic.  "Oh, my God.  The poor thing.  And
now she's killed herself."

"We don't know that for sure.  Maybe it was murder.  Maybe the husband
didn't like her spilling her guts on national TV.  Or maybe it was the
hotheaded brother.  And now he's trying to cover up his tracks."

"I see.  But you still want me to spring him from jail?"  Tess could
tell from the audible change in Chris's breathing that he realized his
mistake.

"Look I was just thinking out loud, you know," he explained hastily.
"This guy's our best source of information.  Find out what Lisa was
like--as a kid.  As an adult.  What kind of a relationship she had with
her husband.  And how Gautreau felt about what happened."

Tess sighed, wishing fervently that she'd turned Chris down in the
first place.  Ending the call as quickly as possible, she went to tell
the cameraman they wouldn't he leaving for a while.  After he finished
eating, he brought her the money from the van.  Then he pulled the
vehicle into a spot where he could watch the action.

A large, rusty Jax Beer sign appeared to be holding up one exterior
wall of the bar.  Tess stood beside it, taking in measured breaths of
the warm, muggy air.  When she glanced at the van, Ken gave her the
thumbs-up sign.  She nodded and looked across the street at the jail.
Convenient.  The sheriff didn't have to haul the drunks or the brawlers
too far.

She should get this over with, Tess told herself.  Still, she
hesitated.  MaYbe the odd, green-gold evening light was making her feel
spooky.  Or maybe it was the jailhouse--a small building of
moss-encrusted bricks that looked as if it had been built around the
time of the Spanish occupation.  Somehow she couldn't shake the fancy
that she'd had a bad experience there.  Or somewhere like it.  But in
actual fact, she amended, she was simply anticipating a bad
experience.

She knew she'd been right the moment she pulled open the sagging wooden
door.  The office was like a steam room that hadn't been hosed down in
a decade.  The wooden blades of a ceiling fan barely stirred the thick
air.  The scarred nameplate resting on the front of the sheriff's desk
said Frank Haney.  He was a big man wearing a rumpled uniform decorated
with half-moon patches of sweat at the armpits.  Under a few strands of
dark hair, his scalp glistened in the light from the metal desk lamp.
Tess knew he rcognized her, because he'd been there when she'd come
forward to tend Ken with the first-aid kit from the van.  Now he kept
her waiting half a minute while he turned several more pages of a
battered issue of Field & Stream.  "Ain't had many visitors like you of
recent."

"I'd like to post bail for Mr.  Gautreau."

Haney didn't mi a beat.  "Five hundred bucks."

Teas counted the money into his moist hand, pretty sure this wasn't
really a legal transaction.  Was he going to get her for bribing an
officer after he impounded the' evidence She felt a trickle of
perspiration inch down her back.

No.  Haney didn't seemed concerned with legalities.  He counted the
bills again, slipped them into his desk drawer and pushed back his
chair.  "It's your funeral, lady."

While she grappled with her second thoughts and waited for him to
reappear through the barred door at the back, Tess studied the lit He
room.  The mildew high up in the corners matched the patches of sweat
under the sheriff's arms.  Starting at about shoulder level, the walls
were scarred and gouged.  How had they gotten that way?  she wondered.
Had generations of law officers and their deputies shoved the prisoners
around?  Or had the drunks hauled over from across the street done the
damage?

The barred door danked and Tess looked up.  The man in custody was
somewhat the worse for wear.  His dark hair was tousled, his blue shirt
was torn, and his right eye was going to hurt like hell tomorrow.

Tess realized that she'd unconsciously pressed her shoulders against
the damp wall.  When the sheriff jerked his thumb in her direction,
Gautreau's gaze followed.  "This lady's bought and paid for you."

His low-pitched response was in gutter French.

"Paid your bail, anyway."

Chris had suggested the man might he grateful.  But Gautreau fixed her
with a look as menacing as the first time he'd pinned her with those
anthracite eyes.  Tess crossed her anna and stood up straighter.  Yet
it was she who lowered her gaze first.  Neither one of them moved.

"Go on, git out of here 'fore I change my mind," the sheriff
muttered.

Shrugging, Gautreau opened the door without giving her another glance.
Tess followed him outside and stopped short.  Wh'de she'd been in the
jail, the moon had come up.  It was large and full, a perfectly round
disk hovering over the treetops like a UFO.

As Tess turned toward it, the circle of light seemed to beckon her
forward.  For a confused moment, coherent thought was swallowed up by
the eerie glow.  The moon, It had hung above her like this, out here in
the bayou country, once before.  She felt the orange light fill her
head.  Drown her thoughts.  Then every muscle in her body clenched, and
she wrenched her gaze away, back to the present--and to the man she was
supposed to interview.  His broad shoulders were rapidly receding.

Tess wasn't sure why her heart was pounding.  Vance (}autreau was
leaving.  She was off the hook.  As he strode toward his Mustang, she
thought seriously about sun ply letting him disappear into the n'ht.
Except that she'd paid KFaVT's good money to spring him.  And Ken was
watching from the van.

"Wait!"

Stopping in the act of opening his car door, (}autreau slowly turned.
"What do you want?"

"To talk to you."

His voice was bitter as he spoke in carefully enunciated English--as if
using her language were somehow insulting.  "You're with that TV
station."

"Yes."

"You vultures are all the same.  You smell death, a you come circling
around to tear off some rotten meat 1 yourselves."

"That's not exactly fair."

"Oh?"

"The public has the right to know"

"Why a poor, wounded girl killed herself," he in rupted, finishing the
sentence.

"Did she?"

His ebony eyes grew dangerously bright.  "what else,

you suppose, cher?  "

"You tell me."

The anguish on his face was suddenly so real that, spite everything
else she'd been feeling, a tender place i side her chest ached
painfully.  She thought he was goi to turn away.  Instead, he pivolxl
to face her fully.

"She was ashamed to talk to me about what happen to her, but it built
up inside her."  AS his hurt and an!  took over, his words began to
slip into Cajun French.  " when that bastard Brad Everett called, she
let him parz her in front of lm million people.  That's how I found o
Somebody called to tell me Lisa was on TV, her."

She could' imagine him standing rigid as a lance in fro of the
television, llslmaing to his sister's terrible story.  "I' so sorry.  I
mean about everything."  She gestured towa the dark waters of the
bayou.

"Bien sitr.  You're a reporter.  You know how to sou sorry."  His voice
Was raw, but he had switched to perf English again as if making the
effort could get his em tions under control.  "what you really want to
know is ht it happened.  Why she did it.  Well, I'll give you the exe
tire summary.  Some masked guy grabbed her in the pm ing lot of the
bank where she'd gone to get some cash ftx the machine, tied her up,
threw her on the ground and shoved her face in the mud so she could
hardly breathe.  Then he beat her up.  And then he raped her."

Tess had gone completely still, her gaze fixed on the man who stood
before her.  The harsh words had come to an abrupt end.  Despite his
best efforts, he looked as if an iron fist had smashed into his chest.
The sudden defenselessness knocked the breath from her own lungs.
Without thinking, she reached out and clasped his hand.

For heartbeats that stretched into eternity, neither one of them moved.
Her flesh closed over his as if there were some way for her to offer
him comfort for everything that had happened thi.  evening.  His hand
was hard and rough and warm.  The hand of a man who did an honest day's
work.  Somehow it helped reshape her concept of Vance Crautreau.  That
and his helpless reaction to what he'd just told her.

He was a man who felt things keenly, who had just suffered a profound
shock.  When she'd asked about his sister, he hadn't been able to hold
the anguish back.

Earlier his violence had been unnerving.  Now his calm was equally
disturbing.  He didn't stir.  Except that his gaze had fixed on her as
if he were really seeing her as a per-son--as a woman--for the first
time.  In the rapidly vanishing light, she could feel his eyes more
than she could see them.  Despite the evening heat, the intensity of
the moment sent a shiver sweeping across her skin.

In the next second, a razor knife slicing through silk, he slashed the
connection between them.  Not just his hand under hers.  Everything.
And she was sure that any defenselessness she'd ascribed to the man had
bubbled up from her own imagination.

Oautreau's lip curled.  "Don't try any more of your reporter's tricks
on me, cher.  If I haven't satisfied your curiosity, you can watch her
spill her guts on the cursed tape."  He turned and walked away.

Tess didn't try to follow.

FnnmN MINt.  rrEs LATER, the red Mustang ground to a halt in front of a
flight of white-painted stairs.  Vance took the steps to the second
floor gallery two at a time.  At the top of the flight, he unlocked the
double front door.  Five years ago, the fiver boat captain's house had
been just another nineteenth-century relic rotting in the cotton
fields.  But Vance had seen the building's potential immediately.

He'd gotten a crew to truck the hulk overland from the fiver.  Then, on
weekends and during slack work periods, he'd lovingly restored the
high-ce'dinged rooms.  Now his Greek Revival home sat serene and proud
on the shores of Savannah Bayou.  It gave hima lot of pleasure to think
that someone who'd been raised in an unpainted shack with a bare light
bulb dangling from the ceding could kick off his boots and sprawl on
the couch in a fancy place like this.  At least if he knew how to do
the carpentry work himself.  And if he didn't expect to invite New
Orleans high sodety in for afternoon tea.  Of course, social climbing
had never been on his agenda, anyway.  He just wanted to earn a decent
life for himself.  He wasn't like Lisa.

Lisa.  The whole time he'd sat in that jail cell this evening he'd been
trying to keep from thinking about what she'd done.  Then that sleek
blond TV reporter had started him talking about it.  And now there was
no place to hide from reality.

As soon as he stepped inside the house, he headed directly for the
little study off the front hall.  The tight feeling in his chest eased
when he saw that the envelope was still in the desk drawer where he'd
put it.  With a muffled curse, rich in the flavor that only the Cajun
can achieve,

he crumpled the envelope and the letter inside his large fist.  Then he
carried them to the kitchen sink.  It took only one wooden match from
the box in the cabinet to set the crisp paper blazing.

The cleansing smoke made him suddenly aware of the jailhouse slach that
clung to his clothes and body.  With clumsy fingers, he tore off his
clothes right where he stood and stuffed everything except his boots
into a plastic trash has.

He'd vow he'd never end up in a cell like that again.  And for Um yeas
he'd made it stick.  But his anger had drivm ing from his mind except
the need to keep a stranger from filming his sister's lifo less body.
Surely she was entitled to that much privacy.

Naked, he stalked to the back door and tossed the bag of clothes in the
direction of the trash cans.  Then he turned away and pounded up the
stairs to the bathroom.  The wain the shower was as hot as his skin
could stand.  He was sluicing a washcloth over his ribs and shoulders
when he found the bruises.  He'd been too full of anger and adrenalino
to pay much attention to the roughing up Sheriff Haney had given him
once his hands had been cuffed, but he was going to remember it ptty
well for a while.

Throwing his head back, he closed his eyes and let the hot spray beat
against his skin.  To his surprise, a woman's face immedially flashed
into his vision.  It was the cursed 1c reporlr--all blond and inoocent
and appeal-rag.  He still didn't even know her name.  But her face
wouldn't leave him.

In barrooms and alleys, he'd made dangerous men back off with the look
he'd given her.  She'd held her ground--just as she'd continued to hold
his hand.  Or, rather, hold his full attention.  She was a polished
city lady so delicate she looked as if a strong wind off the river
would blow her away.  Yet, if he were honest, he'd admit that it wasn't
the trimmings that had frozen his boots to the ground in front of her. 
It was the way she'd reached out to him and let him see her own
vulnerability.  Not many women had taken that kind of risk with him.

For one crazy moment, he'd flirted with the idea of 11-ing her a little
bit about his background--just to see her reaction.  That would send
her running in the other direction fast enough.

But he'd recognized the impulse for what it was.  His own weakness.  In
serf-defense, he'd taken her router emotions and thrown them back in
her face, because he was hurting so much that lowering his guard would
be like the first crack in an eggshell.  He wasn't about to let
anything soft and mushy ooze out.  Not in front of someone like her.
And not now.  He had to hold himself together long enough to take his
revenge.

EmCA BARRY HAD s,rr the middle of the day driving aimlessly up and down
the streets of the city thinking about all the men she'd known over the
years.  As a girl, she'd been pretty wild.  Thank God she'd calmed down
in her old age.  Except lately she wasn't sure it really mattered much.
Somehow guys always managed to make a fool of her.  Talk-show host Brad
Everett was only the latest in a long line.

When it started getting dark, and she admitted that she had no place
else to go, she turned back toward her little white shotgun hOUse.  The
down payment had come from the money a former lover had given her when
they'd broken up years ago.  At least she'd gotten that much out of
him.

On the front porch was a basket of fruit and a card thanking her for
being on the Brad Everett show.  The gift brought a mirthless laugh to
her lips.

The phone was ringing as she inserted the key in the lock.  Ignoring
the summons, she brought the fruit in and set the basket on the
dining-room table.  As she stared at the polished apples and perfect
oranges all done up in red cellophane like a Valentine present, the
laughter changed to lmrs.  The phone rang again.  She waited until it
stopped before lifting the receiver off the hook and closing it in the
dishwasher so she wouldn't hear the beeping.

She cried until the reservoir of tears simply dried up.  Then she
opened a bottle of cream sherry and put a stack of her favorite old
jazz records on the turntable.  The sweet wine and familiar presence of
Duke Ellington were comforting Neither demanded anything but her
indulgence.  The knock on the door came at eleven-thirty.

Erica kept s'dent for several moments, hoping that whoever wanted to
invade her privacy so late in the evening would go away.  But the music
had betrayed her presence, and the knock came again.

Finally she tiptoed to the door and called out, "Who is it?"

"I'd like to talk to you, Erlea."

She was startled by the voice on the other side of the door.  Why was
he here?  Why now?

"I'd like to come in," he repeated, his voice soft and persuasive.
"Please."

She pulled aside the curtains in the living room window.  He looked
apologetic and humble standing under the porch light, so she opened the
door on the chain.  Maybe she wouldn't have let him in if she hadn't
killed most of the bottle of sherry.  It helped her decide she didn't
have anything left to lose--with this man or any other.

They stood looking at each other for several moments.

"I'm sorry about what happened on the program," he murmured.

"My fault for volunteering."

"Did you and Lisa know each other?"  he asked in a voice that was
barely above a whisper.  "Or was it just a coincidence?"

"Lisa who?"

"Just another guest who was at the wrong place at the wrong time."

As he followed her across the living room toward the couch, she
wondered why the conversation wasn't making much sense.  Probably too
much wine.

But even if her mind hadn't been fuzzy from the alcohol, there was no
way she could have known about the cod of rope wrapped around his waist
or the four-inch switch-blade knife in his trouser pocket.  She found
out about the rope first.  The knife came later, after he'd thrown her
on the couch and gagged her with the scarf she'd worn on TV that
morning.

Chapter Three

The monsters only came when the moon was round and yellow in the
midnight sky.  They were gray, indistinct shapes creeping through the
moonlight.  Shadows flickering on the wall.  But their voices were loud
and rough and solid.

The terror started with their voices in the darkness.  No, one 1mm'ble
voice.  Whispering.  Urging the others on.  Getting them ready to
attack.

Then the front door splintered, and the invaders were in the house.
Dozens of booted feet drummed on the rough floorboards; Evil.  Come to
hurt Momma--and her.  "Momma.  I'm frightened, Momma."  The only answer
was a woman's scream.

No savior stood between the little girl and the attackers. Defenseless,
alone, she surrendered to her own blind terror.  Get away. Before they
got her, too.

The window.  Momma had told her if the monsters ever came, she might
have to get out the window.

It was a long fall.  She tumbled to the ground, gasping to pull the
damp night air back into her lungs.

"Ot est I enfant.

",4rrtez-la!  Stop her."

Tess shrank into the underbrush until the booted feet had thundered
past.  Then she pushed herself up.

The moon hung above her, huge and orange in the night sky.  It gave
enough light so that she could make out the shapes of trees in the inky
blackness.

Did'that mean the monsters could see her?  With a little sob, she
started to run through the thick, wet underbrush.  On and on, in her
white nightgown.  Fleeing the monsters with loud voices and tramping
feet.

Insects bed around her face.  Night creatures slithered through the
rank weeds.  And always, overhead, was the enormous orange disk of the
moon.

A green tendril curled around her ankle, trapping her.  They had her.
Sheer black terror swept through her.  They were going to do it to her,
too.  The terrible thing that started with Momma's .

With a shriek of panic, Tess wrenched her foot away and fled on.  On
and on through the dark underbrush.  Until she ran headlong into the
dark, still water.

' Then she was choking.  Gasping.  Struggling to keep her head above
the surface.  But the dark water closed over her--cold and thick--and
she was being pulled down,

down, down into strangling terror.

Into orange light.

Confusion threatened to swallow her.

The moon.

Teas was standing at the window, breathing in quick, shallow gasps, her
gaze fixed on the dull orange disk in the sky

Reality seeped gradually back into her mind.  Somehow she'd been back
in the past, fleeing from the half-remembered monsters of her
childhood.  All at once, her knees would no longer support her weight,
and she sank into the antique wicker chair beside the window.

Outside, the huge orange face mocked her, and she pulled down the shade
with a snap.  But cutting off the view couldn't stop the waves of icy
cold that rippled over her skin, nor keep her teeth from clacking
together.  As if she were a child again, alone and afraid of the dark,
she closed her eyes, drew up her knees and wrapped her arms tightly
around them.

What in the name of God had just happened to her?

Like a penned animal trying to scratch its way to freedom her mind dug
for an answer.

The bayou.  Lisa Gautreau's limp body in the water.  The moon.

The connection didn't make perfect sense.

But it would have to do.  Another woman's death in the dark water had
brought back her own very personal memories of evil.

Her fists clenched.  She wouldn't allow it.  Not now.  Not after all
this time.  The monsters in the swamp were not her reality.  Reality
was her life in New Orleans.  Her job at KEFT.  Aunt Pauline.

What if she and Aunt Pauline talked about it?  No, that was a step
neither one of them had ever dared take.  They'd keep the conspiracy of
silence, the two of them.  All the long years.

But maybe simply seeing her aunt would help.

As soo As rr was taorr, she called the nursing home and told them she
was coming.

The huddled figure in the bed was so small and so pitifully frail.  The
voice was barely above a whisper, the speech slightly slurred.  But the
aged eyes brightened when they spotted the early morning visitor.

"Tess!"

"How are you, Aunt Pauline?"

"I'm just fine, honey," the shrunken old woman quavered.  She wore a
lace bed jacket over her gown.  She'd probably still be wearing it when
the afternoon temperature had climbed into the nineties.  But then Aunt
Pauline had worn long sleeves, a straw hat and gloves long after most
of the female population had switched to halter tops.

Tess leaned over and they embraced.  Her grip was hearty.  Her aunt's
was weak.

"I watched you on the evening news the other night.  It makes me proud
as punch every time I see you in front of the camera."

"Which piece was it?"

"Oh, I don't recall, exactly.  But it was good.  You're the best."

Tess forced a smile.  Recent events just seemed to vani.  h from her
aunt's mind like papers scattering in the wind.

The old woman groped for the silver locket around her neck and fingered
the delicate tracery on the front.  When she saw Tess was watching, her
bony hand dropped back to her lap.  Tess reached for the sticklike
fingers and squeezed, no longer certain whether she was reassuring
herself or Aunt Pauline.  "

"I tried to call him," the old woman murmured.  "who?"

"I couldn't have any children of my own.  Did I ever tell you that?"

"No."

"Who did you try to call?"  Tess prompted gently.

The old woman's hand flew to her mouth.  Then her eyes grew shuttered.
"Call?  I--I--must be confused.  It's so hard to keep everything
straight when you get to be my age."

"Aunt Pauline.  Is there something bothering you?  Something you want
to tell me?"  Tess asked gently.

"Remember to water the garden and pull the weeds."  "I do."

"Your mother loved plants, too.  At least we had that in common."

Tess tried to use the opening.  "What else do you remember about my
mother?"

The old woman ignored the question.  "You always were such a good
girl."

"Aunt Pauline, we never talked about what happened before you took me
home with you."

The old woman turned her face away on the pillow.  "We will not talk
about that," she whispered.

Tess swallowed her frustration.  Maybe another time.  "I

brought you a present," she said softly.

"A present.  What fun.  Let me see."

Reaching into the bag she'd brought, Tess pulled out a plush pig with a
gaily striped ruffle around its neck.  Her aunt had a collection of
pigs at home.  Stuffed, china, brass, wood.  Tess had played with them
when she was lt-He.  She'd helped the old woman add to the collection
over the years.

As if the previous conversation had never taken place, aunt and niece
smiled at each other, and things were back on the old condor table
track.

"It's so adorable.  But you shouldn't have."

"Sure I should.  We'll keep it on the dresser for now.  But when you
come home, we'll put it with the others."  She stayed for a few more
minutes.  Then she reminded herself she'd better get to work before
somebody missed her.

THE MANA On-MENT AT KEFT had definitely missed Tess.  "Where the hell
did you get to?  We've been calling your house every fifteen minutes,"
Larry Melbourne growled as he spotted his only female reporter coming
through the door of the newsroom.

Usually the tall, balding program director was genial with Teas.  This
morning she wished she'd made it to her desk before she'd encountered
him.  "I was visiting my aunt in the nursing home," she answered.

"Well, you picked the wrong day to be late for work.  Chris is
breathing fire.  Unfortunately, he sent Roger out to cover the city
council meeting.  And another mobile unit's up in St.  Louis Parish
covering some alligator festival or something.  Now we're up to our
ears in murder."

"Our ears?"

"Yeah.  It was Erica Barry."

Larry thrust his hands into his pockets as he caught the shock of
recognition sweep across Tess's face.  "That's right.  Another one of
the guests on Brad's show yesterday.  Kind of spooky."

He was Watching her face closely, Tess realized.

All she could do was nod.

"The police are on their way over to talk to LeRoy fight now.  Only he
doesn't know that yet.  And I'm the lucky stiff who gets to tell
him."

Tess hardly heard the muttered complaint at the end of the station
manager's speech.  She was too busy fighting to drag air into her
lungs.  She wiembered watching Erica Barry and feeling sorry for her
when Brad Everett sprang his trap.  "But that was yesterday," she
managed in a weak voice.  "I mean, I just saw her"

"Right.  Murdered the same evening as the show.  In her living room.
After I talk to LeRoy, I get to interrupt Brad's rehearsal with the
news."

Tess tried to pretend she hadn't been plunged into the middle of chaos.
"Who've we got covering the murder?"

"George Foster."

He was a recent LSU graduate and green as new sugarcane.  "Tell Chris
I'm on my way.  Do you have the address?"

Larry reeled off a number on South Rampart.  "Thanks.  Call the van and
let them know I'm coming."  Tess didn't even stop at her office.  She
simply did a quick about-face and headed back to the parking lot. After
starting the engine, she tuned in to the city's all-news radio station.
 They were already broadcasting a report on the murder.

Hoping she wasn't going to pick up a police escort, she pressed her
foot down on the accelerator.  She was going to be on the air herself
in half an hour--or die trying.

As she wove through traffic, she considered the story.  The police
wouldn't have much information yet.  What about the Brad Everett
connection?  It could be an interesting angle.  But it was probably a
coincidence.  And nobody down at KEFT was going to thank her if she
mentioned it on the air.  Let someone else make the connection
public.

VANCE GAU RARELY watched television.  Especially not KEFF.  Especially
not after what Brad EVerett had done to his sister.  So he wasn't sure
why he switched on the set in the kitchen while he brewed a pot of
chicory-laced coffee.  Some mornings he scrambled up eggs and added
thick slices of boudin sausage.  Today the coffee was all he could
stomach.

He could tell that the regular morning's programming had been
interrupted by some sort of crime report.  The KEFT truck was parked in
front of a pretty little shotgun house.  But the effect of the nicely
done restoration was marred with yellow police crime-scene tape.  A
crowd of onlookers milled around on the sidewalk, craning to get a good
view.

They were better dressed than yesterday's mob on the banks of the
bayou.  But they had the same wide-eyed, curious look.  Spectators
jostling for the best vantage point from Which to watch somebody else's
tragedy.

Vance grimaced.  Today he was watching somebody else's tragedy.  The
irony made him reach out to switch off the television set.  Then the
camera cut away from the residence to the side of the van, and he saw
the pretty blond reporter who'd bought his way out of jail yesterday.
All at once he knew why he'd turned on the elevision.

He still didn't know her name, although he realiTed suddenly that he'd
seen her as he'd flipped through the channels before.  She looked
different on television than she had in person.  Not quite so delicate.
And definitely in charge.

"This is Tess Beaumont reporting from South Rampart Street."

"Tess Beaumont," he repeated under his breath.  The name suited her.
The Beaumont was elegant.  Tess had a homey, reassuring ring.

"New Orleans resident Erica Barry was found stabbed to death early this
morning.  A friend, who stopped by on her way to work because she was
worried when she couldn't reach Ms.  Barry last night, discovered the
body."

Sacr bleut Another woman's life snuffed out.  Yet it didn't have the
impact it might have had if he hadn't been caught up in his own
personal tragedy.

"At this hour, police have no leads in the case," Tess continued,
"although they are saying that robbery does not appear to be a motive,
and there was a ritualistic quality to the murder."

Ritualistic?  What did that mean, exactly?  Vance stopped his mind from
speculating.  He had problems of his own to take cam of today.  But
something compelled him to sit at the kitchen table, watching the rest
of the special report.  The murder?  Or Tess Beaumont?

"Residents of this quiet, mid die-class street are shocked by the
death.  Ms.  Barry was well liked and has been characterized as a
friendly woman who lent a helping hand in time of need.  But she had
been despondent for several months over the loss of her job.  We'll
have further information on the twelve-noon news."

TEss STAYED with the van until the noon news program.  But when she
told Chris they weren't going to get any more substantive information
from the police for several days, he suggested that she go back to the
stories she was working on.

That's what she'd intended, but she heard other words leaping to her
lips.  "Since I'm already out, I thought I might try to get some more
information on the Lisa Crau She could sense Chris hesitating on the
other end of the line.  " You still want to pursue that one?  "

He was giving her a chance to change her mind.  She didn't take it.
"Yes."

"Okay.  You're not on the list of people the police want to inlervlew
right now.  Just a second, let me get my notes."  Chris was absent from
the line for several seconds.

Not on the list, Tess thought.  She hadn't even considered that. They'd
want to talk to Brad.  And Larry and Desmond.  Who else?

Chris began speaking again.  First he gave her some details from the
official report.  Then he provided some background.  "Lisa was married
to a man named Glen

Devoe.  Mayhe he's more talkative than the brother.  Do you want to go
over there?  "

He gave her an address on Coliseum Street.  "Remember, there's a staff
meeting at three.  You'd better he back for that."

Tess drove slowly down the block, consulting the number she'd written
down.  As she had suspected from the Garden District address, the house
proved to be one of the antebellum mansions built by the English
settlers who came to New Orleans in the early 1800s.  Like Erica
Barry's house it was painted white, but there the resemblance ended. It
boasted double verandas supported by ornate columns and enough stained
glass in the windows and doors to outfit a small church.  The cast-iron
fence enclosed a garden lush with magnolias, crepe myrtles and
hibiscus.

There was no answer when Tess rang the hell.

Suppose that was a sign, she told herself, Suppose she wasn't meant to
stay with this story.  Yet she knew deep down that she couldn't simply
turn around and drive away.

Tess stood for a moment looking uncertainly at the house, suddenly
aware of the eerie quiet.  Strange.  In an expensively maintained place
like this, at least there should be a servant at home.  Maybe someone
was around the back.

A brick path bordered with clumps of pink-and-white begonias led around
the side of the house.  It connected with a covered walkway between the
garage and the back door.

Normal-looking.  Natural.  Yet Tess was suddenly aware that this spot
was completely isolated from the street.  Better leave.  She could come
looking for Devoe another time.  Tess had just made an about-face when
a muscular arm reached out from the thick foliage along the
white-painted wall and grabbed her.

Before she could scream, a man's callused hand clamped over her mouth.
In the next moment she was pulled behind the wild fronds of a banana
tree.

Panic rising in her throat, Tess struggled to twist away.  She tried to
gnash her attacker with her teeth.  But he held her fast, his other
hand and arm binding her securely against a hard body she could feel
but couldn't see.

"Shh!  Be still!  Pour l'amour de Dieu.  If you don't want to end up as
dead as Lisa."

The warning was no louder than a buzz against her ear, but she knew the
familiar, deep cadence.  The shock of recognition zinged through her
along with the shock of the words.  The man who had pulled her into the
bushes was Vance Gautrcau.

Before she could ponder that, heavy feet pounded along the brick
pavement, and G-autreau pulled her further behind a trellis overflowing
with lush trumpet vines.  As he flatlyned himself against the side of
the house, his breath Two rough-looking characters stopped on the
sidewalk.  They were both as muscular as body builders And they were
both holding guns.  The hairs on the top of Tess's scalp crawled.
Involuntarily, she shrank back against the man behind her.  His body
was tense, as if he were poised to spring.

One of the men on the path turned in their direction.  Eyes as hard and
malevolent as a water moccasin's probed the screen of foliage, and Tess
forgot to breathe.  He was looking right at her, and some deep primal
instinct told her she was staring death in the face.  He was go' rag to
pull her from her hiding place and jam the pistol against her head. But
the way his eyes appeared to drill into her must have been only a trick
of the light.  In the next moment moved on, body crouched, gun arm
extended.

"Who was that blond broad?  You see her face?"  "Non."

"Where'd she go?"

"Around back."

%4rrtez-lal"

The feet pounded on, and Tess sucked air into her burning lungs.  She
looked past the broad hand clamped across her lips toward the alligator
boots planted on either side of her feet.  Neither had moved a fraction
of an inch.

Oautreau seemed to realize that his palm still covered her mouth.  For
just a moment he smoothed a finger across her lips.  Then he cautiously
lifted his hand.  That apparently didn't mean that he was going to turn
her loose.

The pursuers had disappeared from her line of sight.  Every nerve in
her body screamed for her to bolt.

He held her back.  "Non.  When they don't find you, they'll come this
way again.  And when they do, they'll start beating the bushes."

She couldn't run.  She couldn't hide.  While Tess's mind scrambled
desperately for an alternative, Oautreau pulled her toward the house.
There was a low door almost hidden by the foundation planting.  In the
next Vance pushed her inside.  Following quickly, he pulled door shut
just as the footsteps on the Path returned.

Outside, hard-edged hands chopped at the shrubbery.  Guttural voices
cubsed--a bastard combination of Cajun French and English.  Gautreau
must understand more it than she did, Tess thought fleetingly.  Inside
the basement, the dank blackness was a heavy, smothering blanket.
Mutely Tess turned toward the man behind her buried her face against
the front of his shirt.

They didn't speak.  They hardly breathed.  But she could feel his heart
beating rapidly and knew he wasn't as calm as he'd appeared.  Her own
heart was thremeoing to pound its way through her chest.

His weight shifted subtly, and she realized he was leaning against the
door.  Would that be enough to it clod ff one of the men found their
hiding place?  Seconds stretched.  She wanted to scream.  She clamped
her lips together and squeezed her eyes shut.

The doorknob rattled.  The pressure of Vance's large body against the
barrier held it firm.  At the same time, his arms tight, ned
protectively around her.

What would he have done if he'd been alone in this situation.  Taken
them on instead of hiding?  There was no way to know, because he was
here, holding her in his arms.  She gave herself over to his custody
and felt a subtle shift in the way he was holding her, as if be knew
she'd granted him trust.

It took several seconds before her muddled brain realized that the
footsteps were retreating again.  Just when she knew she couldn't stand
another minute in the suffocating dark.  She tried to draw away.

"4rrt.  Wait.  They may be out there--hoping to flush you from hiding."
The words were so low she had to strain to hear.  But she obeyed the
command.

Not a muscle in his body twitched.  He might have been a statu.  Except
for the warm breath stirring the hair be-sid her ear, and the callused
hands on her flesh.

If she closed her eyes, she didn't have to probe the musty blackness
around them.  Now that the danger was receding, every sense except
sight was focused on the man who held her in his crab race His legs
were long, his torso hard, his shoulders a broad ledge where her hands
could cling.

If she ever had to find him again in the dark, she'd know him.

She felt another change in the way he was holding her.

His head bent, and his cheek pressed against hers.  "You were very
brave, cher."

"No.  I was very frightened."

"But you didn't give us away."  He eased his grasp on her and felt in
back of him for the doorknob.  "I think they're gone.  For now."

"Who were they?"  Tess whispered.

"We can't talk here.  It's not safe."

He opened the door and looked out.  Apparently he judged it was all
right to leave.

Tess followed him into the sunlight, blinking.  He gave her only a
moment to adjust before he was tugging her by the hand and leading her
swiftly across the yard to a side gate guarded by crepe myrtles.  A few
moments later they were around the corner on the next street.  Vance
opened the dOOrs of a nondescript black van and almost shoved her
inside.  She found herself sitting down hard on the edge of a
paint-splattered ladder.  Toolboxes were crowded against her feet.

Vance climbed in after her and closed the dOOr.  In the dark, they'd
been intimate as lovers.  Now she was facing a stranger again.  But
this time she thought she understood him a little better.

She'd been worried about his eye.  As she peered at it, his lips
compressed.

"What are you staring at?"

"I thought you'd have a shiner."

"Non.  Haney doesn't like to leave marks that show."  She swallowed.
"The sheriff did that?"

"It wasn't your cameraman."  He looked at her con sid-erin ply "I
didn'.t think we'd meet again.  What are you doing

"I wan ll to talk to Mr.  Devoe.  What axe you doing here?"

"I asked first.  What do you want with him?"

"I wan ll to understand about Lisa, if I could."  "What's Lisa to
you?"

The challenge--and the pain--were there in his voice again.  This time
she didn't make the mistake of trying to comfort him.

"A woman.  A human being.  Maybe if I can figure out why al felt so
alone, why life was intolerable, I can keep the same thing from
happening to someone else," she said in a low voice.

"She was alone because she wouldn't let me help her."  "But her
husband"

"Scum?  At least that was a polite translation of his guttural
French.

Sho fought to keep from dropping her gaze.

"Glen Devoe is a dangerous man," Vance continued.  "If you want to live
to do another live remote, you'll stop looking for him."

"Where is he?"

"He doesn't confide in me.  Maybe he's hiding from his rivals in town.
As represented by those wise guys who were on yotlr tail the minute you
stepped through the front gate.  Or perhaps they work for him, and
they're doing guard duty while he's out of the house.  Either way, if
they'd caught up with you, it wouldn't have been good."

"Rivals in what?"

"I told you it's a bad idea to go poking into his busi " Then I guess
it's lucky the door was unlocked.  "

He hesitated a beat before answering.  "It wasn't exactly luck."

Her eyes widened as his meaning sank in.  "Are you telling me you were
breaking into your sister's house?"

He shrugged.  The same noncommittal gesture he'd made when Haney had
turned him out of jail.  "You say you want to find out what happened.
Not quite so much as I do, I think."

"If you suspect foul play in her death, you can go to the police."

HIS laugh was harsh.  "Going to the police doesn't get someone like me
very far.  Or didn't you figure that out last night?"

"You didn't go to them."

"Trust me.  It's the same difference."

"Let me help you."

The carefully studied expression on his face didn't drop into place
fast enough to hide a flash of surprise.  "Not a chance, cher.  I work
better alone."

"I like to pay my debts.  Maybe you just saved my life."  He gave her a
crooked smile.  "Consider it a fair exchange for getting me out of the
sheriff's clutches.  That was a brave thing to do, too."

The smile transformed the harsh lines of his face.  That and the words
made her chest tighten.  He wasn't a man who gave compliments--or his
trust--easily.  Not to TV-reporters.  Not to anyone he didn't know very
well.  But maybo he was going to change his mind about her.  She wasn't
sure why that meant so much to her.  But it did.

His next words dashed any hope she might have been entertaining.  "I'm
going to drive you back to your car.  And if the coast is clear, that's
where we part company, cher.  "

Chapter Four

"That's my mr."  Tess pointed to the sporty blue Oldsmobile parked at
the end of the block.  She'd gotten a good deal on the vehicle because
it was a demonstrator with minim nm mileage.  So far, knock on wood, it
had given her no problems.

A spot had opened up in the back of the Olds, and Vance pulled up to
the curb, cut ling the engine.

Tess watched him roll down the window and inspect the vehicle as if it
might yield some secret about her.  Next he took a careful measure of
the surrounding area, his eyes probing the houses, the shrubbery and
the street.  His gaze shifled and his head turned slowly.  She was
reminded of an old trapper she'd once interviewed for a feature story.
As she'd watched him walk along the edge of the bayou, she'd had the
odd fancy that he was listening to sounds other men might have missed,
seeing things in the shadows other men might have passed right by.  She
felt that way about Vance now.  He was more aware than any other man
she'd ever met.

Where had he been raised?  What kind of life had he led?  All at once,
a question she'd been wanting to ask him tumbled from her lips.  "Where
did you learn to stand so still?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Color flooded her cheeks.  "Back there in the dark.  You didn't move a
muscle.  Where did you learn to do that?"

"In the swamp."

"You mean so you could look at the birds and animals?"

He laughed harshly.  "I wasn't auditioning for a National Geographic
special.  I was stalking game."

"You shoot animals?"

"I did.  When we were hungry and there wasn't anything in the house to
eat but a half-full sack of rice and the roots Lisa had dug up from the
swamp."  He stared at her defiantly.

"It sounds like you--you--had it rough.  As a child, I

mean.  "

"No rougher than a lot of other dirt-poor kids, I guess.  But then
you're a pampered city girl.  You wouldn't know what it's like to
scrape a livin' from the land."

Tess heard the put-down in his voice.

"I think you have the wrong impression about me."  "Oh?"

"I've worked hard for everything I've gotten."

"It's all relative.  Where I come from, you don't buy a fancy car like
that when you land your first job.  You're damn lucky if you can swing
a used pickup."

So her car had yielded secrets about her.  How had he known she'd gone
out and splurged on the damn thing to spruce up her fledgling
reporter's image?  A lucky guess?  Or did he have uncanny insights into
people's motivations.  That was supposed to be her specialty--not
his.

She was trained to push the right buttons and get people to reveal
their inner selves--without getting involved.  So what had she been
trying to prove by her protestations a moment ago?  That they were on
some kind of equal footing?

She wasn't fooling herself.  And she certainly wasn't fooling him.
She'd had a fair amount of experience in handling people.  Yet Vance
Gautreau had thrown her off balance from the moment he'd jumped out of
his car and raced toward Ken.  And he kept doing it.

Since she'd already hit rock bottom, she had nothing left to lose.  "Do
you enjoy intimidating women?  Or just me?"

The tactic didn't work.  He laughed.  "Maybe I'm just trying to keep
you out of trouble."

"Why?"

She had the satisfaction of seeing him look momentarily perplexed.

"I think you're not as hard-boiled as you pretend to be."

"I wouldn't put it to the test."  He reached across her and opened the
door of the van.  But before she could climb out, his fingers closed
around her upper arm, holding her prisoner.  "i mean what I said.  Be
careful."  -Why?  "

"Two women are dead.  Bad luck comes in threes."  Tess felt a chill
sweep across her skin.  When his eyes narrowed, she knew he must have
felt her reaction.  But she kept her voice steady.  "You don't believe
in superstitions, do you?"

"When it's prudent."

He released her, and she climbed quickly down to the ground.  Without
looking back at him, she unlocked her car.  But she could feel his eyes
burning into the back of her neck until she'd driven away and around
the corner.

A wPmo WILLOW trailed its delicate leaves over the deck of the
forty-foot houseboat, dappling the varnished teak.  The stocky man in
the lounge chair scraped at the bottom of the bowl of Cajun popcorn.
There was nothing left but salt and grease.

Licking the last of the snack off his fingers, he glanced at the
television set.  The news was over, and the laugh track of a
particularly mindless sitcom was cutting through the sereaity of the
bayou.

"Ferm-la," he muttered.  "Shut up."

After wiping his hand carefully on his shirt, he pressed a button on
the TV remote control, fading the screen to black.

He felt sorry for anyone who substituted a regular diet of TV for real
life.  On the other hand, it was important to know what was going out
for public consumption.  He'd check the news again at five, but so far
it didn't look as if he had anything to worry about.

Heaving himself out of the low-slung chair, he shook the kinks from his
legs and scratched a hand thoughtfully across his comfortable paunch.
He'd come out here so he could be alone to think things through.

Now he had to come to some decisions before he headed back to town.
About the Lisa problem.  And the Erica Barry problem.

He sighed.  It was bad luck the way everything was coming to a head
like this.  You'd think someone had put ahex on him or something.  For
a moment the hair on the back of his neck bristled.

Then he shook off the stupid fancy.  No one would dare such a thing. He
had too much power of his own.  No one would risk his wrath.

The thought brought a satisfied smile to his lips.  Everything was
going to work out.  He just had to decide how to handle things.  And
while he was doing that, he might as well find out what Henri had left
for him in the well-stocked galley.

WITH ONLY MINUTES to spare before the staff meeting,

Tess shuffled through the pile of folders on her desk.  She'd gotten
together a list of story ideas she wanlcl to propose and left it right
on top of a stack of pending assignments.  Now it was missing.

She distinctly remembered setting it where she could grab it in a
hurry.  Either she was los' rag her marbles, or .  or what?  It wasn't
very likely that someone had been fooling around with her stuff. Unless
maybe Chris or Larry had needed some material and had come looking for
it in her absence.

Glancing at the clock, she muttered a very unladylil expletive.  Larry
was a stickier about punctuality.  The field reporters weren't always
included in the senior staff meetings, and she didn't want to be the
center of amation when she walked in.  Quickly, she thumbed through the
pile of malm'ial, hoping the wayward folder might have gotten shuffled
to a different position in the pile.  No luck.  And no time to make any
notes.  She'd just have to wing it.

As she hurried through the doorway of the conference room, she was
surprised to see Desmond LeRoy, who rarely came to these sessions,
commanding the had of the table.  Larry, who had given up his usual
chairman's position, was sitting to Desmond's left.  Brad Everett was
next to him.  Chris and Roger Dallas, another field reporter, had their
backs to the door.

A man with ambitions bigger than his talent, Roger had been at the
station longer than Tess, and he was after the weekend anchor job.  In
his mind, he'd set up an unofficial rivalry between them.  Usually Tess
ignored him.  That wasn't possible in a mting like this.

The group was in the middle of a conversation that stopped abruptly as
she scraped her chair up to the table.  Had the token female on the
news staff interrupted a locker-room joke?  she wondered.  No, from the
looks on their faces, it appeared to be more serious.

There were several moments of awkward silence.

"Thanks for stepping in on that Erica Barry thing,"

Chris said, filling the void.

"But?"  -- Tess asked.

"Why didn't you make the connection with my show?"  Brad Everett got
right to the point.  Tess had noted weeks ago that in station strategy
sessions, he didn't bother with the initial TLC that had such a magical
effect on his guests.

"Because of the negative publicity.  I assumed you'd want to play it
down."

"You assumed wrong, There is no such animal as negative publicity.
Anything that calls attention to us--gets people curious, gets people
watching--is to our ad van-iago."  Bmd's steel-edged voice cut into her
like a knife.  She tried not to flinch.  "Maybe there's even some way I
can work thi.  into another show."

The station owner shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the head of the
table.  "I--we haven't set policy on how we're going to handle it,
yet."

"Maybe the station hasn't.  But I set the policy regarding my program,"
Brad shot back.  "That's in my contract."

S'denee again.

Larry raised a hand and robbed it aero his shiny dome.  It was like
someone rubbing a Buddha's turn roy for good luck, Tess thought.

"He's fight."  Roger Dallas nodded vigorously.  "It could boost the
ratings.  And that's the name of the game in this business."

Teas looked carefully around at the faces in the room.  Once it had
amused her to assign them rules as if they were the cast of a
continuing TV drama about the broadcast industry.  The eager but
uncertain owner.  The ambitious field reporter.  The program director
who ran the show like a circus ringmaster.  The private joke had worn
thin months ago.  Was everyone else really in favor of this macabre
tactic?  Was Brad Everett going to do a show now on talk-show guests
who died right after their appearances?  She shuddered.

"I've been giving this whole thing some thought," Chris said, bringing
her mind back to the work session.  "What if the blue meanies have it
all wrong?  What if they're both murders?"

"You're talking about Lisa Gautreau and Erica Barry?"  Roger asked.

Brad leaned forward.  "Yeah.  If they were both given the chop, and we
scooped the cops, that would really he something'.  BeaucoUp points for
us."  He shifted his gaze toward Tess.  "You were at the scene on both
of them."  She nodded.

"Yeah.  So we'll keep her plugging away on the stories," Chris
muttered.

"Now wait a minute."  The strident objection came from Roger.  "Why
does she get all the good stuff?."

Chris looked from him to Desmond.  "Okay, it might not be
cost-effective to shelve the features Tess is already working on.  So
maybe it makes sense to split the murder assignment."

"Umm.  Right."

"Roger, which one do you want?"  Chris asked.

"Erica Barry."  Without hesitation he picked the newer story, the one
he thought had the most possibilities.

Maybe he could just take them both, Tess thought.  No, she brought
herself up short.  She wasn't going to cut off her nose to spite her
face.  Somehow Lisa had become personal.  Partly it was her brother's
insistence that a reporter couldn't care.  She wanted him to know how
wrong he was.  Beyond that, she needed to understand why anyone would
weight her pockets with bricks and wade into the dark water of the
bayou.

Oautreau had warned her away.  Now she was putting herself back in the
middle of it.

Looking up, Tess saw Desmond LeRoy pull a cigar from his shirt pocket
and roll it between his fingers.  Usually he didn't smoke during
conferences.  Now he flicked his lighter.  In a moment he was wreathed
in a cloud of Smoke.  He doesn't want this kind of publicity, Tess
thought.  But he's afraid to go against Brad.

With the strategic assinments made, some of the tension in the
conference room dissipal!  But it was hard for Tess to focus her
attention on the rest of the meeting.  And when she was asked to
propose some other story ideas, she knew the suggestions she came up
with were lame.

Roger did much better.  But she was able to ignore the Smirk on his
face as the meeting broke up.

STAN RF.  ARDON THREW his shoulders back and stretched as the tape
rewound.  "You really want to run this through again?"

The weary edge in his voice made Tess glance up at the large clock on
the wall.  Five-thirty.  Nobody was going to pay him overtime.  He
should be on his way home by now.  "Oh, Stan, I'm sorry," she
apologized.  They'd been editing the stranger-danger footage she and
Ken had shot.  Andshe'd been listening to sweet {ittle children
repeating what their parents had told them they had to do to avoid
being kidnapped.  In.  her present state, listening to the in-lrviews
had torn her apart.  Then she'd pulled herself together and made the
theme of the piece the loss of innocence.  She hoped it had the
bittersweet quality she'd been aiming for.  But she was too dose to it
now to tell.

"No problem."  Stan ejected the tape and put it back in the rack with
the others that needed final editing.

After he'd left, Tess briefly considered going home.  It had been along
day, but she was still too keyed-up to re.  lax.  Wandering down to the
canteen, she got a soft drink and a package of peanut-butter crackers
from the vending machines.  If you were going to eat junk food, it
might as well be a treat from your own childhood.  Did moms still pack
this stuff in kids' lunch boxes?  she wondered.  Maybe she could do a
story on that.  It might make a cute feature.  Except that tonight she
wasn't into cute.

As she munched on the crackers at her desk, she found her mind turning
back to Lisa Gautreau.  As long as she was still here, she might as
well have a look at the Brad Everett segment where he'd inniewed her.

Most of the staff had already gone home as Tess made her way down the
silent hallway to the tape library.  Usu ally the room was very
neat--because Larry Melbourne reamed out anyone he caught putting
cassettes back in the wrong place.

Tonight the shelves that held the tapes from the Brad Everett show were
a disaster.  It looked as if someone had been searching for a selection
of the programs and had shoved things back on the shelves in a
hodgepodge worthy of a bargain-basement sale.  A number of the tapes
had been stuck in on the/r sides.  Others were turned so that the
labels were in the back.

Tess methodically began to sort through the carnage, putting the
plastic boxes in order and arranging them so the subjects and dates
were visible.  Had someone been reviewing segments from the show?  Had
they been in too much of a hurry to put things back properly?

As it turned out, only one tape was actually missing--the one that had
featured Lisa.

If she wanted to dream up an ulterior motive, she could assign it to
Roger Dallas--who was probably smart enough to have gone through the
same thinking process that she had.  Only he might want to throw a
stumbling block in her way--by hampering her investigation.

Tess shook her head.  She was sounding pretty paranoid.  If the tape
wasn't here, perhaps the police had taken it.  Or it could even have
been removed by Brad himself--if he wanted to go back and check on what
had actually transpired on the air.

Her face still drawn into a frown, she walked toward the door.  Then,
some impulse made her turn back for one more look.  From this distance,
as her gaze swept the material, she could see a hint of a shadow on top
of the shelves.

Pulling a chair over, Tess climbed on the seat and reached up to the
dusty ledge inches from the ceiling.  Her fingers felt a hard plastic
corner.  She wasn't really surprised when she pulled down the case and
read the label.  February 20, Rape.

What a coinddence.  The miss' rag box.  And there was no way it could
have gotten up there by accident.  But if someone wan led to take it
out of circulation, why hadn't they removed it altogether?  Still
pnTzled, Tess tucked the case into her purse and headed through the
dimly lit building toward one of the film booths.  Only now as she
passed each darkened doorway she felt imaginary eyes following her
progress.

More paranoia, she told herself.  There couldn't be someone watching
every few yards.  Yet when she got to the viewing room, she pulled the
door shut behind her with a sigh of relief.

Running the tape was an eerie experience.  First, because Lisa Gautreau
was a smaller, feminine version of her brother.  They were both
compellingly attractive.  Although, if you analyzed the faces feature
by feature, it was hard to say why.  Maybe it was the way the dark eyes
dom-gnated.  Or the animation.  The same defiance she'd seen in Vance
sparked Lisa's face as she talked.

Tess found herself leaning forward, studying the young woman's
expression, listening to her story with rapt attention.  She hadn't
wanted to see the show in the first phce, because it had struck her as
one of those pitiful little displays of human misery Brad Everett loved
to dangle before the viewing public.  "Look folks.  No matlr how bad
your life is, here's some poor slob who has it worse."  Now she found
herself wishing she had watched--and talked with Lisa afmward.  If
she'd still been in a talking mood.

The details were essentially the ones Vance had told her.  Lisa had
been grabbed from behind just as she finished a transaction at her
bank.  She'd been dragged through a hedge, folded into a car and taken
to a vacant lot where she was raped and left in the mud.

As Tess watched, it was hard to connect Lisa C,autreau with the
despairing, hum'diaxl human being who had drowned herself in Savannah
Bayou.

This young woman had spunk, grit, at ion--despite the terrible ordeal
she'd been through.  She spoke rapidly, her words following one another
in quick succession.  She was angry that the police had no leads in the
case.  She was grateful for the support her husband was giving her. And
she had suggestions for the police department on how to protect other
women in the city.

About halfway into the tape, Tess began to get a feeling of wrongness
about the story.  She'd been doing interviews gong enough to recognize
the little hpses of ex pres tiayou Moon sion, the subtle shifts of eyes
or mouth that indicated a person wasn't telling the truth--or the whole
truth.

The show came to an end, and Tess sat for several moments without
moving, unable to shake the unsettled mood.  F'many, with fingers that
were just a little bit shaky, she pressed the rewind button.  As the
tape began to whir in the machine, she realized that for the past
fifteen or twenty minutes as she'd watched Lisa, she'd felt as if
someone were standing in back of her silently observing.  But that was
impossible.  She would have heard the door open, wouldn't she?

The logic made sense.  Still, she had to fight an impulse to turn and
glance over her shoulder and make sure she was alone.  Stubborn pride
kept her from succumbing.  She'd been spooked ever since she'd left the
tape library, that was all.  However, it was late.  She was isolated in
this part of the building.  And she couldn't turn off the tingling
sensation at the ends of her nerves.

No one was there, she told herself again.  So what did it matter if she
swiveled around and satisfied herself that She was really alone?

She turned quickly.  Even as she did, her mind refused to process what
she was seeing.  It was her own distorted fancy.  A phantom conjured
from her subconscious by a trick of light and shadow.  But no.  A tall,
shadowy figure really was blocking the doorway--blocking the only
escape route from the viewing room.

Air solidified in Tess's lungs as she leaped from her seat and back
into the corner.  Was there anything in the room she could use as a
weapon?

She had just wrapped her fingers around one of Desmond LeRoy's heavy
glass ashtrays, when a familiar voice cut through her panic.  "You
shouldn't he in here alone,

chef.  There's no one to protect you if something hap Vance Gautreau.
It was Vance Gautreau.  The man who could move so silently that no one
heard him.  He had opened the door.

"I don't need protection.  And you shouldn't be here at all," Tess shot
back, anger warring with chagrin.  She made an effort to bring her
pounding heart under control.  It refused to cooperate.

He shrugged with maddening Oallic aplomb.

Tess unclamped the ashtray from her hand and moved back toward her
chair.  "How did you get in?"

"Perhaps the station ought to beef up its security," was his only
answer.  Not too many hours ago he'd held her in his arms.  Now he
didn't come any closer, and she sensed that he was deliberately keeping
a certain distance between them.  Perhaps be didn't feel as unaffected
as he looked.  That was something, anyway.  "What are you doing
here?"

"You didn't go home."

"Have you been following me around all day?"  she demanded.

"Why are you here?"  she repeated.

"It looks like I had the same thing in mind that you did.  I wanted to
watch the tape," he said carefully.

Still not exactly an answer to the question, Tess observed s'denfiy.
"Were you planning to steal it?"

"Borrow," he corrected her.

"I assumed that you'd already seen it."

Only the rapid bobbing of his Adam's apple betrayed his emotions.  "I
needed to know what she really said.  When the show was running--I
heard some of it.  But I couldn't watch the whole thing.  This time I
made myself pay attention."  He stopped abruptly, as if surprised that
he'd admitted any weakness to her.

So seeing his sister talk about the attack had been too painful for him
to absorb the first time, and he hadn't taken it all in until he'd
watched from the doorway just now.  She thought she could understand,
but she couldn't let sympathy cloud her responses to him.  Not when he
was standing there admitting he'd broken into the studio.  How long had
he been there?  What else had he been up to?

"Are you the one who shoved the tape on top of the shelves in the
hrary?"  she asked quickly, while he was still off balance.

She could tell at once from the flash of surprise on his face that he
hadn't.

"You're saying somebody did?"

Tess nodded.

"An interesting development, wouldn't you say?"  "Yes," she admitted
tightly.

"Someone who works at the station, do you think?"  Vance's eyes
narrowed as he looked from her to the machine.  "It could become
dangerous if they know you found it."

She felt a delicate shiver travel up her spine.  "I don't think they
could have.  It was only an hour ago."

"Then let's put it back before someone comes looking for it."  Their
gazes met and held.  Once more she was the first to glance away.  Vance
went to the machine, studied the controls for a moment and pushed the
eject button.  When be turned back to Tess, the cassette was in his
hand.  She saw his fingers clamp down on the black plastic.

Tess's stomach muscles tightened.  He was acting as ff he was worried
about her.  But what did she mean to him?  When he looked up and caught
her watching him, he crossed to the door again and started down the
hall toward the tape library.

Her motions did a flip-flop as she followed him through the corridors.
He moved rapidly, confidently.  So her all-houm visitor had already
acquainted himself with the building.  Maybe he'd lied about hiding the
tape, after all, and she hadn't been adroit enough to catch him.

"I thought you wanted to take the cassette," she said as

"I saw all I needed to see.  And I'd rather not have to worry about
somebody at the station stalking you."

"Why?"

Vance stopped and turned.  "Mayhe I'm a male chau-vini who needa to
protect women."

He'd meant to sound sarcastic.  Yet the words brought back the way
she'd felt when he'd held her in his arms in Devoe's basement.  Safe.
protected.  Aroused.

She hadn't admitted that last part earlier.  She looked away quickly
before he saw the expression on her face.

Vance opened the door to the library and found the shelves without
turning on the light.  When he'd replaced the tape, he turned back to
Tess.  "I'd advise you to stop putting in so much overtime.  It would
be better for your health."

"What do you care about my health?"

Insamd of answering, he touched his hand to her cheek.  It was the
barest contact of male flesh against female.  Yet for pounding
heartbeats they stood staring at each other as if caught by a force
they didn't understand and couldn't control.  Her tongue touched her
lips.  His gaze followed the tiny motion.

They leaned toward each other.  Vance was the one who wrenched away. In
the next moment, he was striding quickly toward the exit.

Tess made a colossal effort to gather her scattered wits.  "Wait. Where
are you going?"

He paused with his hand on the knob.  "You're going to have to take
care of yourself, cher.  I've got other business tonight."

THE WORST TIME at the nursing home was at night, when the hallways and
rooms were swathed in shadows and you could hear the inmates tossing
and moaning in their sleep.

Living hulks.  Old.  Infirm.  Useless, Pauline Beaumont thought as she
tried to find a comfortable position for her bony body in the narrow
hospital bed.  She looked at the rails the nurse had swung up.  To keep
her from falling out.  Like a baby in a crib.  She was just like
everybody else here--waiting in this twilight way station, praying for
the Angel of Death to take her by the hand and lead her out of her
misery.

It was strange to end up like this--to think of herself as dried up and
useless.  But she'd always been a practical woman, and she'd come to
terms with her own mortality.  And her limitations.  There wasn't much
left for her in this world.  Just Tess.

She was so proud of that girl.  As proud as if she were her own
daughter.  But there was the guilt, too.  Always the guilt.  Over the
years she'd held her demons at bay by keeping busy, but when she lay in
bed night after night hardly able to move, there was all the time in
the world to think over the past.

She'd done the right thing all those years ago.  Hadn't she told
herself that over and over?

The old woman squeezed her eyes shut and fought off a wave of remorse
that threatened to wash her out of the bed and onto the cold tile
floor.

Why had Tess been asking questions?  Did she know something?  How?

No.  That was impossible.  There was nothing to worry about.  It had
Ifil come out right as rain in the end.  Tess had a fine head on her
shoulders.  And she was smart as a tack.  She'd had a chance to make
something of herself.  She'd gotllm herself a good job.  And she was on
her way to a wonderful lifo.  The be inning had been the bad part.  But
Tess didn't remember a thing about it.  And it was over and done.  You
couldn't change the past.  You could only go on marching into the
future.

"Pauline."

She remembered that voice.

"Pauline."

Her eyes drifll open.  He'd stolen into the room as silent as fog.
Perhaps he was just a dream memory.  "Yotl at led me."  He was real.
"

"I did the right thing, didn't IT' she asked in her qua-ver lag old
woman's voice.  The voice that continued to sm'prise her every lime she
heard it.  " I got what I wanlxl,

and so did you.  "

"yes."

She tried to hitch herself up in bed.

He put a teslxaining hand on her shoulder.  "You just rest easy now.
You were good for the girl.  You gave her a chance,"

Pauline sighed, conented.  They agreed.  It had all been for the best.
And if anyone could bring her absolution, this man could.

"You haven't been talking to her, have you?  I mean about what happened
twenty years ago?"

"Oh, no!  Not ever.  Didn't we agree?"  "I wasn't sure you
remembered."

"I remember everything.  Everything."

"It's been a hard burden to carry."  "Yes" -- The syllable whooshed out
of her.  "And you deserve to lay down your burden."  "Oh, yes.  Yes."

The man sl0ped closer to the bed and raised the pillow that had been
dan ling from one hand.

"Sleep in peace, Pauline."  He brought the pillow down over her face,
pressing firmly through the feeble spasms.  There wouldn't be a mark on
her.  It would look as if a sick old woman had simply died in her
sleep. Another stroke, perhaps.  Or may he a heart attack.

When he was sure it was over and done, the Angel of Death left the room
and let himself OUt quietly through the side door he'd left unlocked.

Chapter Five

He'd been lying to the pretty little TV reporter, Vance acknowledged as
he pulled the truck under the convenient branches of a gum tree and cut
the engine.  If her car hadn't been in the lot beside the station, he
wouldn't have slipped past the front desk where the security guard
should have been siting.

Some need of his own had drawn him back to her.  Then, when he'd come
face-to-face with her, he'd had sense enough to realize that he'd
better keep his distance.  The muddled logic wasn't lost on him, yet he
knew it was dangerous to examine his feelings too closely.  Especially
now when he needed every ounce of concentration.

From within the shadows of the branches that hid him, he looked
carefully up and down the sidewalk lined with cast-iron fences.  The
metal barriers made him uncomfortable.  He liked the freedom of the
back country where willow and oak trees lined the two-lane roads and
snowy egrets nestled along the edges of the bayous.  But if you had to
live in town, Glen Devoe's place was a pretty choice.  The lushly
planted grounds were like an insulating barrier from everything but the
occasional blare of a car horn.

This time, he could detect no sign of surveillance.  Still, he waited
patiently for close to an hour before stealing toward the gate where
he'd entered the grounds earlier.

He stopped at the basement door behind which he and Tess had hidden. As
his hand touched the knob, hero-membered the female scent of her skin
and the imprint of her willowy body against his.

Cursing softly under his breath, he twisted the knob and tried to put
Tess Beanrnont out of his mind.  The effort was only partially
successful Sacr bleu!  He was ohseased with a woman he never should
have held in his arms.

Now he was absolutely sure he should have stayed away from the TV
station tonight.

Once inside, he pulled a flashlight from his back pocket and mapped it
on.  The high-intensity glow illuminated cobwebs and lit He piles of
dust.  The viev helped bring him back to reality.

Maybe, he thought with a lit He mort of self-derision, if the market
for custom carpentry dried up, he could make a new specialty of
breaking and entering.

This morning he'd been interrupted before he'd had much time for
exploring.  After playing the light over the floor and the cement-block
walls, he located the stairs.  Emerging into an alcove off the enormous
kitchen, he stood for several moments making sure he was really alone.
The only sound of life he could detect in the house was the He king of
the grandfatlw, r clock in the hall.  It was a tall, handsome lime
piece with an engraved moon-and-sun face and a polished brass pendulum.
Like evet3rthing else in the mansion, from the Oriental rugs to the
antique dining room set purchased down on Royal Street, it proclaimed
the owner's affluence.  And a certain station in life.  As if a wild
hog from the swamp could buy respectability.

ttayou Moon

Suddenly Vance felt claustrophobic.  He wanlxl to open the front door
and escape.  Inslad he headed for the broad, curving staircase to the
second floor.  He'd been here to visit Lisa a couple of times, and he
knew where to find her room.

She'd insisll on a boudoir of her own--probably rtke some rich southern
belle heroine she'd seen in a movie--and Devoe had accommodall her.
He'd been indulgent about a lot of things at- first.

Vance thought he was ready for the stab of pain he felt as he opened
the door.  But he drew in his breath fast and hard as he slpped into
her room.  It was difeot from the rest of the house.  Leas
sophisticaled.  Childish, even.  The furniture was French provincial,
and a collection of china dolls in frilly dresses clutlxed the top of
the dsser.  In the semidarknesa, he couldn't tell the colors of
anything.  But he remembered that the wallpaper was a delicate mint
green and pale pink

All at once he could remember Lisa as a la-year-old in a ragged dress
sitting on the sagging back porch of Tante Ernestine's house.  An old
magazine was spread open across her dirty knees, and she was drinking
in the pie-turea of beautiful people and places.

She'd always yearned for a life of luxm3.  The trouble was, she'd been
too impatient to work toward a distant goal.  Fulfillment had to be
quick and immediate.  While she was still young enough to enjoy it,
she'd explained in that logical way of hers that he'd found so
maddening because she was so sure she had all the answers.  Which was
why she'd attached herself to a succession of men with money, and why
she'd married scum like Glen Deoe.  une brooding about

But Vance wasn't going to waste his I' '

that now.  Every moment he stayed here increased the risk he was
taking.

Swiftly he began to open drawers and search the contents.  He wasn't
sure exactly what he was looking for, but he was certain he'd know when
he found it.  However, there was nothing but the obvious accoutrements
of his sister's life in the dresser and the bedside tables, nothing
under the mattress or in back of the expensive clothea in the enormous
closet.  There were two exits, one to the bedroom and another to a
dressing area outside the bathroom.  He realized he'd been smelling the
faint odor of decay for several moments.  It hit him full in the face
when he stepped through into the cites sing area.  Shining the light
around the small enclosure, he realized that the tainli scent was
coming from the large basket of fruit sitting on the floor in the
corner.  It was wreathed with a swarm of fruit flies and must have been
sitting here, forgotten, for weeks.  How long had it been since Devoe
had come to his wife's room?  The slench increased as Vance approached,
but he wanted to read the white tag thrust into the wicker of the
handle.

The words, not the smell, almost made him gag.  "Thank you for being on
the Brad Everett Show."

Cursing vigorously in coarse French, Vance backed away.

"Yes.  Thank you, Lisa.  Thank you for giving your life to a talk-show
host."  Brad Everett might as well have pushed her into the bayou.

He'd been holding himself together for days.  Now it took several
moments before he could blink away the burning sensation in his eyes.
At the bathroom sink, he splashed cold water in his face.  It helped.
But it didn't do anything to dissipate the odor of the rotting fruit.
Wondering how much more he could take, he pulled open one of the
drawers in the bathroom and began to sift through the contents.

A bottle half-full of little yellow pills stopped him.  He looked
carefully at the label.  Had Lisa been taking them again?  Where had
she gotten them?  She'd told him once that they helped.  Apparently,
not enough to keep her from killing herself.  He'd better not remove
them. Or someone might notice they were missing.

He'd just opened another drawer when his carefully tuned ears picked up
a sound that hadn't been there before.  A door opening and then a thump
somewhere on the floor below.

His breath stilled in his chest.  It whooshed out as heavy footsteps
began to climb the stairs.

Whoever it was wouldn't come in here, he told himself.  Nobody had been
in Lisa's room for weeks, or they would have removed the rotting
basket.  Unless they'd come to the Devoe mansion for the same reason as
he.  Or unless whoever it was had heard the water running a moment ago.
Hastily he switched off the flashlight.  But there was enough light
from the moon to guide him to the window.  The latch sprang open with a
click that echoed like a gunshot in the darkened room.  The groan of
the sash as he thrust it up was even louder.  Expecting to see the door
open, expecting to hear a roughly delivered order to arrt--halt--he
thrust his shoulder through the opening.  Then he was on the porch in
the blessed open, breathing the uncontaminated night 'air.

IT WAS A SPF-X2TALY sunny day.  But not too warm.  Just the kind of
morning Aunt Pauline had loved to putter around her garden or disappear
into the kitchen to prepare the fancy Creole dishes she loved so
much.

She wouldn't be puttering around the kitchen or the garden anymore.
Tess tried to feel her aunt's presence as she walked toward the old
family crypt in Metairie Ceme you Moon tery, but all she felt was
alone.  Completely alone.  As if part of her had been hacked away and
could never be recovered.

Sorrow was tinged with uncertainty.  And also dismay--for the loss of
something intangible she couldn't name because she didn't know what it
was.

Strange, the way it had always been between the two of them.  She'd
known her aunt had loved her unconditionally.  And she'd returned the
feeling.  She SUpposed that at first her own love had been flavored
with the desperation of a little girl clinging to the only pillar of
stability in a wildly lilting universe.  That desperation had softened
into a growing sense of genuine affection that remained edged with
gratitude.  Sometimes she wondered how she might have turned out
without her aunt's firm discipline and unconditional SUpport.  Aunt
Pauline's love and approval had made it possible for her to grow and
develop into a mature, responsible adult, but it was precisely the
sense of obligation that had kept her mute when it came to certain
topics.

In the shadow of her aunt's final resting place, Tess felt the effects
of that silence likea constricting band around her chest, making it
hard to breathe and slowing her steps as she made her way toward the
crypt.  Somehow she managed.

"My daughter, are you ready to begin?"  Father Boutte asked.

As she looked into the kind, clear eyes, Tess felt a measure of
equilibrium return.  "Yes, I'm ready," she said, drawing herself up
straighter.

In a firm voice, the old priest began to speak the familiar words of
blessing for the dead and consolation for the living.

tayou Moon

Not many people were gathered at the cemetery to hear the farrell. Some
of the staff from the station.  Those few of Pauline's friends who were
still alive.  And one paunchy, middle-aged man Tess didn't know. His
face expressionless, he watched the service from the shadow east by a
crypt several yards away.  Wishing he'd either leave her in privacy or
stop eavesdropping on her grief, Tess deliberately turned away from
him.  But she felt his piercing stare drilling into the back of her
neck.  For several moments, he distracted her from the priest's
words.

Chris Spencer, who'd been standing several paces in back of Tess, must
have seen her shiver.  Stepping forward, he put a steadying arm around
her shoulder.

"Thanks," she mouthed before giving her attention back to the
service.

The familiar prayers from her childhood were a comfort.

Later, after the few guests who'd come back to the house had left, Tess
wandered into her aunt's room.  On the bed was the suitcase she'd
brought home from the hospital.  She hadn't remembered seeing the
locket Aunt Pauline always wore or kept nearby, and Suddenly she was
struck with an attack of panic.  Ouickly she began to search through
the gowns and simple dresses.  The locket was at the bottom, and when
her fingers closed around it, Tess felt a profound sense of relief. She
pulled it out and clicked it open: Her own picture, taken at her
confirmation, was inside.  Now, as she studied the girlish photograph,
she could see a line around the outside.  Was something underneath?
After lifting out the picture, she tried to pry up backing.  All she
got for her pains was a broken nail.  Sorry, Aunt Pauline.  I'd better
stop fooling with it, or I'll break it.  After putting the picture
back, to the mirror and faslned the chain around her neck.

BRAD EVERL=rT WAS HOLD NO Off on his threatened feature about Lisa and
Erica.  Instead, he'd scheduled a couple of shows on cosmetic
surgery--complete with women who were willing to show before and after
views of their breasts and buttocks to the viewing public.  The ratings
were up--which meant Everett was feeling smug and LeRoy was keeping his
own counsel.  Thank the Lord for small favors, Tess thought.

By Friday afternoon, when Chris came into her office and asked, "How
are you doing?"  she was able to answer, "Better than I expected."

They talked about her aunt for a few minutes, although Tess was aware
that this wasn't just a social call.  So she set down the interview
list Stan would need to put the finishing touches on her French Quarter
renewal story.

The news director looked apologetic.  "I know you're supposed to be off
this evening," but I need someone to cover the final round of the
Southern Conference Computer Marathon this evening.  "

"Sorry, but I've got an appointment I can't break."  "It better be
good."

"I'm meeting with Lisa Oautreau's aunt.  Ernestine Achord."  It was the
first time since the incident with the tape that she'd talked about the
continued investigation with anyone at the station.  She hadn't dropped
it.  But she'd decided' it wasn't prudent to advertise her plans,
either.

Chris rocked back on his heels.  "I was wondering if you'd hit a dead
end and were holding off giving me the bad news.  So you won over the
aunt.  I'm impressed.  How did you manage that?"

"I haven't won her over yet.  I just tracked her down through the
funeral home that handled the arrangements for Lisa.  Mrs.  Achord was
one of the relatives who met with the director."

"The hotheaded brother was the other?"  Chris asked

"Yes.  I was all ready for another slap in the face, but the aunt's
wn'!li .n to give me some background--if I come this evening.  I'm
driving out there later."

"To Savannah Bayou?  I can't really spare a video cew."

"I wasn't planning to take one.  At this stage, it's still off the
record.  In fact, it's not just an interview.  Mrs.  Achord invited me
to dinner--which makes for a nice informal mlir.  If she has the fight
kind of information and agrees to being taped, we can do that later."

"Well, good going."

Tess nodded, pleased.  The news director didn't often offer praise.
When he did, she knew he was genuinely im-pr eased

The encounter might have terminated then.  But Chris still stood in the
doorway, an uncertain look on his face.  "It's rough country out there.
I don't exactly love the idea of your driving out that way at night."

"How come you weren't so solicitous the last time you arranged to have
me hang around Savannah Bayou at night--and spring a miscreant from
jail?"

He looked sheepish.  "Teas, you know how I in the heat of battle.  In
retrospect, that stunt was mlstak."

While they had been talking, people had been the hall.  Now, although
Chris was blocking her view of the corridor, Tess had the sudden uneasy
feeling that one had stopped Walking and was quietly listening
conversation.

The crawly sensation wasn't something new.  It started the night of the
tape.  No, before that.  The first time she'd thought someone had been
going through the papers on her desk.

Chris misinterpreted her doubtful look.

"Besides, you had Ken with you.  And a KEFT van.  Tonight, you're on
your own."

She lifted her gaze to his.  "Chris, I'm all right.  You don't have to
worry about me."  The reassurance was meant as much for herself as for
him.

"I guess I'm feeling guilty about you and Roger squaring off over these
two murders--or whatever they are."

Was it Roger out there in the hall eavesdropping?  Tess wondered.  Was
that what this was all about?  Had he stooped to spying on her to get
an advantage in their imaginary race for the weekend anchor job?  She
raised her voice slightly.  "He may be squaring off.  But I'm not.  And
what happened at the meeting wasn't your fault."

Chris grinned.  "That's what I like about you, Tess.  You're one of the
few people around this place who says what they mean.  So what time are
you leaving for your Cajun dinner?"

"In a couple of hours."

TH TAtK wrrH CHINS had lightened -Tess's mood.  For days she'd felt as
if she weren't getting much accomplished.  Now she cleared a slew of
folders off her desk and finished the scripts for several special
reports.  In fact, she was getting so much done that she kept delaying
her departure.  By the time she finally put away the last of the work,
she knew she was going to have to push the speed limit to make it to
Savannah Bayou on time.

Was that a subconscious acknowledgement that she really wasn't looking
forward to this trip?  Tess wondered as she slid behind the wheel of
her little Oldsmobile.  Her feelings about the bayou country hadn't
changed.  If she'd been able to get Ernestine Achord to meet her in
town, she would have.  But a couple of gentle hints hadn't elicited an
offer.

Then there was Vance Oautreau to consider.  Savannah Bayou was his
store ping ground, and he'd told her to keep her noae out of his
family's business.  As she headed down the length of the parking lot,
his darkly brooding face--the way it had looked the evening at the
station--hung in front of her vision until she firmly banished it.  She
supposed she had good reason to be afraid of the man.  Yet he'd saved
her lifo-and he'd put the tape back when he'd thought it would get her
into trouble.  Or at least, that's what he'd told her.

At odd moments she kept recalling the encounters between them. Somehow,
what she kept coming back to was how it had been when he'd wrapped her
in the protection of his muscular arms.  Usually she ended up focusing
on.  how warm and strong they'd felt.  Or the way his breath had gently
stirred the top of her hair.

With a little serf-mocking laugh, she acknowledged that he stirred more
than her hair.  He stirred something deep inside her that she hadn't
known existed

Did be feel the same way?  she wondered as her thoughts turned to their
last meeting.  He'd barely touched her that night.  But she'd known he
was holding him.  nell under strict control.  Because he was attracted
to her and didn't want to encourage the feelings?  Or because he was
hiding something important from her?

In reaction, her scalp prickled again and she gave head a little shake.
Any way she looked at it, Vance Oau' treau was dangerous.  If she was
lucky, she wouldn't run into him on this trip to the bayous.

Banishing him from her mind, she concentrated on the rush-hour traffic
heading northwest out of the city.

there'd been any way to make the appointment during the day, she would
have found it.  But her schedule and Mrs.  Achord's simply didn't
permit any different arrangement.

On the crowded road, drivers on their way home were jockeying for
position, changing lanes and leaning on their horns.  And some nut in
back of her who was obviously in a tearing hurry kept riding her
bumper.  Glancing in the rearview mirror, Teas tried to get a look at
his face, but a baseball hat was pulled down over his eyes.  She had no
trouble seeing his vehicle, however.  His monster-size blue pickup was
in danger of pushing her right off the road Several tim ca he honked
impatiently at her.  And more than once she had to jam on her brakes to
avoid slamming into someone's bumper.

To add to her problems, her own car's steering seemed sluggish.  If the
appointment hadn't been important, she would have turned around and
gone home.  But there was a good chance that if she didn't show up,
Erncatine Achord might well change her mind about their talk.

Tess let out a long sigh when she reached the exit from the highway.
She was out of the worst of the traffic.  But the feeling of relief was
short-lived.

Coming back so soon to this fiat, brooding country spider-webbed by
waterways was like taking another expedition into her own psyche.  Only
she hadn't realized how difficult it would be to face this part of the
world alone after dark.

Cursing herself for being so late, she switched on her brights.  They
illuminated the gar row road, but the landscape was already fading into
contours of gray and black.  The trees crowding on either side were
looming shapes more menacing in their featureless bulk than in their
details.  There were no lights in the distance.  No houses.  And once
or twice she caught a glimpse of the bayou--a rib bon of polished onyx
in the dim light.  Was there swamp beyond it?

Tess kept her eyes glued to the center of the headlight beam.  Yet the
foliage on either side of the road remained a dark blur in her
peripheral vision that seemed to press closer and closer on either side
of her.

A small animal sgurried across the pavement, only a few yards in front
of the car.  Slamming on her brakes, she skidded to a stop and then
started up again with a jerky motion.  The car definitely waSn't
responding as she expected.  But she wasn't sure what was wrong.

In the next minute, there was another sign of life-headlights high and
painfully bright in her rearview mirror--coming fast.  Tess lifted her
left hand to block the glare.  In the next moment, she felt the other
vehicle crowding her toward the side of the road It was big and seemed
to tower over her own ear.  Like the pickup that had ridden her bumper
along the highway.

yanking on the wheel, she tried to swerve out of the way.  It took a
tremendous effort to make the Oldsmobile respond.  Then, suddenly, the
vehicle was hurtling toward the underbrush.

For several frenzied seconds, Tess fought with the wheel, sure that she
was going to plunge off the pavement and into the darkness beyond.
Pulling with all her strength, she finally managed to bring the car
back onto an even course again.

Panting, Tess lifted her foot from the accelerator and slowed to a
crawl.  For want of a better focal point, her eyes followed the red tad
lights of the other car as they disappeared into the distance.

She wasn't aware that her whole body was trembling violently until she
felt her hands vibrating against the hard plastic surface of the wheel.
It was slick with her own cold sweat.  Wiping her palms against the
skirt of her dress, she fought to keep from coming undone.

The first thing she'd better do was turn on the hazard lights.  As she
stabbed at the button, her mind continued to churn.  Someone had come
within a hair's breadth of rear-ending her.  And even though her car
had been in for a twenty-thousand mile check in the past month, there
was obviously something wrong with the steering.

Another car passed, sounding its horn loudly, and Tess jumped. Whatever
her options, she couldn't simply sit here half on and half off the road
She was sure to get hit.

And what exactly were her options?  she asked herself bleakly.  It
looked as if she would have to choose between very unappealing
alternatives.  Driving a disabled car.  Waiting on a lonely road for
help.  Or walking.

At the thought of stepping out into the darkness, a host of old fears
clawed at her like unseen.  goblins mewling and raking at her flesh.
Alone at night.  In the bayou country.  Unprotected.  Vulnerable.

A shudder started at the base of her spine and traveled upward, making
her whole body throb.

She wanted to climb into the back seat and curl into a ball like a
frightened child.  Yet she knew that in reality, huddling in the
Oldsmobile was just as dangerous as getting out.  She'd covered enough
traffic accidents to know that anyone barreling down the road could
smash into her car.

Well, she was only about five miles from Savannah Bayou.  Probably the
best thing to do was to drive very slowly into town and call Mrs.
Achord.

Turning on the radio, she fiddled with the dial until she found a
station playing a cheerful mix of golden oldies and light rock.

Hazard lights still blinking, she began to make her slow way into
town--dismayed to find that in the five minutes since the near miss,
the steering had deteriorated even moro.  If there had been any other
option, she would have pulled over again.  But she couldn't take the
chance.

At least the country was more open now, and she didn't feel quite so
hemmed in.  When she came to a straight stretch, she was unable to
resist the Imnptation to increase her speed a bit.  As long as there
were no turns, she should he all right.  And the sooner she got to
Savannah Bayou, the safer she'd he.

In the distance, she could see another set of headlights coming toward
her.  Fast and blinding.  Like a few minutes ago.  Except last time
they'd been in back of her.  Now they were full in her face.

Tess's pulse began to pound wildly at the base of her throat.  All at
once she was sure that the pickup truck had circled around and was
coming back to her again.  The notion was crazy.  Yet the absolute
conviction filled her mind.

Pn!  ling on the rigid wheel, she tried to edge over to the side, out
of the way of the oncoming car.  The maneuver was a mistake.  Her right
tire sank into mud.  And the headlights were still coming at her like a
train in a railroad tunnel.

She could see nothing but the blazing headlights.  Hear nothing but the
squeal of rubber against pavement.  Then a quick, sideswiping blow sent
her car lurching off the shoulder.

As her lmple banged against the mirror, Tess screamed.  The pain and
ringing in her ears were followed by the.  sickening sensation of
free-fall.  All at once there was nothing under the front wheels of the
car but empty space--and beyond, the slick black surface of the
bayou.

Another scream tore from her throat as the front of the car nosed down
into endless darkness toward the solid-looking barrier of the dark
water.

It wasn't solid at all, of course.  The car broke through with a
muffled splash.  Then it rocked and sank lower.  The mud below it made
an eager sucking noise, like a great mouth trying to slurp in a tasty
morsel.

Her head still ringing and her vision blurred, Tess clung to the slang
wheel as if it were a life preserver.  There was another dull thump as
the car came to rest against some submerged obstacle.

It took several dazed, disoriented moments for Tess to realize that the
awful plunging movement had stopped.  But she wasn't safe, yet.  Cold
wetness began to gather around her feet.

The car was filling with water.

It was creeping up her legs, up her thighs, into her lap.  Instinct
sent her scrambling up from behind the wheel.  As she moved, the car
lurched again.  Whatever was holding it up wasn't very solid.

With a little sob, she scrambled over the seat and yanked at the back
door handle.  It didn't move.

Chapter Six

The water was in the back seat now, lapping at her feet.  " Sucking in
little gasps of air, Tess continued to yank fruitlessly at the door.
Then reason penetraxi her sodden brain.  Like a schoolgirl struggling
with a difficult algebra problem, she worked through the logic.  Water
was blocking the bottom of the door so it wouldn't open.

With fingers that felt as clumsy as wooden Sticks, Tess grasped the
window crank and began to turn.  As the glass started to roll down, she
gave a little sob of rdief.  First she stuck her head and shoulders
out, then she wiggled the rest of her body through--and plunged into
water over her head.  There was an endless moment of mind-numbing pan.
:c ta,bayou seemed to draw her down, down toward o. li-on.  But when
her feet hit the muddy bottom, she automatically thrust upward.
Clearing the surface again, she sputtered and sucked in a deep gust of
air.  Then, making certain of her bearings, she began to thrash her way
toward the shoreline that bordered the road

When her feet touched bottom again, she sank into thick mud.  Half
wading, half swimming, she struggled doggedly toward the bank, her
skirt clinging in a sodden swath to her legs.  She felt the bayou
clutching at her clothing, trying to drag her down again into its wet
embrace.

Somewhere in the darkness, Tess heard an ominous splash.  Teeth
gritted, she redoubled her efforts.  Finally she reached 'the bank.
Grabbing handfuls of cattails in her numb fingers, she.  pulled herself
out of the water and lay panting in the coarse weeds.

Pushing the drenched hair out of her eyes, she looked back at the car.
In the light of the waning moon, she could just make out its shape half
submerged in the inky water.  It must have hit a hidden cluster of
cypress knees or some other obstruction.

Unconsciously, her fingers went to her aunt's locket around her neck,
as if it were a talisman that had somehow kept her safe.  Whether or
not it was the source of her good luck, she was grateful.

The thought of being trapped in the car made her lungs freeze.
Struggling for breath, she pushed herself to a sitting position.  The
next step was to drag herself up on rubbery legs.  Standing, she
realized that she'd lost her shoes on the muddy bottom of the bayou.
Her purse was probably still on the front seat.

Somehow that made her feel all the more defenseless.  Around her in the
dark, she heard the sounds of the night.  Insects.  Little animals in
the grass.  If she wasn't careful, she'd start seeing glowing eyes in
the deep shadows.

SHE WAS STILL HOLDING ON to a tree for support when another pair of
headlights cut through the darkness in front of her again.  Oh, God. In
her present state, all Tess could think was that the pickup truck had
come back.  And she was out here on the side of the road--wet, shoeless
and terribly exposed.

Turning, she began to stagger in the opposite direction.  But she was
trapped by the bayou on her right.  And she couldn't cross the
pavement.  That would be an open invi taft on for the man in the truck
to smash into her and finish the job.

The vehicle skidded to a stop.  Then heavy fool steps were pounding
toward her in the midnight darkness.

"DAM Que de diable?  What the devil?"

She was terrified of the inky water.  Yet the unknown dangers of the
bayou were better than the known horror.  Desperately, she struggled
toward the bank again.  Just as her foot slid in the mud and she began
to tumble forward, firm hands caught her and pulled her back.

Musadar arms shifted her around, and she began to flail wildly,
instinctively.

"Easy.  It's all right."

"No."

"It's Vance Oautreau.  I'm not going to hurt you."  He spoke in English
now.

The familiar timbre of the voice penetrated her terror.  "Vance?"

"What--what are you doing here?"  Even as she asked the question,
relief flooded through her.  Terror had given her strength.  Now she
slumped against him.  He caught her easily and held her against his
hard length, his fingers touching her shoulders, her back.  One hand
went from her sodden dress to her bedraggled hair, plucking a filament
of water grass from the blond strands.

"I was looking for you, cher.  You were late, and Tante Ernestine was
worded."  He tossed the grass away.  "What are you doing here like
this?  You're soaking."

"Someone in a truck ran me off the road--my car" -- She gestured back
toward the half-submerged vehicle.

l;iayou lVl OOt

"Sacri bleu" He followed the motion and saw the car.  Then his gaze
swung quickly back to her pale, upturned face.  "You could have been
killed.  How did you get out?"

"I--I--climbed over the seat.  And opened the back window--before the
water "

"I knew you were brave.  Yes.  And cool."  His fingers traced over her
cheeks, her lips.

"No, I panicked.."

"You don't know yourself very well, do you?  A woman should understand
her own strengths."

"

"I know myself better than you do."

"Hush."  His free hand traced along her shoulder and then her neck
until both hands rested delicately on her cheeks.  He lifted her face
toward his and held her, not just with his light touch but with the
burning intensity of his dark gaze.

There was a subtle shift in him, then.  From seeming calm to tension.
"A man must understand himself, too.  I don't know what's happening
between us.  I tried to tell myself it was nothing.  But it seems I
can't get you out of my mind."

The hands that held her face compressed, rough and warm and urgent
against her skin.  She felt his breath fan her cheek' heralding the
heady taste of him.  Then he lowered his head, and his lips were on
hers.

"Vance."  His name was sighed out on a quick little breath.  Her eyes
shut.  Her body clung to his.

Something powerful flowed between them.  Heat.  Hunger.  Needs.  She
didn't know this man.  And he was right; she didn't know herself.
Perhaps in his arms she would find the truth.

She heard a moan as his lips moved over hers.  Which one of them had
made the small sound?  Did it really matter?

No.  Not when her senses were filled with the potent taste of him.  The
masculine scent of h:s body.  His hard length pressed.  to her.  Thigh
to thigh.  Chest to chest.  Heartbeat to heartbeat.

She forgot the car in the bayou.  The sounds of the night around them.
Everything faded from existence except the way it felt to have Vance
making love to her.

Caution had evaporated like dew in the sun.  They swayed together,
clinging, kissing, touching each other.  He pulled her closer, his
hands sliding down her back to her hips, anchoring her to him.  She
melted against his length, a small sound of assent escaping from her
lips.

A car cruised past, slowed.  "Go for it, man!  Get her!"  Vance's body
jerked.  Lifting him head, he followed the trail of the disappearing
headlights.  Then he looked back down at Tess.  The confusion in his
eyes mirrored her owls.

"Zut, where is my mind?  I need to get you somewhere safe--and out of
those wet clothes."

He swung her up into his arms.  Closing her eyes, she let her head rest
against his shoulder.  The sparks flying between the an had taken her
by surprise.  No.  That wasn't true.  She'd understood all along what
would happen if he took her in his arms again.  To he honest, she'd
been waiting for it.  Her body.  Her soul.

She looked up at him through a screen of lashes.  He stood motionless,
holding her against his chest, and she sensed that he was as befuddled
as she.

He pulled himself together.  first.  "Striding to his red Mustang, he
settled her in the passenger seat, closed the door and went around to
the driver's side.  " I'm getting your car wet.  " " The devil take the
car.  "

As he started the engine, she began to shiver.  His kisses had heated
her body.  Now she clasped her arms around her legs, settled her chin
on her knees and pressed her lips to-gerber to keep her teeth from
chattering.

After swinging the Mustang around to the direction from which he'd com,
Van turned on the heat.  "It's not far.  We'll get you warm."

"i'm not cold.  I'm" -- "Reacting to what happened."

To her brush with death?  Or the out-of-control passion that had flared
between them?  She didn't ask for clarification.

A few minutes later he turned off onto a rotted road that crossed the
bayou on a narrow wooden bridge.  Several hundred yards farther on, he
pulled up in front of a sagging, one-story house.  Tess saw unpainted
siding.  But the shutters wer new.  And a pile of lumber and
construction blocks was neatly stacked off to one side.

"I'm not sure I would have found this place in the dark."

"I know.  That's why I was searching for you.  I'd al ready been down
the road the other way."

"What were you doing her?"

"Tam Ernestine called me as soon as she finished talking to you the
other day.  I told her if she was going to meet with you, I was go' rag
to be there."

Teas glanced over at Vance as he cut the engine.  He'd carried her to
the car.  She might be wet.  She might have 1of her shorn and her
purse.  But she was darned ff she was going to have his aunt see him
carrying her in.  Before he could come around to her side of the
vehicle, she had opened the door and stepped out.  (}ravel dug into the
bottoms of her stocking feet as she made her way to the low porch.
Vance moved ahead of her, knocked twice and opened the door.

lay ou .  ,vl oon

As she stepped onto the porch, an elusive memory flickered at the end
of her mind.  She tried to hold on to it.  But its substance was as
flimsy as mist rising across the swamp.

Vance put a hand on her shoulder, urging her forward.  Before she bould
reel in the recollection, she had stepped into the warmth and light of
the little house.  Impressions came to her in stages.  First she was
enveloped by mouth-watering aromas.  Black-eyed peas.  Gumbo.  Shrimp
or crayfish simmering in a rich, spicy sauce.

The sumptuous cooking essence contrasl!  sharply with the setting.  The
room was neatly but sparsely furnished.  Simple wood furniture
brightened by calico pillows and rag rugs.  Everything precisely
placed.

The tiny, white-haired woman sitting in a rocking chair near the window
almost faded into the surroundings.  Her clothing was drab and
monotone, relieved only by the lacy pink shawl draped over her
shoulders.  Her face Was deeply lined.  Wide-set, doelike eyes faltered
and then honed in on

Tess as she took several steps forward.

"Where are your shoes, ma cher

Vance answered for her.  "There's been an accident.  That's why she's
late.  Her car went into the bayou, Tante.  She's wet and cold, and she
needs a bath and a change of clothes."

"a c'est une affaire, ou/!  How did this happen?"

"An accident," Tess repeated.  "My steering wasn't right.  Then a truck
swerved across the road."  She made the explanation brief.

Vance looked at her questioningly.

She shrugged.  "Nothing like that's ever happened before."

"Don't you get the power-stng fluid checked in your fancy 'car?"

"Of course!  I just had it in a few weeks ago and everything was
fine!"

"For truth, the last thing she needs right now is a lecture." Ernestine
stood and shuffled over to her guest.  She reached out, her gnarled
hand colliding with Tess's chest.  "Wet, yes."

Tess stared down at the old woman, realizing for the first time that
the liquid brown eyes were sightless.

Vance was beside his aunt, touching her shoulder.  "You rest yourself.
I'll get Tess what she needs."

"I can rest myself all day if I want, me.  The girl must have a bath,
dry clothes, a good meal, hein?"

Vance grinned.  "You've already spent hours on the meal, you.  Let
someone else take care of the rest."  Without waiting for an answer, he
wrapped his large hand around Tess's arm.

Still not altogether herself, she let him lead her toward the back of
the house.

"How does she manage?"  she Whispered.

"She knows the inside of this house as well as the lines in her own
face."  Vance ushered her into a small bath room and turned on the taps
in an old-fashioned claw-looted tub.  "I'll he right back."

Tess bent to adjust the water taps.  When she straightened, the damp
dress pulled uncomfortably across her shoulders.  Slightly befuddled,
she reached for the zipper at th back.  She'd lowered it about six
inches before she stopped and dropped her arms.  Where was her mind?
She could hardly get undressed before Vance came back.

She was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room when he
reappeared.  A large fluffy towel and several items of women's clothing
were piled in his arms.  After setting them down on a wooden stool in
the corner, he looked at the filling tub, then back at Tess, and she
knew he hadn't missed the exposed skin of her back.

Tess quickly picked up a softly flowered cotton dress from the top of
the pile and unfolded it.  "This doesn't look much like your aunt's."

"It's Lisa's.  She didn't take her old things when she moved to the
city.  You don't mind wearing it, do you?"

"No.  Thanks for offering it."

He gestured toward a pair of thong sandals.  "They may , he a little
big .... "

"They'll he fine."

The water in the tub had almost reached overflow level.  Vance brushed
past her and shut off the taps.  A natural gesture, yet an intimate one
under the circumstances.

Tess's c-yes went to his chest.  She could see the imprint of her body
clearly again the fabric of his blue work shirt.  At least Ernestine
hadn't seen it.

He followed her gaze.  "There's a clean shirt in my old bedroom."

"You lived here?"

"Both of us did.  Me and Lisa," he clarified.  "After our mother
died."

"Oh."

Bcfoc she could pursue the subject, he changed it.  "I tai to Tante.
You're staying here for the night."

"What do you mean?  I can't stay here.  I have to get back home."

"No, you don't.  It's Friday night.  Besides, you can't go anywhere
unless I drive you."

Her chin came up.  "I came out here for an interview with your aunt.  I
didn't expect to find you here.  Are you holding me captive here or
something?"

ayou Moon

"If that's how you want to think about it.  I'm going to do some
investigating before you leave.  At the moment,

this house is the safest place for you.  "

"Why?"

"Because whoever forced your car into the bayou thinks you're dead.  I
presume you noticed they didn't stop to help you out."

The remark sent a shudder up Tess's spine.  When it reached her teeth,
she clamped them together,

He cupped his hands around her shoulders.  "We have to talk about what
happened.  When you're feeling more like yourself."

Earlier in the evening she'd clung to him.  Now she kept her hands
stiffly at her' sides "What do you mean you have to do some
investigating?  We have to call the police."

He snorted.  "This isn't the city with a bright and shiny traffic
division and a homicide division and a burglary division.  The police
out here are Frank Haney or his deputy.  If you want to report this to
them, you'd better forget about the bath.  You can say a passing
motorist picked you up, and I'll drop you off in front of the jail,
because if Haney sees you with me, he's likely to charge you with
reckless driving--or decide I'm the one who ran you off the road

"You can't be serious."  Even as she spoke, her eyes went to the
almost-faded marks on his face.  The marks Haney had put there.  She
knew he had followed her gaze.

"Ou/.  You already know how he deals with scum like me."  His voice was
low and gritty.

"Vance, you're not"

"Okay.  Forget his opinion of me.  The important point is that all he's
going to do is tell you there's nothing to in tayou Moon vestigate.
Unless you happened to get the license of the pickup."  He raised
questioning eyebrows.

"No.  Of course I didn't get the license.  When the truck came at me,
the headlights were in my eyes."

"I thought he was behind you."

"He--he must have turned around and come back," she mutlza, not happy
with the implications.  "But that's not the real issue.  Somebody hit
my car pretty hard.  There may be a p'w, kup with a crumpled fender.
Doesn't Haney care about the law?"

"Only when it suits his purposes.  He cares more about the money he's
getting from Glen Devoe."

"How do you know?"

"All right.  Maybe he's not on the payroll.  But he has to look the
other way if he wants to keep his job."  Vance slipped his hands into
the back pockets of his jeans.  "I'll drive you down there if that's
what you want."

Teas thought the whole thing over for a few moments.  F'many she shook
her head.  "No."

"Then I'!i be out in the front room if you need anything," he said
quietly and left her alone.

Tess clutched a handful of her wet dress and stood staring at the
closed bathroom door.  Once, long ago, she was pretty sum she'd been
outside the bounds of civilized society.  Being there again made her
feel confused and angry and strangely so'ed.

Well, at least she could wash away the bayou mud.  Maybe if she did
that and changed into some clean, dry clothing she'd be able to think
more clearly.  When she'd sunk into the tub, the hot water began to do
its work.  Ten minutes later she was feeling not only clean but
refreshed.  After her bath, she towel-dried her hair and combed it out
as best she could with her fingers.  Then she slipped into the cotton
panties and dress that Vance had brought.  There was no bra.  But Vance
had selected a loose-fitting shift.

Before opening the door, Tess ran some more water, Washed her sopping
dress and underwear, and wrung them out.  She hung them on a wooden
rack by the window.

When she returned to the front of the house, only Ernestine was
present.  Vance's aunt was sitting in the rocker again, facing the
door, her back rigid, as if she were waiting for bad news.  However,
when she heard Tess's light footsteps, she turned and smiled at her
guest.  "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, thanks."

The old woman seemed to be looking at Tess's tangled hair.  Then she
gestured toward a folded towel with a new looking comb and brush.
'"You'll want these."

"I'm all right."

"Go ahead, cher.  !  don't need them, me."

Further protest would be ungracious, Tess realized.  Taking the offered
articles, she returned to the bathroom and worked the snarls out of her
hair.

Tess came back to find Vance closmg the front door af-tel: himgelf.
He'd changed into a white shirt that set off his dark good looks.  Her
eyes followed him as he moved to the kitchen and spoke in a low voice
to his aunt.  She nodded.

After washing his hands, he picked up a steaming plat-lex and set it on
the table.  Ernestine was in the kitchen, too, spooning rice into
another dish.  Taking it in her hands, she turned toward the table. 
"Is the path clear?"  "Yes," Tess answered.

With unhurried assurance, the old woman carried the dish through the
door.

"Where have you been?"  Tess asked Vance.

"Arranging to have your car towed.  A friend of mine will take care of
it in the morning."

"Thank you."

He hesitated for a moment.  "I checked in town for the pickup you
described."

"I guess you didn't find it."

He nodded.

Ernestine had seated herself.  Vance took the chair at the other end of
the table from his aunt and gestured for Tess to sit between them.

"You didn't have to fix all this for me," Tess protested as she served
herself some gumbo and sprinkled rice on top.

"Vance made that gumbo.  The boy, he thinks I'm going to starve if he
doesn't bring me dinner at least once a week.  But I can cook for
myself."

Tess shot Vance a quick ghnce and then dipped her head, sure that no
one but his aunt would dare to call dangerous, hard-bitten Vance
Gautreau a boy.  But it was an obvious mark of affection between the
old woman and

Forking up some chicken smothered in black-eyed peas, Tess chewed and
swallowed.  It was quite different from the Creole dishes her aunt
loved to cook.  But it was equally delicious.  "you're quite a good
cook."

The old woman sat up straighter.  "When I started losin' my s'ht ten
years ago, I was afraid I was go' rag to have to give it up, me.  But
Alphonse, my husband, God rest his soul, he says he isn't goin' to lose
out on the best food along the bayou.  So he fixes the kitchen up--with
everything in is place.  Then he ties a blindfold over my eyes and
stands me up at the chopping' board.  The first time I try to cut up a
chicken, I almost cut my irmger off.  But I

"I don't know if I'd ever he able to do it," Tess murmured.

"You do what you have to, cher.  You can tell most things by the
feel--or the smell.  And if you put them back where they belong when
you're finished with them, that's half the battle.  Cans are the b/g
problem.  But Vance puts big plastic letters on them for me.  T for
tomatoes.  C for

Tess glanced once more at the man sitting comfortably at the head of
the table.  Whatever picture she'd formed of him before, it hadn't
included this kind of loyalty to a blind old woman.

"Alphonse and Ernestine took care of me and Lisa when nobody else gave
a damn,."  he said, as if he had followed her thoughts.  "Alphonse
taught me my trade.  There's no way I'll ever pay back what I owe him
and Tante Ernestine."

"Knowin' you've made something of yourself is all the payback I want,
boy," the old woman said.  She inclined her head toward Tess.  "I keep
telling him to stop wasting his time fixing up this old house.  I can't
see the improvements, anyway."

"But they'll keep you from blowing away in a hurricane."  '

The old woman clicked her tongue.

They ate in silence for several minutes.

"This is almost like the dinners we used to have with you and Lisa,"
Ernestine finally said.

Tess could see at once that Vance didn't like the comparison.

"Tess isn't Lisa.  She doesn't look anything like Lisa," he answered
tightly.

"What does Tess look like, her?"

His eyes swept over their guest.  "Blue eyes.  Dark blond hair.  I
think she's missing her hot rollers right now."

"Is that the best you can do, boy?"

Tess saw Vance swallow.  His gaze came back to her and held.  "She's
very pretty, even when her hair isn't curled.  Her eyes are big.  She's
got thick lashes, but they're paler than they look on TV.  Her face is
delicate.  Her nose is small.  Her lips are soft."

"Soft?"

Teas saw a flush ere el up his neck.  "That's how they look."

"Umm.  Isshe a small woman?"

"I'm five-five.  I weigh 120 pounds.  And I wear mascara on " IV," Tess
cut in sharply.

"Pardon, cher.  You miss so much when you can't see the changes on a
face.  Or the hands move.  So I think I shoot two birds with one bullet
by asking the boy to describe you."

"Shoot which two birds?"  Vance asked.

Eruestine laughed.  "Well, perhaps it's really four birds.  I know
she's pretty.  I know she makes your blood run hot--even though you're
suspicious of her city ways.  I know she doesn't sit back and let a man
take over--or let a blind old lady get away with murder."

Tess flushed scarlet.  But to her surprise, Vance joined in the
laughter.  "And both of us walked right into your line of fire,
Tante."

"We all know one another better, eh?"  the old woman asked.

"Yes," Tess agreed.

Ernestine cleared her throat.  "I like you, Tess Beau-mont.  I'm sorry,
me.  When I ask you out here, I don't know it will put you in
danger."

"Chapter Seven

Tess's blue eyes locked on Vance's dark ones--trying to send him a S'L!
ent message.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eruestine turn her
head slowly from one of them to the other and fought the unsettling
feeling that the old woman could see the communication.

Tess leaned toward her.  "I don't think it has anything to do with you.
On the highway as I was driving out here, a man in a blue truck kept
honking and trying to push me faster.  I think he was the type who'll
go out of his way to teach an annoying woman driver a lesson--if he can
get her alone on an isolated road."

Vance gave Tess an incredulous stare.  She shook her head.  Why let his
aunt think that this was all her fault?

Still address' rag Ernestine, she continued.  "You've known men like
that, haven't you?"

"Oui, ma chef.  Especially poor men who curse tbeir fate and take out
their anger on their women.  It could be true.  But you may need' to
look further.  You come out here to talk to me about Lisa.  Don't you
know her husband guards his business closely?  Others who get in his
way end up in the bayou."

"But be doesn't know I'm poking into his business," Tess argued.  "When
I went to his house, he wasn't home,

tyou Moon and nobody knows I was there.  " She glanced at Vance, trying
to dover if he'd also told his aunt about their meeting in the bushes.
His expression was unreadable.

"Did you let anyone else know I was coming here?"  -' Tess asked
Ernestine.

"Only the boy, him.  And Vance never blabs his business around."

"I know," Tess murmured.

"You say nobody knows about your investigation," Vance cut in.  "Are
you doing it on your own?"

"No.  It's an assignment."  She lifted her chin.  "I could have ducked
it if I'd wanted."

"So your boss knows about it."

"And everybody else at the senior staff planning meeting, but none of
them wants to hurt" -- She stopped abruptly.

"Which one wants you out of the picture?"  Vance asked quietly.  From
the way his dark eyes bore into hers, she suspected he was thinking
about their conversation the night she'd found the cassette on top of
the.  shelves in the library.

"I wouldn't put it exactly like that."

"How would you put it?"

"There's another field reporter I've'had some friction with.  He's
angry about a woman getting the good assignments."

"His name?"  Vance prompted.

"Roger Dallas.  In his mind, he's set up a competition between the two
of us.  He wants the weekend anchor job.  As far as I'm concerned, he
can have it."

"How dangerous is he?"

Tess turned her spoon over and over as she considered the
answer--thinking about the times recently when she'd thought someone
was poking through her office--or listening in the hall.  "I assumed he
wanted to intimidate me--or get the edge on me if he could.  I didn't
think he'd try anything--physical.  And there's no proof it was him. 
It was dark.  I couldn't see anything but lights coming toward me."

"Maybe we can get some proof.  Starting in the morning when Lonnie
hauls your car out of the bayou."

Tess nodded, unsure what to say.  More than likely there would be no
way to connect Roger to the hit and run.  But every time she saw him
now, she was going to wonder.

"Drop the investigation."  Vance's hard voice broke into her thoughts.
It was the third time he'd warned her off.  What had he said about bad
luck coming in threes?

"Is that why you wanted to be here?  To persuade me to forget about
it?"

"I'm here to find out what Ernestine thinks she knows--and how much
trouble it's going to get her into."

The old woman tipped her head to one side.  "I learned how to stay out
of trouble years ago.  Not like some."  She stopped abruptly, and her
blind eyes seemed to search her visitor's face.

A chill moved over Tess's skin, as if a cool wind had suddenly swept
across the room "What is it?"  she asked.

"R/en.  Nothing.  Something from long ago just touched me.  Before
Lisa.  It's ofno importance now."

Before Tess could pursue the subject, Ernestine pushed back her chair.
"Let me get the dessert.  I have a bread pudding that shouldn't go to
waste."

"This is a woman who knows how to change the subject when she wants
to," Vance observed.  "Did you make this bread pudding for me or
her?"

"For our guest, of course."

"But I hope you remembered the way I like it," Vance teased.

"With lots of sugar and cream and raisins and nice crusty bread,
hein?"

Ernestine knew a lot more than how to change the subject, Tess thought.
She knew how to step in and bring the tension down a notch or two, as
well.

While the old woman got the pudding and made strong, chicory-laced
coffee, Tess cleared the table and Vance put the food away.

"You don't have to stir yourselves.  Come back and sit down," their
hostess called as she wails!  for them to finish.

"We'll be with you in a minute," Vance told her.

"She didn't need to go to all this trouble for me," Tess whispered.

"She loves it.  Ask for her recipes and you'll top off her day."

For a few moments they all enjoyed the rich dessert and the strong
coffee.  And Tess did ask for some pointers on the dishes she'd enjoyed
most.

Finally Ernestine wiped her lips with her napkin.  "I know you came
here to talk about Lisa.  Thank you for indulging me."

"You have to wait for the right time for some things," Tess murmured.

Ernestine smiled at her.  "Ah.  The good God gave you wisdom."  Then
she settled back in her chair.  "The thing you must understand is that
Lisa baled being poor.  And she hated people around her calling her
names.  They both hal!  that."

Tess looked from the old woman to the man at the end of the table,
remembering their recent conversation about the sheriff and their first
meeting, at the jail.  She'd been afraid of Vance then.  Despite the
relaxed atmosphere Er-nesfine had tried to create, the fear was still
there.  No, it

Was a different kind of fear.  Yet she felt as if some of the old
woman's courage had rubbed off on her.  "They called you names?"  she
asked Vance softly.

"Un salaud.  Bastard, mostly," he tossed out.  "Why not?  It was true,
and kids like to taunt one another with the truth.  Jacqueline got
pregnant with me when she went to work in the city.  When she told her
lover, he Wouldn't take any responsibility, so she came home to have
the baby.  Then he changed his mind and felt guilty about her or
something and brought her back to town.  He didn't want me, so I stayed
here with Ernestine and Alphonse.  She made the mistake of getting
pregnant again a couple of years later.  I guess it was too much for
him.  I gather he made things unpleasant enough so that she came
slinking back here for good.  The three of us lived together for a
while--a couple of miles down the bayou.  But she was never very well."
His face contorted.  "No, let's not pretty it up.  She was drunk almost
every evening.  Most of her income she earned lying on her back. So you
see where people like Sheriff Haney get their opinion of me."

"You didn't do anything."

"Actually, I did.  As long as you're going to be called names, you
might as well live up to then."

"He wasn't a bad boy," Ernestine broke in.  "He just ran a little
wild."

Tess stared at Vance.  He'd called his mother by her first name, as if
they weren't even related, and he'd tossed off the account of his early
life in fiat, unemotional tones.  However, he'd watched her carefully
as he spoke.

The story made her chest tigh len but she knew he didn't want her pity.
"How old were you when your mother died?"

"Eleven.  It was better, really, with her gone.  Ernestine and Alphonse
took ns in.  For a few years, I hated Ai oayou Moon phonse.  He was
pretty strict with me.  No more staying out all night--or stealing beer
from the back room at the Paradise cafe or raiding fishermen's traps.
But discipline was what I needed, and later I realized he was doing it
out of love.  Both of them were more loving parents than either one of
mine ever was."

The old wOman reached out and fumbled for his hand.  Vance took it and
squeezed.  "They were poor, but they shared what they had with us," he
said.  "Alphonse taught me to' work with wood.  That was a priceless
gift.  Mayhe that's why I started to settle down.  Because I saw I
could accomplish something."

No one spoke for several moments.

"It's late," Vance finally muttered.  "You should go to bed now,
Tante."

"Yes.  But first I have to tell Tess one more thing.  Lisa's story is"
-- She stopped and fumbled for the fight word.  "Complicated.  She was
fragile.  More fragile than the boy.  And she remade the world to suit
herself."

"How do you mean?"  Tess asked.  "She told herself stories.  About how
she wished her life was.  And aflex a time I think she believed them.
When she met Glen Devoe, she was living in the city--pretending that
Vance and Alphome and her mother and me were no more real than swamp
mist.  She wiped us out of existence and spun him a bunch of fairy
stories about where she came from, and he believed her.  She was so
pretty.  And a good talker."

Tess looked from Vance to his aunt and saw the anguish etched on both
faces.  Whatever she'd expected to hear, it hadn't been this.  "Lisa
hurt both of you terribly.  But you both still loved her."

"Yes.  Even after she tells us to stay away from her so she won't be
dragged down to our level," Ernestine said.

"My God."

"Then sOmebody ripped the fairy story to shreds.  At least for her,"
Vance gral!  "Somebody dragged her through the mud.  Humiliated her.
Raped her.  Or she could have made it up for some reason of her own.
Maybe it was because her marriage had gone bad.  Mayhe she thought if
he felt sorry for her, Ioe would love her again.  Or it could be she
was trying to deal with something else that somebody doesn't want us to
know about."  He ran his fingers through his hair.  "The devil of it
is, I don't know what to think anymore."

"When I watched the videotape of the show, I knew she wasn't eiling the
whole truth," Tess admitted.  "But I don't have any more facts than you
do.  I was hoping you could fill in the blanks.  One thing I don't
understand.  If she wanted a place for herself, if she wanted to
pretend she was a different person, why didn't she use her husband's
name?"

"She did," Vance answered.  "Then, on the TV show, she was suddenly
Lisa G-autreau again."

Ernestine shook her head.  "There's so much we don't understand.  You
comfort yourself as best you can.  She had our love, her.  All she had
to do to get our help was ask.  But she was too proud to let us share
the burden."

"Or too frighlmed," Vance graaM.  "Or maybe she thought we wouldn't
stand by her anymore.  Maybe she thought we hmxi her."

None of them had any real answers.  Silence reigned in the little room.
Finally the old woman scraped back her chair.  "I am tired.  If you
want to know more, we can talk again in the morning."

It was obvious that discussing Lisa had taken a lot out of Ernestine.
Strangely, it had taken a lot out of Tess, too.  "Yes," she agreed.
"Let's continue in-the morning."

Ptnnn cot.  Y on his cigar, Desmond LeRoy strolled to the sliding glass
window of his twelfth-story condo and looked over the black velvet
expanse of the Mississippi.  Upriver, jewels glistened against the
velvet--the lights of a barge as it made its slow way up toward St.
Louis.  He could imagine the crew in the lounge, honest, hard-working
men.  They were relaxing now, drinking of soda, eyes fixed on the
television set.  KEFT, of course.

He glanced at the gold Rolex on his wrist.  Eight-thirty.  So they'd be
watching Shoot to Kill.

He pivoted, sweeping his arm in a semicircle like a king surveying his
domain, following the broad movement with his gaze.

He'd been through some tough times, and not so long ago, either.  He'd
even made a couple of mistakes along the way.  But that was all behind
him.  Now he only had to look to the future.

He couldn't see the station's transmission tower.  But he knew it was
out there in the dark--beaming the KEFT signal in a wide circle like
rays from the torch held aloft by the Statue of Liberty.  Like they
used to show on the old RKD news.  Or did he have that mixed up?

How many of the ordinary people out there were watching?  Thanks to
Larry and Brad and Chris and the news team, more and more of them were
tuning in.

The thought of all the common folk turned toward the flickering light
of the TV, all watching his station, brought 'a warm glow to his chest.
He let it build, let the pleasure grow and swell.  At first it was very
sweet.  Gratifying.  Like the rush from a line of good coke.  Only
better.  Then the pressure started to balloon--until it was wedged
against his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

Triumph expanded into fear.

People came at you with plans and propositions.  But somewhere along
the line, if you weren't careful, you lost control.  Events could
compel you forward.  And you knew you were the one who was going to be
sitting up the creek in the wire canoe if it all went bad.

He puffed rapidly in and out on his cigar.  The nicotine helped.  Like
Larry said, you had to take chances for ratings-for the station.  It
was worth the whole game if you won.  Market shares got you commercial
bucks.  Money got you power.  Respect.  Security.  The things he'd
wanted--needed--all his life.

IT WASN'T EASY FOR TESS to get to sleep.  She had come here for
information about Lisa.  As she lay in the narrow bed in her borrowed
white nightdress, she wished she could make sense of the story
Ernestine had told her.  But she'd never' met Lisa, and her mind kept
straying away from the troubled young woman to her brother and how it
must have been for him growing up.  A father who didn't care.  A mother
who'd abandoned him and then come back to her hometown to lick her
wounds.  It was a pretty good bet Jacqueline Gautreau had taken out her
frustration on her children.  Probably she'd even made them think they
were the cause of her misery.  What did that do to a child?  Well, she
knew what it had done to Vance.  It had made him bitter and reckless;
Maybe he'd even been headed for prison until Alphonse and Ernestine
took him in hand.  That had been a stroke of luck.  But had it come
soon enough?

Tess squeezed her eyes closed.  When she tried to imagine what
Vance--and Lisa--had to overcome, she shud Then she drew up her knees
under the covers.  Really, they'd talked more about Vance tonight than
about Lisa.  And Ernestine had made sure the conversation had gone in
that direction--as if she'd wanted the eager reporter to have a better
understanding of "the boy."

Well, it had worked.  She did have a much better idea of what drove
Vance Gautreau.  Unfortunately, thinking about his childhood had an
unsettling effect on her.  Not simply because she ached for what he'd
endured, but also because somehow the talk around the dinner table had
brought back an echo of her own dim past.  It was like distant music
vaguely heard.  The notes failed to generate any concrete images.  Only
shadows flickering in her mind

She suspected the echo also had to do with the place where she was
spending the night.  The low wooden house.  The narrow, lumpy bed.  The
night-blooming aura of the swamp all around her.  Rich and loamy.  So
far away from the famHiarity of the city where she'd lived all these
years.  And far away from the problems of KEFT.

The air was hot and sticky.  Still Tess scrunched down in the bed and
pulled the worn quilt up to her chin--as if she were a child trying to
hide from monsters.

She knew the reaction was irrational.  She should be safe here.  In
Ernes Achord's little house.  With a woman her, you could believe in
the fundamental goodness of humanity.  Yet outside in the dark, some
sort of doom seemed to hover.  This was a land of violence.  Not just
nature's violence.  Man's violence.  Bad things happened out in the
swamp beyond the reaches of civilization.  Thi?  she didn't want to
think about.

Perhaps it was hours later when Tess awoke.  Or perhaps she wasn't
really awake--but in some strange state between sleep and
consciousness.  Still, she knew what had made her sit up in bed with
the skin on her arms prickling and her pulse pounding at her leto pies
She heard his voice.  The leader.  He had brought the monsters.  Her
body began to tremble uncontrollably.  They were here again--in this
house at the edge of the swamp.

Huddling under the covers with only her eyes showing, Tess peered into
the darkness, her heart thumping painfully against her ribs.  Tonight
she couldn't see their shapes, but she could hear their booted feet and
their raspy whispers, as if they were talking urgently and trying not
to wake her up.  Straining her ears, she heard one speak her name.

The whispers grew lower.  Or were they receding?  Did she hear a car
starting?  She was too frightened and confused to tell.  The only thing
she was sure of was that this time she wouldn't wait for the front door
to splinter.  This time she wouldn't wait for the evil coming to hurt
Momma--and her.

"MOMMA.  I'M FRIGHTENED, Momma."

Perhaps she hadn't even spoken aloud.  But there was no answer.  Once
again she was defenseless, alone.  Once again, she SUrrendered to a
small child's blind terror.  Get away.  Before they got to her, too.

In the dreamlike mist, the window seemed to float in front of her.
Momma had told her.  if the monsters ever came, she might have to get
out that way.  Now it was impossibly far away.

Boards creaked as she tiptoed furtively across the floor.  Had they
heard?  Quickly, she thrust the groaning sash up.  This time it wasn't
such a long fall to the ground.  But the hem of her nightgown caught on
the rough wood, and she heard it rip.

Heart pounding, she stood gasping in lungfuls of the damp night air.
Then, blinking in confusion, she stared up at the moon.  It was pale
and waning.  Wrong.  All wrong.  But it gave enough light so that she
could make out the shapes of trees in the inky blackness.

Did that mean the monsters could see her?

With a little cry of dismay, she star to run through the thick, wet
underbrush.

"Cher.  No.  It's dangerous out there.  Come back."

A woman's voice.  Momma?  Was momma calling her?  No.  Momma had told
her to run.  It must be a trick.  A trick so they could grab her.

Insects buzzed around her face.  Night creatures slithered through the
rank weeds and snatched at her feet.  Holding the sobs in the back of
her throat, she moved in a frenzied zigzag path, trying to avoid them.
She had to get away.  Or they were going to grab her and do it to her,
too.  " The temple thing that started with Momma's scream.

Confused, she shook her head.  Had she heard Momma scream?  Or was that
long ago?

"Tess.  An,it, pour l'amour de Dieu.  In the name of God, wait.
Tess."

She stopped--hesitated, confused and uncertain.  "Don't another step.
There's quicksand out there"

Vance.  Vance's voice reached out to her, cutting through her lm'ror
and confusion.

Shaking her head, she tried to clear away the broken cobwebs of the
dream.  Tried to sort the present from the past.  What was Vance doing
here?  In the swamp with her and Momma.  No, not with her and Momma.
With his

He was still talking, his words slow and reassuring.  Turning, she
stood still as a statue.  "That's right.  Don't move."  She heard the
relief in his voice.

He was moving swiftly toward her, shirtless, wearing only a pair of
jeans.  She could hear the mud sucking at his feet, the breath slicing
in and out of his lungs.  He had al tayou Moon most reached her.  Only
fifty feet of smooth, flat ground separated them.

And then something happened.  Cursing, crying out in surprise, he went
down through the brown surface.

"Vance!"  Tess screamed his name as she saw his legs disappear,
screamed again as she saw the thick mud sucking at him like a huge,
hungry mouth opening in the ground.

She was still disoriented--still unable to completely throw off the
dream.  But there was one certainty in the wildly tipping universe. 
She had to get to him before the mud swallowed him whole.

"Vance.  Oh, God, Vance."

His arm came up, waving her frantically away.  As he thrashed, he sank
lower into the goop.  "Quicksand.  Stay back."

The harsh command in his voice and the sudden terrible knowledge that
she was making things worse stopped Tess in her tracks.  Still, she had
to reach him.

Heart in her throat, she got down low on the ground and very carefully
edged toward him, stretching out her hand.  "Tess.  Pour l'amour de
Dieu, non."  "But you"

"Please.  Don't come any closer."

She stopped moving and heard him let out the breath he'd been
holding.

His voice was pitched low, meant to reassure.  "When you're in the
swamp a lot, you learn how to survive.  I know how to float in this
stuff.  You just have to relax and pretend it's water.  You can even
swim out sometimes."

Was he lying?  Trying to keep her from panicking?  Crouching down, she
looked again and saw that his bare arms were spread wide on the surface
of the sticky mud.

"You- you're floating."  '

"Ou/.  I told you."

"How long can you do that?"

"A long time, if I'm careful.  But the edge of the pit is unstable.
That's why I went in.  And if I try to pull roy serf up, it's going to
crumble.,"

"I have to get you out."  Wildly, she looked around for a rescue line
and saw nothing.

"We can do it ff we work together."  She saw his vision draw inward as
he concentrated.  "I left a pile of lumber beside the house."

"I saw it!"

"Get one of the boards."

Before he finis!  led she had already turned and started running back
the way she had come.

She heard Ernestine calling anxiously from the window.  "Vance?  Tess?
Tell roe what happening out there."

"Nothing.  We're all right," Vance answered in French.  "Please.  What
is it?"

"We're all right," Tess repeated as she pulled a two-by-four from the
edge of the pile.  "Don't come out.  We'll he back in a few minutes."
And pray Ood it's true, she added s' nt y.

The lumber was heavy, but she dragged it back across the rough ground
toward the swamp.  When she returned to the pit, Vance was still
floating near the top, and he'd moved closer to the edge.  But now his
expression was doubtful as he eyed the board.  "With all this mud
dragging me down, I'm too heavy."

Teas's mind streaked back to the pile of building mate rials.  "The
foundation blocks.  We can use the foundation blocks."  She dropped the
board and was off again in the

The concrete was far heavier than she'd thought, and she could hardly
manage.  But she gritted her teeth, hoisted one of the large blocks
into her arms and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the
other. Finally she dropped it on the ground and stood swaying and
panting beside the pit.

"Are you all right?"  Vance called out urgently.

She didn't spare the breath to ask him the same question.  Nor did she
let panic swallow her up.  He had sunk lower.  But his arms were still
spread across the top of the mud.

"You look like a ghost in the night.  A ghost wielding a big stick," he
said.

"I hope I'm more help than that."

"You are."

He waited while she slid the board toward him, but he didn't grab hold.
"Will it go through the hole in the block?"  he called.

Tess inspected the rectangle and the hole rulaning through the middle.
Maneuvering the block to the end of the board, she jammed the wood into
the opening.  It was a tight fit--which made the whole thing an
excellent anchor.

"Sit on it," Vance called.  "Hold it down:'

A he moved to grasp the wood, the mud gave a slurping noise, and he
settled even lower in the thick goop.  She heard him curse.

Pressing herself down with all the strength in her slender body, Teas
held her breath as Vance fought to lever himself out of the deadly
trap.

The thick goop was reluctant to yield up its newfound

Tess wanted to scream in frustration.  She forced the sound back down
into her cheat.  The last thing she wanted to do was let Vance see how
frightened she was.  Instead,

she clenched her fingers around the block and prayed silently.

Vance was panting now, and she realized with a terrible catch in her
throat that the mud must be compressing his lungs.  Hardly able to
breathe herself, she watched him struggle and finally gain several
inches of freedom.

He was dragging air into his lungs in painful gasps now.  In the
moonlight, his face was flushed and ghstening with perspiration.  With
strong hands, he grasped the wood.  His mouth set in a grim line, he
strained upward, hauling him.  f up the board by brute force.

Tess offenxi silent thanks as she saw his chest come free.  He was
getting out.  He was going to make it.  Then in the next second, the
sod at the edge of the pit gave way and the makeshift lifeline dropped.
With a curse, Vance lost the ground he'd gained and sank back into the
muck.

Chapter Eight

After a terrible moment of uncertainty, the board stabilized.  Tess
could hardly bear to watch.  Yet she couldn't bear not to.  Her eyes
remained glued to Vance's straining hands and his set features.  Inch
by inch he hauled him.  lf upward, regaining the ground he'd lost.
Then, with a mighty heave and a growl, he flopped onto solid earth.

At the same time, the pressure broke and Tess tumbled backward with a
lit He shriek of surprise.  Vance was beside her, pulling her up.

Are you all right?  Are you hurt?  "

They both asked the questions simultaneously.  Her arms went around
him, and all the anguish and fear she'd been struggling to hold back
whooshed out of her.  She was half sobbing, half laughing
hysterically.

"Chef.  It's all right, chef."  He pulled her to a sitting position,
holding her, rocking her.

For several frantic heartbeats she clung to him, and he held her as if
he might never let her go again.  She wanted to stay there in his arms,
but there was someone else they had to consider.  "Ernestine.  She
knows we're out here.  She knows there's something wrong, and she's
worded."

"Ou/, she came into the bedroom to tell me you were gone.  She must
have been frantic," Vance agreed as he helped Tess up.  They v,re both
covered with mud.  "What a mess," he muttered, sliding his hand down
his body and flipping a clump of muck onto the ground.

Somehow that broke the tension, and Tess started to giggle.  "I think
it's just mud," she managed.  "At least it just smells like mud."

He threw back his head and joined in, letting the laughter carry away
some of his own tension.

"Come on, we'd better go," he said.

She looked down at his bare feet.  "Your boots!  You lost

"NotI didn't wear them.  They're still beside my bedY As they
approached the house, ss spotted Ernestine standing on the porch.  One
hand grasped the front opening of a faded robe.  The other gripped the
wooden rail in front of her.  Her blind eyes Were turned anxiously
toward the swamp.  Seeing her made Tess quicken her step.

She heard them coming.

"Vance.  Tess.  Pour l'amour de Dieu.  Are you all rigi!t?  What
happened?"  The apprehensive questions reached into the darkness.

Vance covered his aunt's hand with his own.  "We're fine.  Just muddy,"
he answered in French.

Ernestine's free hand slid over his bare chest, and she gasped in a
sharp breath.  "You were in the quicksand.  For truth."

"I'm fine."

Teas gulped.  "It's my fault.  I--I thought someone was in the house.
Men."

"There were men.  Friends of Vance who heard about the two of you out
on the road They found the car and wanted to know what happened."

"I think I made them part of a nightmare."  "

The old woman tipped her head to one side.  "I heard you get up and
jump out the window, chef."

"It--it was a stupid thing to do.  I'm sorry I caused so moch trouble.
I can't explain it .... " Her voice trailed off as she saw Vance
watching her dosely.

God, what a mess she'd made of things.  Including ab most getting Vance
killed.  He was waiting patiently to hear why she'd been such an idiot,
and there was nothing she could say that anyone would understand.  How
could she explain how the house and the swamp and the trauma of the
evening had transformed her into a frightened little girl?  How could
she explain something she didn't really understand

"Go get cicaned up.  You'll fl better," he said.

"Yes.  Thanks."  With a quick nod, she mounted the porch stqs. Stopping
in her room, she snatched up the light cotton dress she'd worn earlier.
Then she closed the bathroom door and stripped off the ruined
nightgown.  For the second time that evening, she spped into the tub
and turned the hot water on full blast.  Vance was in much worse shape
than she, and she knew she should have let him go first.  But now that
she was alone, all she wanxt to do was get clean and disappear.  If
she'd had her car, she would have driven back to the city.  That,
however, was impossible.  She was trapped here, and she was going to
have to make the best of it.

Tess was back in the bedroom with the door firmly closed in less than
ten minutes.  There was no lock on the door.  She wished there were.

Mter slipping on the cotton shift she'd worn earlier, she.  stood in
front of the window toweling her hair dry, putting a lot of effort into
the vigorous rubbing because that was better than letting herself
think.  The terror had been with her so long, and she had never
confronted it, not even with Aunt Pauline when she'd wakened screaming
in the night.  She couldn't start now.

Aflr finishing her hair, she began to listen for signs of other
activity in the house.  She heard the bathroom door open again.  A few
moments later, the water began to run.

Tess lay lsely in bed as the shower cut off again.  Then, her ears
tuned, she followed Vance's progress as he moved around the darlcened
little house.  For frozen minutes she waili for him to return to his
own room.  He didn't.

As she sensed rather than heard the knob on the bedroom door turn, Tess
burrowed down into the protection of the covers once more.  Eyes
closed, she detected only the sound of her own ragged breathing.  But
she felt Vance watching her.  Maybe he just wanted to make sure she was
all right.  Mayhe he'd go away.

She let some of the tension ease from her body when the door closed
again.  But the relief came too soon.  In the next second she heard him
striding across the worn cypress boards toward the bed where she lay
huddled.

One large hand pulled the covers away from.  her face.  Then he brought
his mouth down close to her ear, "I know you're only playing possum."

She stared up at him through a screen of lashes.  His hair was still
wet from the shower.  And his fresh shirt was haft unbuttoned.  The
combination was incredibly sexy, although she suspected he'd simply
been in too much of a hurry to bother with such niceties.

When Teas didn't respond to his comment, he threw the covers all the
way off and hauled her to a sitting position, pressing her backward
against the pillows.

"Vance, please."

His expression was half regretful, half stern.  "I can see you'd rather
avoid me, cher.  But I assure you, we're going to talk.  maintenance.
Now.  And someplace where we won't disturb Tante.  She's had enough
excitement for one evening."

So.  had everybody else, Tess thought.  But Vance's hand was a sl.  l
cuff around her wrist as he helped her off the bed.  Knowing that if
she made any noise, Eruestine would come to investigate, Teas let him
lead her quietly to the front of the house, out the door, and down an
overgrown path that took them to a mall' three-sided shed.

The miing wall was open to the bayou and to the moonlight.  Tess shrank
away from the light, away from the dark glow of Vance's eyes.

"Alphouse used to store some of his equipment here.  And thi.is where
he used to bring me when I'd done something wrong."  He jerked his head
toward the wide length of leather that still hung on a nail in the
wall.  "He'd hold on to me with one huge hand and take down the strap

"He beat you with that thing?"  Tess quavered.

"For my own good."

' "But you were just a boy."

"A very angry, undisciplined one.  Alphome used to say, " I'm taking
the boy out to the shed," and Ernestine's face would go white.  But she
didn't stop him.  Later, she'd make sure we had one of my favor he
dishes at dinner."  He shook his head.  "I don't know why I'm telling
you any of this.  We're not he to talk about my childhood.  We're here
to talk about yours?"

Tess pressed her lips together.  She didn't want to ex-plain-she didn't
know how to describe--what had happened to her.  And she didn't want
him to see the moisture gathering in her eyes, threatening to spill
over the rims.  Her head was bowed and her face was turned slightly
away from him--which was only one of the reasons that the gentle tOuch
of his strong, masculine hands on her shoul ttayou Moon ders took her
by surprise.  Gently, he turned her toward him.

As he gazed down at her, she realized he had the ability to confuse her
as no other man had.  She'd thought he was angry when he brought her
out here, but his face displayed a more tender emotion.  When he spoke,
his voice was raw.  "I didn't ask for this, cher," he muttered.  "Ask
for what?"  Tess whispered.

"To care about someone like you.  To care about someone I don't
understand."

She hadn't asked for it, either.  She hadn't even wanted to come
outside with him.  Still, she felt something warm and vibrant unfurling
inside her chest.  Rising on tiptoe, she brushed her lips lightly
against his.  "Someone like me?  '

He drew in a quick breath and his hands clenched at his sides.  "A
woman from the city--where they use people like me and throw us
away."

"Like your father did with your mother?"

"And Lisa's husband?"

"I'm not like them."

"I know."  He stared down at her as if he weren't quite sure she was
real.  "I saw how scared you looked when I was thrashing in that muck.
You ran back as fast as you could and dragged that board over.  And the
concrete block.  It was too heavy for you.  But you did that for me."
His face became grim.  "I shouldn't have asked.  I could have sucked
you down into the 'quicksand with me."

Tess shook her head quickly; "I wasn't thinking about that.  I was
remembering everything I'd heard about people who never came out of the
swamp.  I was worried about getting you out of that pit."

She felt her heart thumping against her ribs again, and a fine tremor
skittered through her body.  This time she knew it wasn't terror that
she felt.

"Tess" -- His mouth brushed hers with the same light touch she'd
used.

She moved a fraction of an inch closer, but still only their mouths
touched.  They nibbled at each other's lips, drank in each other's
breath, deepening the kis by slow, sensuous degrees.  The moist warmth
of the night surrounded them.  The warmth of excited discovery flowed
between them.  It was fueled by the danger, the fear, the awareness of
each other that had been building between them s'nice the moment they'd
met.

They were a man and a woman asking questions, seeing answers, in the
only way they could.  More tremors swept over her.  He drank them
eagerly from her lips.  Then he murmured something low and sensual as
his arms lifll to gather her close.  Abruptly they changed their
mission and h hands came down gently on her shoulders.

"Non.  I'm not going to take advantage of you like this."  His voice
was raw, as if it had been ltered through ground

Tess blinked.

"You're not... I want..."

"Cher, I know you'd rather do anything else than talk about what
happened before you jumped out the window."

She nodded almost imperceptibly.

His thumb stroked over her lips and he gazed down into her upturned
face.  "You did something very brave for me.  Don't be a coward when it
comes to yourself."

Tess swallowed painfully.

IJayot MOO

"I understand why you didn't want to say anything when we came back
from the swamp.  But let me help you.  Whatever it is, don't lock it
inside of yourself.  I did that once.  It almost destroyed me."  His
hand tightened on her shoulder.  " " You need to talk--while the memory
is fresh.  "

Wordlessly, she searched his face.  It would have been a lot easier for
him to let the whole thing go.  Yet here he was, pressing her to
unburden herself.

"I don't know how to start," she whispered.

"Just do it.  Starting is always the hardest part."

She sucked in a steadying draft of the humid air.  "I--I--told you.  A
nightmare.  From being out here.  Surrounded by the swamp.  And the men
in the house."  She waited tensely for some sign of derision.  He only
smiled down at her reassuringly.

"Does this happen to you often?"  be asked.

"No.  Not for years.  Well, sometimes," she amended.  "Usually when the
moon is full.  Like the night I got you out of jail."

"You had a nightmare like this one then?"

"Yes.  When I went to bed."  "What happens in these dreams?"

She could feel the cold sweat blooming on her skin, but she forced
herself to go on.  "When I was a little girl, my mother and I lived out
here," she began in a quivering voice.

"Ici?  Here?"  She heard the incredulity in his voice.  "Not Savannah
Bayou.  At least, I don't think so.  But somewhere out in the bayou
country where the roads are narrow and the trees press in on either
side and Spanish moss reaches down for you like--like--witches'
fingers."

"An interesting description."

She shrugged.  "I don't know the exact place.  I don't remember much.
We had a little honse--something like

Ernestine's.  With a pOrch.  I remember that.  I haven't thought about
it in years.  I haven't talked about it.  But when I stepped onto
Ernestine's front pOrch, some of the memories came back.  "

He drew his arm around her shoulder and led her to a bench along the
wall.  They both sat down.  "It was very bad?  You hated it out
here?"

"Oh, no.  Not at first.  When I think about life before the city, ifs
like a dream.  Or maybe a story in a book.  Anyway, it's like something
that happened to another little girl.  And I can't be sure about what's
real."  She gave him an anxious glance.  "Do you understand what I
mean?"

"Not exactly."

"Maybe it's the opposite of how it was with Lisa.  The story is there
in my mind, but I'm not completely sure how it goes."

He nodded.

Vance was right' Once she started, Tess found that the need to keep
talking was like a painful pressure inside her chest.  "I--I--don't
remember much about my mother.  But we were happy.  And she was good to
me."  Her eyes were unfocused, as if she were looking into the past.
"We used to go out in the swamp gathering plants.  Momma had a flat
wicker basket with a handle.  She used to bring the leaves back and dry
them.  Sometimes they hung from the ceiling in bunches.  I liked the
way some of them smelled.  Others were nasty."

Vance was listening with great attention.  "There are plants in the
swamp you can eat.  And herbs some people use for home remedies."

"I think we did eat some of the things that we picked.  And I remember
Momma brewing up medicines when I was sick.  And spring tonic."  Tess's
voice took on a wistful quality.  "Now that I'm telling you, little
things are

 n popping into my head.  We'd go trapping crayfish.  And then she'd
have a big pot of them steaming on the front of the stove.  She used to
hang out laundry in the sunshine.  " Another strong image came to her.
" And she'd spend a lot of time sitting at the kitchen table typing on
an old battered portable typewriter.  At night, she'd cuddle beside me
in bed and read me a story before I went to sleep.  " Suddenly Tess
shuddered.

"Was there something frightening about the stories?"

"No.  Nothing like that.  I loved the stories.  I used to try to make
her keep reading."  She took her bottom lip between her teeth.  "Part
of the reason I wanted to keep her there was because I was scared after
she'd tucked me in bed and gone away.  I was afraid of the night.
People used to come to the house after dark.  I'd hear them in the
front room with Momma."

Vance's eyes turned hard, and the set of his jaw was rigid.  Standing
up, he crossed to the open wall of the shed and stood staring out at
the surface of the water.  All at once Tess knew she'd made him think
about his own childhood.

She got up off the bench, crossed the space between them, and gently
touched his shot rider "What I just said.

I--I--guess it made you remember about your mother.  " He didn't
answer.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

His answer was sharp and instantaneous.  "I don't want you to feel
sorry for me!"

"Vance, I don't.  Not in the way you mean.  Not for the man you are
now.  You've proved how strong you are--how much you can accomplish.
You don't have to prove anything more to me."  She met his gaze
squarely.  "It's too bad your mother never knew that her son was solid
and competent and very well equipped to take care of himself in the
world."

"She wouldn't have cared."

"You can't know that.  Perhaps she would.  Maybe it would have made her
feel better about her own life."  Vance shrugged.

"She must have been like every other girl once.  With hopes and dreams
for the future.  She made some terribly wrong choices, and her life
turned into a mess.  I expect she felt frightened--and angry--and
couldn't cope.  The worst tragedy is that she couldn't give her
children what they

Vance remained s'fient for several moments.  "I never thought about it
like that," he finally said, pressing his fingers over the hand that
still rested against his shoulder.  "You've risen above a very bad
start in life."

"I had help.  From Alphonse and Ernestine.  He wasn't actually my
uncle.  A cous'm, really.  He didn't have to take us in, but he and his
wife did."

'

"Don't minimize what you've done for yourself."  He looked bemused. "We
came out here because I knew you needed to talk about yomelf."

Tess laughed.  "I guess I find you more interesting."

"With me it's the other way around."  He folded his fingers around hers
and brought her knuckles to his liPs.  "You're probably exhausted."

Before her courage failed, she went on.  "Yes, but we kind of got off
on a sidetrack, and I'd like to tell you about the dream--if you still
want to hear it."

"I shouldn't have tried to force you.  I'm the last man with the right
'to make you talk about painful memories."

"I want to--now.  While I can reach out and connect with it."  She
gulped.  "While you're here, and it's not so scary."

tayou oon

He came around to stand in back of Tess, folded his arms around her and
pulled her tightly against him.  She found it was easier to talk that
way.  Leaning her head against his shoulder, she closed her eyes.

"I guess I knew that something was happening--something was different.
My mother looked pale.  She didn't tell me, but I knew she was afraid.
We didn't go out so much.  At night, she'd lock the door and pull the
curtains closed.  And she showed me how to get out the back window--if
anything happened."  A peppering of goose bumps rose on her skin.
Vance's hands strok her arms until the shivering stopped.  Then his
fingers locked with hers again.  "Your mother was expecting trouble."

"Yes.  That must be true.  And then the monsters came.

In the dark.  When the moon was full.  "

"Monsters?"

"Not really.  That's how I've always thought of them.  Now that I'm
grown up, I know they were men.  And one of them was the leader.  He
brought thereto hurt Momma.  And me."

"But you got away."

"Out the window, the way she'd told me.  And then I was running through
the swamp."

He shuddered.  "There are snakes out there.  Alligators.  Quicksand.
You could have been killed."

Tess couldn't stop her body from trembling again.  "I know.  Things
snatched at my legs.  V'mes, I suppose.  And every rustle in the grass
was an alligator coming to eat me.  Then I went into the water.  It was
like tonight.  With the car.  Only I couldn't have saved' myself back
then."

Vance pulled her more tightly against himself, his arms enfolding her
prootively.  "What happened?  How did you get out of the water?"

"Somebody fished me out.  A man.  He saved my life."

"Who?"

"I don't know who it was.  I just know he was kind.  He was singing to
me.  In French.  A lullaby.  Maybe he was a trapper.  He dried me off
and took me home, I think.  And tucked me in bed.  I don't remember
much of what happened after that.  Except that my Aunt Pauline came to
get me.  She took me home with her to the city."

"And she didn't say anything to you about what happened?"

"She never talked about it.  Somehow I knew, without her having to tell
me, that the monsters in the house and my night in the swamp was
something we were never going to discuss.  Or my mother.  We never
talked about her--about anything that happened before I came to live
with Aunt Pauline."

"You'd met her before?  Your aunt."

"Oh yes.  She'd come to visit ns.  She brought me presents And..."

"What?"

"Something I'd forgotten.  She and Momma used to argue.  About me, I
think."  Ts's brow wrinkled as she tried to remember more about it. 
But the details were a blur.

"So you went to live with her in the city?"  Vance prompxl.

"Yes.  She was a ve prim and proper lady.  From the old school, I guess
you'd say.  But she unbent with me.  In her own way she was like your
aunt.  We loved each other very much, and I was young enough so that
she could give me a sense of security--a good foundation.  But there
was this deep dark secret we each understood the other knew about, And
we never shared it."

"That's very strange," Vance mused.

"I know.  But I knew I wasn't supposed to ask."  Tess swallowed
painfully.  "I was afraid that if I did, somehow, she'd go away.  Like
my mother."

"How did she know something had happened?  Or where to find you the
morning after the men came?"

Tess shrugged.  "I never thought much about that.  I was just glad she
came and got me."

"You must have been awfully frightened.  Didn't you ask for your
mother?"

"I must have.  But I don't remember.  I've blocked that part out.  I'd
blocked the rest of it out, too.  Except for the nightmare.  As I've
been telling you, I've been remembering more than I ever had before.
Thank you for helping me do that."

Vance squeezed her hands, his expreion thoughtful.  "Out here where men
like Frank Haney look the other way when it suits them, sometimes the
community takes the law into its own hands.  It doesn't happen so much
anymore.

It could have happened twenty years ago.  "

"What do you mean?"

"It sounds as if there was some kind of organized vigilante action
against your mother."

Tess didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe it.  For years she'd
hardly ,emembered anything about her momma.  Tonight she'd brought back
warm memories of a sweet, loving person.  And she couldn't bear to have
that image wiped away.  "No."  The instant denial sprang to her

When she tried to pull away from Vance, he held her fast.  "It couldn't
have been anything like that!"  she repeated.  "What terrible thing
could she have done to make everybody turn on her?"

He shook his head.  "I don't know what she did, cher.  Maybe nothing.
Maybe I'm wrong.  And there may not be any way to find out.  If there
was some incident, your aunt was following the unwritten code when she
wouldn't talk about it."

"From what I told you--a bunch of rough men in the house at night--you
can't be sure it was the community.  You're just guessing.  Maybe there
was a gang of thieves and rapists operating around here."

"If there had been, I think I would have heard about them.  People
repeat stories like that.  It's the other kind of thing nobody talks
about.  Because after the community has punished someone, when everyone
realizea what their group hysteria has inspired, nobody wants to
remember it.  It's a conspiracy of silence.  As if it didn't really
happen.  Or, if you want to look at it another way, if everyone's
guilty and no one tells, then no one can be punished.  Even years
later, it's dangerous to go poking into something like that."

Teas responded to only part of what he'd just said.

"Aunt Pauline wasn't guilty of anything!"

"Perhapa not."

All these years, Tess had been trying to deal with her own buried
memories--her own private terror.  Now there was a more important
issue.  "I've got to find out what happened!"

His hand stroked over her back and shoulder.  "There's nothing you can
do about it tonight.  Come on.  You need to sleep.  So do I."

The quiet words made her realize how hard it was becoming to hold
herself together.

He was right.  They'd both had a hell of an evening, and she wasn't
coping very well anymore.

"All right," she whispered.

"It won't seem so bad in the morning.  That's what I always told myself
when I was a boy."

She pressed her cheek to his shoulder for a moment.  Then they started
back to the little wooden house.

When they reached the front door, Vance hesitated with his hand on the
knob.  "Do you need anything?  Something Tante might have forgotten?"

"No.  Thanks.  I think I'll be okay."

Vance opened the door quietly, and Tess tiptoed toward Lisa's room,
aware that he was following her progress.

Without another word, she entered the bedroom and slipped under the
covers.  She'd expected that the turmoil of the past few hours would
keep her awake.  To her surprise, it wasn't all that difficult to get
to sleep.  Perhaps exhaustion had finally caught up with her.  Or
perhaps it was the knowledge that the bad dreams never came twice in
one night.

Chapter Nine

Long after Tess had gone to bed, Vance sat in the wooden rocking chair
on the porch, one booted foot resting lightly on the other knee.  He'd
made the chair a long time ago.  In fact, it was one of the first
projects he and Alphonse had completed together.

He didn't move.  He might have been a night creature patiently hunting
its prey in the sultry darkness of the swamp.  But his seeming
composure was hard-won.  Behind the eyes that pierced the shadows, his
mind refused to calm.  Tonight he'd bullied Tess into confronting the
terrible fears of her childhood.  And he'd gotten more than he'd
bargained for.

He'd thought he knew himself.  He'd thought he had his life under
control.  Perhaps he had until he'd met Tess Beaumont.

Their relationship should have ended that first night where it
began--outside the jail.  But fate had thrown them together again.
After that, he was the one who kept coming back and asking for more.

He squeezed his eyes closed to try and clear his thoughts.  Instead,
his mind began to replay the scene in the toolshed.  He'd known how
scared Tess was to start talking--to let the terror out.  But she'd
opened up with him in a way he was pretty sure she'd never opened up
before.  The knowledge made something inside his chest swell.  Yet it
was hard to hold on to the good feeling.

It had been difficult for Tess to dredge up memories from her
childhood.  His had been burned into his brain, into his soul.  Even
now he could still remember the day long ago when Tante had told him
his mother was coming home to Savannah Bayou.  He'd been full of secret
joy.  And hope.  Maman wanted him, after all.  It wasn't his fault that
she'd gone away to live in the city.  She wanted them to be a family.

Childish optimism had given way almost at once to the devastating
reality.  Jacqueline wasn't coming back to h/m.  She was coming back
because she was going to have another baby, and the man she lived with
had kicked her out.

Vance's jaw muscles clenched.  Life with the resentful, bitter woman
who'd slunk back to Savannah Bayou was worse than anything he could
have imagined.  During their brief acquaintance, he'd learned how to
kep her from hurting him.  Not physically, of course.  She was bigger
than he was, after all.  But he'd grown a tough skin so that she
couldn't touch the inside--where it court led

Before he was eight, he'd sworn that Jacqueline was the last woman who
would have the chance to kill him slowly.  He'd never broken that rule.
Even as close as he was to Tante, they both knew there was a line that
couldn't he crossed.  But it had all worked out.  He'd survived' no
he'd grown and thrived by being strong and serf-sufficient.

He should he proud of that.  Once he had been.  Now he suspected that
while he'd saved himself, he'd let Lisa down.  He'd railed at her for
not having the guts to do it his way.  No wonder she hadn't come to him
for help when she needed it the most.

A tremor went through his rigid body, and he clenched his hands around
the arms of the wooden chair.

Mayhe all his unfinished business with Lisa was the reason Tess had
caught him off guard and come stealing past his defenses.  Or may he he
was kidding himself.  What if he'd been wrong all along?  What if
survival meant admitting he needed something he'd told himself only
weak men wanted?

A stabbing pain of longing shot through him.  He made himself conquer
it the way he'd conquered all the other pain.  Things were building too
fast with Tess.  He was being swept along by emotions he didn't know
how to handle.  And that was dangerous.

PROGRAM DIRECTOR Larry Melbourne smoothed his fingers over the shiny
dome of his bald forehead, unaware that he was even performing the
nervous gesture.  Most evenings he came back to work after dinner and
stayed into the small hours of the morning when no one else was at the
station except the cleaning lady.  It was a habit he'd gotten into at
his last job, and it had become a way of feeling safe.  Except that it
was harder and harder lately to hold on to the illusion of safety.

Mayhe it was time to move on again.  No.  Not yet.  He was doing so
well here.  Another few months, if everything held together, and
Desmond LeRoy would he raking in the ad revenues.  Then he could.

He canceled the thought even before it formed.  Where was he going to
run to next time?  Taiwan?  Malaysia?  Did they hire American TV
producers in either of those places?

The phone on his desk rang, and he jumped.  Then he glanced at the
clock.  After one.  Who the hell would be calling him at work at this
hour?

The phone continued to ring.  Eight, nine, ten times.  He stretched out
his hand to pick it up, then snatched it back and scrambled out of his
chair.

A wrong number.  Just a wrong number, he told himself as he sprinted
down the hall.  Moments later, he was climbing into the little silver
sports car he'd bought a couple of weeks ago when he'd been feeling
confident.  It was hard to remember that feeling now.

TESS AWOKE TO THE SIGHT of sun streaming in the window, the sound of
birds warbling in the swamp, and the aroma of something delicious
cooking in the kitchen.  Chicory-laced coffee dominated.  But she also
caught the subtle scent of orange water and brandy and suspected that
someone was frying pain perdu.  Not the ordinary French toast of other
regions, but the bayou's special "lost bread."

The tantalizing aroma drew Tess out from under the covers.  From the
strength of the sunlight, she guessed that the morning was fairly well
advanced.

She'd slept very soundly.  Last night someone had put the underwear
she'd washed back in her room.  And there were a couple of other cotton
dresses on the chair.  Quickly she put one on and went to brush her
hair and wash her face.

Fifteen minutes later she joined the man and woman in the kitchen.
Ernetine was sitting at the table, a mug of coffee clasped in her
wrinkled hands.  Vance stood at the stove frying the bread.

"Did you sleep well when you got back to bed, cher?"  the old woman
asked even before her guest's feet crossed the threshold.

Tess felt color stain her cheeks.  So Ernestine knew they'd been
together later.  How much had she guessed about what had been going on
out in the shed?  "Fine.  Thank you.  And you?"  she murmured.

",a, swell as can be expected atmy age."

Tess glanced up to find Vance watching her as if there were only the
two of them in the room Pulling out a chair, she quickly joined her
hoss at the table and then wondered if she should have offered to help.
"I--is there anything I can do?"  she asked.

"Non.  Just relax," Vance answered.  "I like to cook breakfast when I
have time.  I wanted to let you sleep, but I was going to come and get
you in a moment.  How are you feeling?"  It wasn't simply a polite
question.  She knew from the timbre of his voice that he was concerned
about her.

"Betlr.  I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble last night," she
murmured.

"Don't worry about that.  You were upset.  I'm glad you're better now."
As Vance poured her a mug of the aromatic coffee and set it before her
on the table, she was aware of the intimacy of eating breakfast
together.  Like lovers who were feeling awkward with each other.  No.
Not quite like that, she amended as she added milk and sugar and took a
sip.  They weren't lovers, and they had a chaperon.  Probably that was
a good thing.

Vance brought a platter of the pain perdu to the table and slipped into
the seat opposite his aunt.  For a few moments they were all busy
passing the food.  Vance and Tess poured maple syrup on their French
toast.  Ernestine used the honey.

"It's wonderful," Tess approved after her first forkful.  It was
tempting to simply appreciate the food and the relaxed atmosphere of
breakfast with a charming old woman and her nephew.

"Ernestine's recipe," Vance told her.  As he finished off two pieces
and helped himSelf to another, he seemed content to enjoy the morning
and the company, too.

Yet this wasn't exactly a normal domes He scene, Tess reminded herSelf.
Whatever had happened in the past twelve hours, she had come here on
business.  Although she hadn't achieved much, perhaps there was
something else she could accomplish--something personal.  She
thoughtfully for another few bites.  Then she inclined head toward
Ernestine.  "I guess you've lived around for a long time."

"Seventy-five years, me.  And my family, 200

There was a note of pride in her voice

"So you must know a lot about the area?"

"Oh my, yes.  I have cousins and friends all along bayou from upstream
down to the gulf."

"Have things changed much?"

Ernestine's face took on a nostalgic look.  "If can the families still
make a living off the land, it's now.  But the old ways die slow.  A
rich widower, ries a young girl half his age.  His neighbors show the
wedding night banging pots and pans and washboards.  They don't leave
until he invites them food and wine."

Tess smiled, delighted.  "And what happens if he ignores them?"

"They come back every night for the next month."

"Mayhe I can do a story on the local customs," suggested.  "Umm, do
people still go out in the foraging for plants and--uh--herbs?"

"Some do."

"Did you ever hear about a local woman who"

Before the Sentence was out of her mouth, Vance reached across the
table and pressed

"Non," he mouthed.

"A woman who what?"  Ernest Me asked.

"I think Tess needs to get her car," Vance broke in as he pushed back
his chair.  "Lonnie called this morning to say he'd got len it out of
the bayou.  Perhaps we'd better go and see about it."

The statement was couched politely enough, undoubtedly for his aunt's
benefit.  But Tess knew it' was an order.  She pushed back her chair
and stood up.  "I'm truly grateful for your hospitality, Mrs.
Achord."

"I enjoyed the visit.  I'm sorry you have to leave so soon.  Can't you
have another cup of coffee?"

"Uh--no.  Thank you, anyway.  And thanks for putting me up for the
night.  I'm sorry about all the extra fuss I

"It wasn't your fault.  I hope there isn't too much trouble with the
car."

"We'll get things straightened out," Vance told her.  Then, his face
set in an unreadable mask, he marched Tess Out the door and toward the
car.  Not until he'd backed up and started down the narrow dirt road
did he speak.

"Didn't you understand what I was telling you last night?  I said
poking into that mess with your mother could be dangerous.  If you want
to get yourself in trouble, that's one thing.  But don't pretend to be
interested in a story on the local customs so you can pump Ernestine
for information."

"I'm not pump' rag anybody for information.  I'm just asking questions.
I'm a reporter.  That's how I'm accustomed to getting facts.  And I
thought your aunt might he able to help me."

"Believe me, cher, whatever happened to your mother has nothing to do
with Tante.  Don't try to get her involved."

"Emestine's recipe," Vance told her.  As he finished off two pieces and
helped himself to another, he seemed content to enjoy the morning and
the company, too.

Yet this wasn't exactly a normal domearle scene, Teas reminded herself.
Whatever had happened in the past twelve hours, she had come here on
bus' incas Although she hadn't achieved much, perhaps there was
something else she could accomplish--something personal.  She chewed
thoughtfully for another few bites.  Then she inclined her head toward
Erneafine.  "I guess you've lived around here for a long time."

"Seventy-five years, me.  And my family, 200 years."  There was a note
of pride in her voice.

"So you must know a lot about the area?"

"Oh my, yea.  I have cousins and friends all along the bayou from
upstream down to the gulf."

"Have things changed much?"

Ernestine's face took on a nostalgic look.  "If you mean, can the
families still make a living off the land, it's hard now.  But the old
ways die slow.  A rich widower, he marries a young girl half his age.
His neighbors show up for the wedding night banging pots and pans and
scraping washboards.  They don't leave until he invites them in for
food and wine."

Tess smiled, delighted.  "And what happens if he just ignores them?"

"They come back every night for the next month."

"Maybe I can do a story on the local customs," Tess suggested.  "Umm,
do people still go out in the swamp foraging for plants
and--uh--herbs?"

"Some do."

"Did you ever hear about a local woman who"

Before the sentence was out of her mouth, Vance had reached across the
table and pressed his hand over hers.

"Non," he mouthed.

"A woman who what?"  Erneatine asked.

"I think Tess needs to get her car," Vance broke in as he pushed back
his chair.  "Lonnie called this morning to say he'd got tea it out of
the bayou.  Perhaps we'd better go and see about it."

The stalmnent was couched politely enough, undoubtedly for his aunt's
benefit.  But Tess knew it was an order.  She pushed back her chair and
stood up.  "I'm truly gra ful for your hospitality, Mrs.  Achord."

"I enjoyed the visit.  I'm sorry you have to leave so soon.  Can't you
have another cup of coffee?"

"Uh--no.  Thank you, anyway.  And thanks for putting me up for the
night.  I'm sorry about all the extra fuss I

"It wasn't your fault.  I hope there isn't too much trouble with the
car."

"We'll get thins stralghteaed out," Vance told her.  Then, his face set
in an unreadable mask, he marched Tess Out the door and toward the car.
Not until he'd backed up and started down the narrow dirt road did he
speak.

"Didn't you understand what I was telling you last night?  I said
poking into that mess with your mother could be dangerous.  ff you want
to get yourself in trouble, that's one thing.  But don't pretend to be
interested in a story on the local customs so you can pump Ernestine
for information."

"I'm not pumping anybody for information.  I'm just asking questions.
I'm a reporter.  That's how I'm accustomed to getting facts.  And I
thought your aunt might be able to help me."

"Believe me, cher, whatever happened to your mother has nothing to do
with Tante.  Don't try to get her in-volveal."

"Ernestine's recipe," Vance told her.  As he finished off two piece and
helped himself to another, he seemed content to enjoy the morning and
the company, too.

Yet this wasn't exactly a normal domestic scene, Tess reminded herself.
Whatever had happened in the past twelve hours, she had come here on
business.  Although she hadn't achieved much, perhaps there was
something else she could accomplish--something personal.  She chewed
thoughtfully for another few bites.  Then she inclined her head toward
Ernestine.  "I guess you've lived around here for a long time."

"Seventy-five years, me.  And my family, 200 years."  There was a note
of pride in her voice.

"So you must know a lot about the area?"

"Oh my, yes.  I have cousins and friends all along the bayou from
upstream down to the gulf."

"Have things changed much?"

Ernestine's face took on a nostalgic look.  "If you mean, can the
families still make a living off the land, it's hard now.  But the old
ways die slow.  A rich widower, he mar-ties a young girl half his age.
His neighbors show up for the wedding night banging pots and pans and
scraping washboards.  They don't leave until he invites them in for
food and wine."

Tess smiled, delighted.  "And what happens if he just ignores them?"

"They come back every night for the next month."

"Maybe !  can do a story on the local customs," Tess suggested.  "Umm,
do people still go out in the swamp foraging for plants
and--uh--herbs?"

"Some do."

"Did you ever hear about a local woman who"

Before the sentence was out of her mouth, Vance had reached across the
table and pressed his hand over hers.

"Non," he mouthed.

"A woman who what?"  Ernestine asked.

"I think Tess needs to get her car," Vance broke in as he pushed back
his chair.  "Lonnie called this morning to say he'd gotten it out of
the bayou.  Perhaps we'd better go and see abOUt it."

The statement was couched politely enough, undoubtedly for his aunt's
benefit.  But Tess knew it was an order.  She pushed back her chair and
stood up.  "I'm truly grateful for your hospitality, Mrs.  Achord."

"I enjoyed the visit.  I'm sorry you have to leave so soon.  Can't you
have another cup of coffee?"

"D-h--no.  Thank you, anyway.  And thanks for putting me up for the
night.  I'm sorry about all the extra fuss I

"It wasn't your fault.  I hope there isn't too much trouble with the
car."

"We'll get things straightened out," Vance told her.  Then, his face
set in an unreadable mask, he marched Tess out the door and toward the
car.  Not until he'd backed up and starld down the narrow dirt road did
he speak.

"Didn't you understand what I was telling you last night?  I said
poking into that mess with your mother could be dangerous.  If you want
to get yourself in trouble, that's one thing.  But don't pretend to be
interested in a story on the local customs so you can pump Ernestine
for information."

"I'm not pumping anybody for information.  I'm just asking questions.
I'm a reporter.  That's how I'm accustomed to getting facts.  And I
thought your aunt might be able to help me."

"Believe me, cher, whatever happened to your mother has nothing to do
with Tante.  Don't try to get her in-volveal."

"Come on, Vance.  It was twenty years ago.  How could it hurt her
now?"

"Twenty years ago, oui.  And in all that time, your aunt never let you
talk about it.  Why do you think that was?"

"I don't know."

"That's right.  You don't."

HE'D WANTED EVERYONE to think he was out here lounging on his
houseboat.  But driving into town every time he needed to take care of
personal business was getting old, Glen Devoe thought as.  he climbed
into his Mercedes.  It was time to open up the house again.  The mental
image of his meticulously restored mansion brought a satisfied smile to
his lips.  He was going to enjoy getting back to the amenities.  Like
the surround-sound theater with the movi-se screen that he put in
downstairs.  Or the sous-chef he'd stolen away from Commander's Palace.
Reaching for his car phone, he dialed the man.

With no more than a peremptory greeting, he began to speak.  "Henri,
I'm coming back to town.  So you'll have to stop lounging around in
your lover's bed.  I want crayfish bisque and tournedos with b6arnaise
sauce for lunch.  And bananas Foster for dessert."

"Yes, sir."  The answer came back loud and clear over the speaker.  But
then Glen Devoe was used to having his wishes carded out.

Which was why he needed to lean on his contact at KEFF.  Things weren't
going so well there.  But they would.  After all, he had the advantage
of dealing with management, he thought with a satisfied smirk as he
punched in the number.

He could tell at once from the indrawn breath on the other end of the
line that his call had been antle/pauxi with dread.  Good.  Sometimes
the way to catch flies was with honey.  Sometimes it was better to blow
them away with an Uzi.

"What about the woman who's working on the Lisa

Oautreau story?  " he asked.  " Has she been taken care of?  " " She's
disappeared.  " " Permanently?  "

There was a slight hesitation.  "I'm not sure.  I'm trying to find out.
My contacts out in the bayou country aren't as good as yours."

"Don't concern yourself with my business.  Just do what you're told."

"I'm not your messenger boy."  "You're in my debt."  "But I've paid you
back."

"That may he true one day."  Without bothering to continue the
discussion, Devoe pressed the disconnect button and turned his eyes
back to the road But wheels continued to turn in his mind.

Was it harder to control men or women?  he wondered.  There were lots
of women you could stop dead in the'u: tracks with a lit He
intimidation.  Lisa hadn't been one of them.  Neither was this woman,
Tess Beaumont.  Of course, he hadn't expected her to be easy.  He'd
already had too much experience with her type.

With men, now, you almost always had to get tough.  Get them where it
hurt most.  Sometimes it meant breaking a few bones.  Sometimes it
meant quite a bit more.  But he was prepared for that, too.  His motto
had always been Whatever It Takes.

Tss ADVANCE RODE the rest of the way down the long drive in silence.
There was a distance between them now that hadn't been there the night
before--or this morning.

She didn't like it.  But as she glanced cover fly at his strong
profile, she suspected that he did.  Perhaps he was even relieved.
Things had been moving pretty quickly between them.  Cyiven what she'd
learned about him, it would be strange if that didn't make him
uncomfortable.  it was scary for her, too.  The difference was, her
instincts didn't urge her to run in the other direction.

She wanted to say something that would make them both feel more
comfortable.  She knew there was no point in trying to sway Vance.  He
made his own decisions and his own judgments.

Maybe if she slowed things down now.  Maybe if they could spend a bit
more time together, he'd relax again.  And there was something else she
should do, anyway.  When they reached the main road, she cleared her
throat.  "Uh, on the way to look at the car, could we stop and see
where it went into the water?"  she asked.

"If you want."

He turned left and drove slowly for a mile or two, stopping at a spot
where the bayou curved.  In the daylight," it was just another lonely
stretch along the road but Tess's palms were clammy as she peered at
the sluggish brown water and the narrow gravel shoulder.

"Do you want to get out?"  Vance asked.

Tess didn't.  In fact, now that they were here, she wished she hadn't
made the request to stop.  But she opened the door and stepped onto the
gravel.

She looked back at Vance.  He was watching her, his hands wrapped
loosely around the wheel.  Insteadof approaching the bank, she stood
with her own hand resting against the warm metal of the car.

From where she stood, she could detect tire marks at the edge of the
waer, a few flattened weeds, and a place where some stumps sticking out
of the water lislxi toward the opposite bank.  Maybe they had stopped
the car from going all the way under.  Otherwise, there was nothing to
indicate that anything out of the ordinary had happened here.

Last night this had been a place of terror.  In the dappled sunlight
she couldn't recapture the feeling.

"There's nothing much to see," she said as she got back into the car.

"I know.  I was la ere this morning," he answered.

She turned her head toward him.  He didn't say anything more.  Instead
he made a U-turn.  Ten minutes later, he pulled onto another narrow
side road.  This one was paved with gravel.  They'd driven only a few
dozen yards before Tess could see that the weed-choked fields on either
side were strewn with the rusting hulks of battered cars and pickup
trucks.  It was like a cemetery, only the remains were baking in the
sunlight.

"Is this a repair shop or a junkyard?"  she asked.

"You'll have to judge Lonnie by his work," Vance replied.

The scenery became more metallic the farther they progressed.  But at
least the vehicles weren't quite so rustecl, Tess noted.  Apparently
the hopeless eases were the ones most remote from Lonnie's base of
operation--which couldn't be too far away.  As they traveled up the
road, the strains of a traditional Cajun tune, complete with
accordions, fiddles, triangles and an enthusiastic male vocal group,
became louder.

By the time they' rounded a bend and came to a stop in front of a low
corrugated steel building set in the center of a circle of autos, the
cacophony had reached a painful decibel level.  Tess damped her hands
over her ears and got out of the car.  Perhaps Lonnie was somewhere in
the field of cars and had turned up his radio so be could hear.  No,

she took the speculation back as she spotted a pair of short, smmpy
legs protruding from under a late-model Ford.  One of them was flopping
up and down in time with the ear-destroying music.

Vance, who seemed to know his way around the place, strode toward the
boom box resting on a fifty-gallon drum.  After turning down the volume
to a tolerable level, he went over to the Ford and addressed the legs.
"Where'd you put the car that went into the bayou?"

The mechanic didn't seem to resent having his entertainment
interrupted.  "Be wid you in a minute, am,."  he called out.

Vance leaned against the Ford and wailed.  A few minutes later, a man
whose short-body matched the legs slid out.  from under the car.
Standing up, he pulled an oil-smeared rag from the back pocket of his
overalls and wiped huge, muscular hands.

He looked from Vance to Tess.  "Guess we'd better not shake, he-he. You
Miss BeaUmont?"

As he spoke, Tess saw that there seemed mi.  ing than present in the
front of his mouth.

"Yes."

"Got your purse out from under the front seat.

most of the stuff is ruined.  And the money's wet.

dry out, good as new.  He-he.  "

"I appreciate that."

"You won't be drivin' that car of yours for

Not wid the engine all wet like that and the line to steering fluid
screwed up.  "

Vance, who had been straightened.  "What?"

"Spotted him after I started workin' on the car.

on back and I'll show you.  "

Heads together and talking too rapidly in French for Tess to understand
more than a word here and there, the men strode into the building.
Forgotten by the pair, Tess trailed behind.  It took a moment for her
eyes to adjust to the dim light.  Before they did, she was afraid to
move, lest she trip over some piece of equipment, but to her surprise
the inn'ior of the shop was as tidy as the exterior had been chaotic.
As far as she could tell, not a tool was out of place.

Lonnie and Vance were standing on either side of the opened hood of her
Oldsmobile, conferring like shamans deciding what treatment to use on a
desperately ill patient.  Both their faces were grave.

"Axe you going to let me in on the bad news?"  she asked as she
approached the pair.

"Right here, see?"  Lonnie reached down into the guts of the vehicle
and twisted his fingers on a metal coupling.  "This doohickey, he's
supposed to be attached to this here hose.  Only he's been worked
loose."

Not so much the words, but the way he said them and the way his fingers
twirled the metal, made Tess's chest suddenly constrict.  "All kinds of
things go wrong with cars.  Couldn't something like that happen by
itself?"  she asked sharply.

"Not likely.  You don't try to do the repair work on this car, do
you?"

"No."

Vance came around to Tess's side of the vehicle and put an arm over her
shoulder.  For a moment he held her against his chest the way he had
the night before when she'd told him about her nightmares.  Then he
leaned into the hood, bringing her with him so that her eyes were only
a foot from the coupling.  "Either the guy who usually works on this
thing is a damn fool, or someone did a nice job of sabotage."

"I know as much about cars as you do about applying eye shadow," she
muttered.  "So you can point to any tube and bolt you want to, and I
won't know how it's supposed to look."

"I guess you'll have to take my word for it.  And Lonnie's."

Tess had heard the note of desperation in her own voice.  There had
been nothing to see when she'd asked Vance to take her to the bayou. No
evidence, so to speak.  She'd secretly hoped this visit to the mechanic
would be as placid as the still water.  It wasn't.

She was silent for several moments, then she nodded brusquely.  "I
didn't want to hear it."

"Who would?"

Unaware that she was shifting her weight, she pressed more firmly
against Vance's chest, glad of the stability of his body behind hers.
From those first panicked moments last night when she'd felt the dark
water rising up to swallow her, she'd known deep inside that someone
had run her off the road and left her to drown.  But it was worse than
that.  They'd tampered with the line of her steering fluid first.
Suddenly she felt as if she were standing at the edge of a dark
bottomless pit, and the ground beneath her feet was-sliding away.

The unsteadiness wasn't a complete illusion.  It was lucky that Vance's
arm tightened around her, because she needed someone to support her
weight,

He began speaking rapidly again in French to Lonnie, who came back with
what seemed to be counter-suggestions.  Vance's voice became more
emphatic.  After several bursts of dialogue, they switched back to
English.

"Lonnie will get back to you with an estimate," Vance told Tess.  "And
the work will be done well."

"Yes.  Thank you.  How long will it take?"

"A day or two," Vance answered.  "He's got some other jobs that are
promised first."

"I'm sure he'll do a good job," she responded automatically.  It was an
odd way to conduct business, as if she were only a bystander.
Ordinarily she would have been annoyed.  Now she knew she wasn't
capable of dealing with the mechanic, or anyone else for that matter.
All she wanted to do was get out of there.  Away from her car, away
from the hateful evidence.

Vance kt a tight grip on her as they made their way back to his car.
After closing the passenger door, be started the engine, headed back
down the drive and turned fight.  For a while Tess slumped in her seat
and watched live oaks, cypress and tung trees speed past.  When they
turned in at another narrow side road, she sat up straighter.

"Is this the way back to town?"  she asked vaguely, her mind still not
quite functioning normally.

"No.  We're not going back to the city."

"What do you mean?  I have work to do."

Vance pulled into a haft-circie drive in front of an gant little Greek
revival house.  A momt later he was out of the car and had come around
to Tes's side.  Opening the door, he helped her from her seat with the
same firm hand he'd used the night before when she'd been playing
possum under the covers.  "Chef, someone tried to kill you.  Probably
the story's all over Savannah Bayou by now, so whoever was responsle
knows the attempt wasn't a success.  You're not going home where they
can try again."

"But"

He began to propel her up the wide wooden steps toward the covered
gallery.  When they reached the top of the flight, he turned to face
her.

"Don't lie to me and tell me you're not frightened.  What, exactly,
were you planning to do?"

Her thinking processes hadn't taken her that far yet.  So she asked a
question of her own.  "Where are we?"

"My house."

"You're taking a lot for granted."

"I'm taking nothing for granted, cher."

Tess didn't move a muscle except to raise her eyes.  She knew what she
was going to see.  Still, it was difficult 'to cope with his ebony
gaze.  She saw defiance.  Arrogance.  And a challenge that did nothing
to calm the pounding of

"This morning, I was pretty sure you wan led to get rid of me."

"That's right."

"Because of what I asked your aunt?"

He pressed his lips together for a moment.  "Non.  I was looking for an
excuse."

"Why?"

Vance turned his palms upward in a gesture of exasperation.  "Because I
don't know what the hell to do with you.  Because you're not my
responsibility, and I should just drive you home.  Because I know how
I'd feel if something happened to you."

"How would you feel?"  Tess breathed.

She thought from his expression he might not answer, and when he did,"
the look didn't change.  Yet his words stole into her heart.

"The way I felt when I found out about Lisa."

"Oh, Vance."  She reached out toward him, but he didn't move.

"Cher, I don't have the right to tell you that.  Pour l'amour de Dieu,
put me in my place, or something," he growled.  He was standing the way
he had the night before when he'd kissed her in the shed, with his
hands stiffly at his sides.  "I'm sure you know how to stop a man like
me from bothering you."

She shook her head in denial.  "I've never met a man like you before.
I've never met anyone who was so absolutely competent, so absolutely
sure of himself--except when it comes to us."

He acknowledged the observation with a tight nod.

"Vance, I think you set a lot of store by bravery.  Well, don't try to
make me into the one who's a coward."

She had his full attention, and her gaze held its own challenge now.
"You can't turn off feelings, Neither can I. I don't pretend to
understand what's haening between us, but I don't want to pull it up by
the roots and toss it away before it has a chance to bloom."

She didn't catch what he said then.  It didn't matler, anyway.  When
his mouth came down hard over hers, the little gasp trapped in her
throat had nothing to do with protest.

Chapter Ten

She knew Vance was a man of strong passions.  Yet always' before
there'd been an edge of restraint in their dealings,.  Suddenly, all
the civilized barriers fell and more primitive forces reigned.  HiS
lips moved over hers with a savage desire that would have sent her
running in the other direction if she hadn't felt the same wild need to
taste this man, to know him, to consume him.  And if the truth be told,
she lacked the strength to run.  She only had the strength to cleave to
him.

Last night death had courted her in the darkness and almost won.  Now
she plunged into light too bright for human eyes.

This was life.  ThiS was Vance.

If you counted the hours they'd-been together, she barely knew him. But
she'd spent twenty-four years with Tess Beaumont, and she was
discovering she barely knew herself.  She would know him.  And herself.
Her lips opened for the invasion of his tongue.  Her fingers dug into
the corded muscles of his back.  Her hips swayed against his.

"Tess.  Mon Dieu.  Tess.  I lied when I said I didn't know what to do
with you."

He fumbled behind her, and the door eased open.  Then they were inside
in the cool, darkened hall.  She caught al most nothing of her
surroundings.  But she heard the door slam behind them, shutting out
the world.  At last, it was no longer the wrong place or the wrong time
for either of them.  And no need to testrain the cyclone of emotions
that had been building between them since he'd first taken her in his
arms.  No, it had been building since that first time they'd laid eyes
on each other in the sheriff's office.

Yet the edge of fear in her voice as she spoke his name made him raise
his head.

"Cher?"

She cupped his face in her trembling hands, stroking her fingers
against the stub bled skin of his cheeks.  He turned his head, catching
and caressing her fingertips with his lips and teeth.

"You're afraid."  His tone was low and gritty.

"Then we'd better stop."  His voice turned raw.

"No.  I don't want to stop.  It's not you I'm afraid of.  It's the
feeling of being out of control."

"Ah, Tess.  Then we're on equal footing, after all."  He took her hands
in his, folding down her fingers so he could kiss her knuckles.  Then
his lips skimmed over her brows, her nose, the tender curves of her
ears.  When they finally came back to her mouth, they were gentle and
persuasive rather than driving and aggressive.  The tenderness brought
a new, different wave of heat shimmering through her.

She knew he had felt it, too, as he crooked his thumb under her chin
and tipped her face up to his.

"Will you come up to my bedroom, then?"

"Oh yes."

He took her arm and led her to the broad flight of stairs she'd barely
noticed when they'd first come in.  Only fifteen steps.  But it was a
long, erotic climb as he kept stop ping to turn her to him for
lingering kisses and touches interspersed with endearments murmured in
French.

She discovered very quickly that he was a man who knew how to please a
woman, how to tantalize her almost beyond endurance.  His hands skimmed
her breasts and then withdrew before she'd had her fill of his touch.
His lips teased her throat.  With each caress, each kiss, she felt the
blood smg in her veins as her body melted against his.

"Vance, please."  Grasping his hand, she tried to tug him upward to the
landing.

His laugh was low and sexy.  But he wouldn't he hut-.  fled.  Near the
top of the flight, he paused on the stair be,-low her, trapping her
between the banister and his supple body.  Breath trickled from her
lungs as he turned her in his arms.  Now they were on the same level.
Her face even with his.  Her sensitized breasts against his chest.  Her
aching feminine softness cradling the hard shaft of hisaronsal.

The intimate contact was like the door of a blast furnace suddenly
thrown open, With an eXclamation of wanting deep in his throat, he drew
her hard against his trembling body.  Caught by the same force, she
began to move against him, her urgency matching his.  Suddenly the time
for slow dancing was over.  "I need you."

"Je te all sire

The words were punctuated by hot, unbearably hungry kisses,

Impatient now, Vance swung Tess into his arms, carried her the rest of
the way up the stairs, and strode down the hall to his bedroom.
Standing her on her swaying legs, he pulled the cotton shift up and
over her head and tossed it out of the way.  His own clothes rained
unceremoni-on sly to the floor.

Then they were both naked and vulnerable and wanting.  Vance pulled her
back into his arms.  Flesh against flesh at last.  Without stopping to
pull back the spread, he dragged her down to the bed with him.

D/rely, through her own pleasure, she marveled at the tension she'd
roused in his body--and the way he held back, waiting to be sure her
craving matched his.

Her teeth grazed his shoulder.  Her fingers dug into the muscles of his
arms.  "Vance.  Now, please.  Now."

"Oui, bien-aimie.  Oui."

He moved above her then, filling her body, filling her senses, filling
her heart.  It was like a gift.  A gift she could return in kind, in
this private world that the two of them had made for themselves.  They
sighed and murmured lit-He exclamations of gratification as they found
a rhythm that pleased them both.

He took her up, over the horizon, inW a world she'd only dimly
imagined.  And then she was clinging to him, calling his name, crying
out at the unbelievable joy of her fulfillment.

She felt him follow her over the edge, heard his hoarse eXclamation of
satisfaction, and pressed her lips against his cheek.

They were both too stunned to move.  Finally, he lifted his head and
looked down into her half-closed eyes.  Smiling up at him, she touched
her finger to his lips and felt him smile back.

"You were right.  You knew what to do with me," she murmured.

He chuckled.

When his body no longer covered hers, the air-conditioned temperature
was suddenly cold against her heated skin, and she shivered.

"Are you chilly?  Let me do something about the ov " I don't think I
can move'

He reached around her and began to pull the spread down.  "You only
have to lift your hips--now."

She complied.  Then they were under the covers snuggling close
together, her cheek cushioned by the thick hair of his chest.  After a
few minutes, she felt him drag in a long breath and expel it slowly.

"What?"

Vance didn't answer immediately.  Instead he stroked her naked back and
shoulders sending fine tremors down her spine.

"I know there's something you're keeping back," she murmured.  "Don't
make me worry about what it is."

He eased far enough away from her so that he could tip her face up
toward his.

"I want to hold you and keep you safe, but holding you isn't enough;
Last night after your car went.  into the bayou, I was pretty sure it
was a deliberate attack.  Now there's no other way to interpret the
facts.  We're not talking about an accident or a case of mistaken
identity.  Someone tried to make sure you wouldn't leave Savannah Bayou
alive, cher.  So I'm going to ask you a very important question, and I
expect you to give me an honest answer.  Are there any other stories
you're working on that someone might want to make sure never get to the
six o'clock news?  Or is the Lisa Gautreau case the only one that's
likely to get you in trouble?"

Tess thought for a moment.  "I--no.  There's nothing else."

"Then it looks as if you don't have much choice.  Monday morning you go
in to the news director or whoever you report to and tell him you're
withdrawing from the story."

"No!"

The defiant syllable was met with a string of curses in French.  "Who
do you think you are, cher, the heroine of some action adventure movie
where the bullets mira en-Iotasly keep miss' rag their mark and the
good guys climb out of the car after it's gone off the bridge?  This
isn't make-believe.  It's real life.  Someone's afraid you're going to
find out what happened to Lisa.  And when you do, it will lead back to
them.  So unless you let them know you're off the story, you have about
as much chance as she did."

"But she killed herself.  I'm just trying to understand why."

His eyebrow arched.  "Did she?  We don't know that for sure.  And
suppose she really was there alone when she went into the bayou.  We
don't know what happened in the hours before she came down here.  Maybe
sOmeone convinced her that her only way out was to disappear under the
surface of the water."

Tess shuddered, but her voice carried the strength of her convictions.
"Vance, everyone knows me too well.  They know I won't give up the
story."

"Not even to save your life?"

She pressed her.  lips together.  "Mayhe."

His face betrayed some deep inner struggle.  "All right, then you'll
tell them you found what you were looldng for, and it's not worth
pursuing.  You talked to Lisa's brother, and he told you she'd been
hospitalized for depress on That she'd tried to kill herself before.
And this time she succeeded.  End of story."

She found his hand under the covers and wrapped her fingers around his.
"Oh, Vance.  I'm so sorry."  He turned his palm up and held on to
her.

"D/d Ernestine know?"  she finally asked.

"That she was in the hospital?  That she tried to take her life
before?"  His voice was gritty.  "Non.  She just assumed Lisa was
ignoring us again."

Tess nodded.

"I let her think that."  He paused, then continued.  "That was a
mistake.  Maybe it would have been better to try and explain things to
Erneatine."

"You did what you thought was best."

"Did I?  I don't know anymore.  I was angry that Lisa was ashamed of
us.  You know that pretty haft brush and comb you were ns'rag?  They
were a present from Tante to.  Lisa.  Only she didn't think the set was
good enough, so she never took it out of the box, and she left it in
her room when she moved out."

"That must have hurt."

"Yea.  But I didn't help the situation.  I was put off by Lisa.  Not
just by the little things she did.  I mean the way she decided to get
ahead in life.  She was too much like Jacqueline for my taste."  He
went on in a very low voice.  "The worst part is that I was angry that
she wasn't strong enough to keep herself from getting sick."

Tess meshed her fingers more firmly with his.

After a while, he started to speak again.  "But she was my sister, and
I hurt for her.  I tried to see her after the attack.  I thought she
might need to go into the hospital again, but she wouldn't talk to me
during the week before she died.  No wonder."

"Vance.  Don't blame yourself."

He went on as if he hadn't heard.  "I wrote her a letter.  I never got
to send it.  After you sprung me from that stinking jail cell, I went
home and burned it."

Tess brought his hand to her cheek.  "Tm sorry.  You tried to help when
you thought she needed you."

"Maybe the wrong way.  Maybe I was too hard on her.  Maybe I'm trying
to prove somebody killed her so I won't have to blame myself."

"Oh God, Vance, don't!  You didn't make any choices for her."

Tess' knew he was struggling to hold himself together.  She lay beside
him, holding his hand and not saying anything.

"Well, at least all this gives you an out," he finally said.  "The
bottom line is that you can tell your bosses at the station that Lisa
Gautreau's brother is going to tear the place apart if that information
is splashed all over the KEFT viewing area."

"I--I--guess Chris would respond to that."

"I hope you won't ell any of this to Eruestine."

"You know I wouldn't do that."

He nodded tightly and she reached out, clasped her arms around him and
held him close.  "Vance, the Lisa Gau-treau story started out as an
assignment that Chris sprang on me at the end of a very full day.  But
it stopped being just a professional inter eat a long time ago.  This
is very personal for me.  I guess because of you."

For long moments his body remained as still as a heron waiting for a
fish to surface.  Then he bent to press his cheek against the top of
her head.

"I wish it had worked out differently for her" , she murmured.

"Then do me the favor of taking my advice.  I don't want anything to
happen to you because of Lisa."

"I--I don't want that, either."

"You're staying with me for the rest of the weekend so I'll know you're
safe.  On Monday we'll go into the studio, and you'll let everybody
know you're off the story."

"But you're planning to keep on with your own private investigation,"
Tess concluded, "because you don't really think this is a simple case
of a depressed woman taking her life."

"Yes.  And not just because it stops me from feeling guilty."

"Then let me help you.  No one has to know."

"You are the most stubborn woman I've ever met."  "Does that mean
you'll let me share the burden?"  "I shouldn't."  "But you will.,

"If it turns out there's something you can do."

She relaxed against him, letting the tension seep out of her body. Here
in his bedroom it seemed as if no one and nothing could touch her
unless he gave them permission.  Yet illusion had to make way for
reality.

"I don't know ff I can stay all weekend.  I'm supposed to be on call if
they need me for something that comes up.  I should phone and let Chris
Spencer, the news director, know where I am.  Technically, they could
fire me for disappearing."

"Letting him know you're here defeats the purpose of hiding out.  I'd
prefer not to have to barricade the doors and windows and break out the
rifles."

Yet she knew he would, if that's what it took.  "Telling Chris is okay.
Iean trust him."

"Can you?  Can you be certain of anyone?  How do you know he isn't the
one who hid the Brad Everett tape?"  She was unable to answer.

He turned to her, his face hard and urgent.  "Tell me about the staff.
I already know something about Roger Dallas."

For the next forty-five minutes Tess gave Vance a run-down 'of the men
at KFFT.  She star with the members of the team she saw most often.
Roger.  Chris.  Larry.  Then she progressed to the talk-show host Brad
Everett and owner Desmond LeRoy.

"On balance, not a very nice bunch of coworkers," he observed when she
had finished.

"I'm afraid you have to be tough to survive in the TV business."  '

"You're not tough'

"Yes I am."

"No.  You're vulnerable.  And compassionate.  And you take too many
chances.  Maybe you're in the wrong line of work."

"I'm"

HIS fingers covered her lips.  "And you argue too much.  Any one of
those men could have gotten to your ear yesterday and started that leak
in the steering fluid.  Any one of them could have followed you from
the station and run you off the road

"I won't argue anymore."

"You can call Chris from here."  "Should I tell him what happened?"

"No.  And don't even hint about needing to talk to him Monday.  You
want to be able to watch his face when he hears you beg off the
assignment."

Tess nodded, nibbling on her lower lip.  "I guess I can tell him that
I'm with a source who wants to keep some information confidential, and
that I,ll be in touch later to see if there are any messages."

"Fine.  But I want to listen to the conversation.  I want to hear his
reaction when he finds out you're okay."

"He won't have any reaction, because he won't have expected anything to
happen," Tess predicted.

To her great relief, she was right.

Luckily, no problems requiring her presence had developed.  But Chris
was glad she was back in touch.

"We'd hetter stop by your house and get you some clothes," Vance said
when she'd hung up.

Forty minutes later, Tess was standing outside Vance's study, feeling
awkward.  Just before they were about to leave the house, he'd abruptly
excused himself and disap He was gone for several minutes, and when he
came back into the hall, there was a hard edge to his expression.

She waixi for him to tell her what he was thinking.  When he didn't,
she found herself filling in the silence with the first words that came
into her head.  "Someone did a beautiful job restoring this place.  I
guess it was you."

"Umm."

"Do you--uh--do much work in the city?"

"Yes.  I'm in demand with the yuppies who didn't lose their shirts in
the recession."

"A good position to be in."

"If you're thinking about doing a nice upbeat little TV feature on me,
forget it."

"I'm not stupid enough to think you'd !!lm that."

"Tess.  Are you feeling uncomfortable about us?"  "Are you?"

He shook his head as if he were in a trance.

She looked up to see that he was staring over her shoulder-at the
stairs.  In that moment, she knew he was re-mere bering their slow trip
up to his bedroom.  He looked from the stairs to her, his eyes
darkening.

He took two steps forward.

She backed up and found her heels against the lowest riser again .  His
hands at her waist, he picked her up and set her on the step so that
her face was level with his again.

He took several sipping kisses from her lips.  "I'm never going to be
able to climb those stairs without thinking about taking you up there,
you know."  "Vance."  '

She wanted him to say more.  When he didn't, she murmured, "Feeling
this vulnerable is scary for me, too."

"Cher, I know the kinds of words a woman wants to hear from a man after
they've made love.  I've said some of them--even if I didn't mean
them."

There was no way to stop the pain that bloomed on her face.

Gently, he cupped his palms around her cheeks.  "Tm sorry.  You're
right.  I'm feeling very exposed.  I'm wondering how you got so close
to me so fast.  Not just making love The things I told you."

"It was good for you to talk."

"I don't want either one of us to get hurt.  I gue I think the best way
to do that is to keep everything that happens between us honest.  Right
now, that's the only thing I can do."

That hadn't exactly been what she wanted to hear.  Yet there was so
much more that went unspoken between them.  Her arms went around his
neck as she brought her lips to his again.  She tried to put her
feelings of trust and acceptance into the kiss.  As she felt his
unguarded response, her heart leaped.  Slowly the communication became
far more than a kiss as hands began to stroke over shoulders and
backs.

"We don't have to go to my house now," she murmured.

The suggestion didn't have the effect she'd anticipated.

Lifting his head, he looked down at her, his expression bemused. "Cher,
the sooner we get in and out of there, the safer it will he."

"Vance"

"Come on."

Holding out his arm, he ushered her toward the door.  "Where do you
live he asked.

She gave him the address.  "It's Aunt Pauline's house.  My house now, I
guess?"

"You never moved out?"

"She would have been lonely."

"Your mother lived out here with the poor folks, and your aunt lived in
a nice house in the city."

"It certainly wasn't a palace."

"So where were your people from, originally?"

"The city--I guess.  At least, Aunt Pauline seemed to fit into that
life-style as if she were born to it."

"Then how did your mother end up living at the edge of the swamp?"

Tess Shrugged.  In truth, she was glad he'd started the conversation.
It helped keep her mind off more pressing problems.  In his darkened
bedroom, in his arms, she'd felt secure.  As they drove toward New
Orleans, she sensed a knot of apprehension forming in her stomach.  He
was right; she should be worried.  "I guess I never questioned why we
were out here.  A child just accepts life the way it is."  She heard
her voice wobble slightly.

He 'found her hand and squeezed it.  She didn't ask ff he'd detected
what she was feeling now.  If he simply assumed she was reacting to
thoughts about her past, it was all right with her.

"Don't you have any other relatives?"  he asked.

"Not that I know of.  Aunt Pauline never talked about anyone."

"Don't you find that strange?"

"I do now that you point it out.  It's just something else I accepted.
She and my mother could have been the last members of their family."

"Mayhe she had some records or pictures or something."

"Not that I ever saw."

"Stored away."

"In the attic, I suppose.  We used to geep some things up there.
Christmas decorations and out-of-season clothes.  But there were some
boxes and a trunk way in the back that nobody ever touched.  We could
have a look at them."

His face became grim.  "Not today.  I'm sorry I mentioned it."

"Why can't we do it now?"

"Because it's not a good time to hang around your house."

Tess folded her arms and sat staring straight ahead.  He was right. But
she didn't want to hear it.

They drove in silence for several niinutes.

It had been sunny when they started out from Savannah Bayou.  Now dark
clouds began to roll in like waves sweeping over the land at high tide.
Bythe time they reached the city it was dark and the wind had begun to
blow.

An inauspicious homecomi?  g, Te thought, feeling tho knot in her
stomach tighten perceptibly.  What would she have done if she'd had to
come back here alone?  she wondered.  Maybe called Chris.  Which might
have been exactly the wrong thing to have done.

Stop it, she told herself sternly.  Vance has got you suspecting
everybody.  Yet now she had to face the fact that he was right to be
cautious

Tess didn't speak to him until she had to give him directions.  He
raised his eyebrows slightly as she slred him onto fashionable St.
Charles Avenue.  But he'd soon disCOver that Aunt Pauline's home was a
modest Xrlctorian COttage in one of the least lofty sections of the
Uptown area.

He slowed down and seemed to be studying a wrought-iron fence that
needed repair.  "Tell me when I'm a couple of blocks away."

"Two more streets and you'll be there."

Vance approached her abode with the wariness he'd used the day they'd
both shown up at Glen Devoe's.

When they finally drove by, Tess peered at the facade, watching the
wind tear at the ficus trees in front.  As far as she could tell,
everything was exactly as she'd left it.  Yet there was no way to be
sure when she couldn't see past the closed shutters facing the
street.

"How many rooms?"

"It's small.  Just the living room, dining room, kitchen, three
bedrooms--I use one for an office--and one bathroom."

"The entrance is on the side?"  Vance asked.

"Yes."

"Too bad.  That means anybody could he hiding back there in the
shadows."  He pulled up to the curb in front of one of the houses down
the block.  "You sit tight.  I'm going to check things out."

"Tm coming with you."  He shot her an exasperated look.

She wasn't going to explain that her insistence didn't come from
bravado.  All the fear she'd repressed was sud-deuly turning her skin
icy, and she desperately needed to counteract a strong desire to turn
and run.  When Vance got out of the car, she followed him up the
sidewalk, arms wrapped around her shoulders.  Let him think she was
simply warding off the sudden drop in temperature.

The wind whipped at her hair, and she swatted stray strands from her
face.  A few fat drops of rain fell, and thunder rumbled threateningly
in the distance.

"Wait," Tess called.  But the wind carried her voice away as Vance
disappeared into the shadows of the covered doorway.  Should she rush
forward or hang back?  She had ample evidence that Vance knew how to
take care of himself.  But what if someone did take him by surprise?
Mayhe it was better if she were in a position to run for help.

To her relief, he reappeared a moment later.  Then her eyes snapped to
the pistol in his hand, a pistol that must have been hidden under his
jacket.

"Give me your key," he demanded.  "Where did you get that gun?"

"From the locked drawer in my desk."  "Why didn't you tell me?"  "I
didn't want to worry you."

She might have argued.  Instead, she fumbled with her still-damp purse
for the key.  Taking it from her hand, he inserted it in the lock and
eased the door open.

Tess stood outside with her heart thump' rag while he turned on lights
and made a quick inspection of every room.

"I think you're okay.  I guess who eve tried to get you wants to go the
accident route."

His casual words were far from comforting, and her nerves were still
jumping as she stepped into the living room.  She was glad she didn't
simply have to stand there looking alarmed, since the answering machine
was beeping.

Vance reached out his hand to stop her as she ctmsed to it.  "Do you
think it's going to explode?"  she asked.

"After the trick with your car, I don't know."  He picked up the
machine and gave it the once-over before pressing the button.

"Tess, thi.  is Ken Holloway.  I have to talk to you.  I have some
information you'll want to hear about that girl who drowned herself,
Lisa G-autreau."

Chapter Eleven

Tess's eyes shot to Vance's.

"Who the hell is this guy?  What does he know about my sister?"

"He's the guy whose camera you pitched in the bayou."

"Wonderful.  He's going to be thrilled when you show up with me."

A smile touched her lipe.  "I can explain that you make a better second
impression."  She extracted her personal directory from the drawer
under the phone and dialed her coworker's number.

"Hi.  This is Ken," his cheerful voice began.  "Sorry we didn't
connect, but I'm out doing the town.  If you'll leave your name and
number, I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Vance uttered a Cajun expletive.

Tess's answering machine was still beeping "Let me see what else I
have.  Then I can start calling around and find out if anyone knows
where Ken went."  She pressed the play button again.

"Ms.  Beaumont, if I were you, I'd drop the Lisa G-au-treau story." The
voice was low and whispery--obviously disguised.  Yet it tugged at
Tess's subconscious--like a hand reaching out of an open grave to drag
her in.  All at once she felt as if a bowl of ice cubes had been
pressed against her spine.

"I--I--know that man," she gasped.

"Who is it?  Somebody at the station?"

Tess tried to bring the insubstantial memory into focus.  She didn't
realize she had started to shake until Vance put his arm around her
shoulder.

"I told you to leave it alone," he grated.

"Maybe you're right," she said in a low voice.

She saw him relax slightly.  Then he looked from Tess to the machine.
The light was still blinking.  "I guess while we're here, we'd better
find out who else called," he sug She felt her throat tighten, but she
hit the play button once more.

"Tess.  Where in the name of all that's holy are you?"  It was Ken
again, and his voice had taken on an urgent, desperate quality.  "It's
Saturday, noon.  I'm getting out of town for a few days.  But I need to
talk to you first.  Alone.  If you come home this afternoon, I'm at
Legacy Cemetery Number Three.  About two hundred yards straight back
from the main gate, there's a double crypt with two vases of stone
flowers in front.  Meet me" -- The message clicked off before he'd
finished whatever else he was going to say.

Vance's face was hard.  "I don't like any of this.  First someone warns
you off.  Then your friend sets up a meeting in a cemetery, .  of all
places.  Does he usually go in for melodrama--or investigative
reporting?"

"No.  He usually just works the camera.  But plenty of people know he
was with me when I went out to Savannah Bayou the first time.  One of
them might have approached him."

"And told him to get out of town.  You realize this might be a trap."

Tess shook her head.  "Ken is my friend.  He probably wants to meet
some place where we won't run into anyone we know?"

"With friends like yours who needs enemies?"  He came back at her with
the old cliche--only now it made the tight feeling return to her
stomach.

"Ken isn't one of the bad guys," she repeated.

"You keep telling me that.  Well, who is?"

"Then I'//meet him."

"You can't, remember.  He'd run the other way."

They stared at each other, both aware that somewhere along the line,
priorities had changed.

"I told you I'd quit the story.  This isn't abOUt the TV news," Tess
whispered.

"You're doing it for me?"  "You.  And the truth."

"I don't like this.  I don't want to put you in any more danger," Vance
muttered.

"You won't.  You'll be with me.  You can drop me at the gate and double
back.  I won't go near the meeting place until I know you're
watching."

"All right."

They had come to pick up extra clothes for Tess.  Now they were in a
hurry, so she only grabbed a sweater and pulled it on.  As they soped
outside, she felt as if they were sepping into twilight.  Purple clouds
hovered over the street like a dark shroud, and the wind had risen to
near gale proportions.

"Your friend could have picked a better time for a rendezvous," Vance
observed as he zipped his jacket.  "I hope he's found some shelter."

"I hope so."

"He better have something important to say."  Vance hurried Tess to the
car.  When he opened the door, the wind tried to rip it from his grasp.
Cursing, he urged Tess inside and slammed the door shut behind her.

Legacy Cemetery Number Three had once been on the edge of the city. Now
it was in a run-down neighborhood off Esplanade.  The rain was still
holding off as they made a quick pass by the arched front entrance, but
Tess expected the heavens to open.  up at any moment.

"I can't take you up to the gate, in case somebody's watching," Vance
said.

"I know."

As he pulled to a stop around the corner, he leaned toward Tess.  "Wait
a couple of minutes before you go searching for that tomb.  I'm not
coming in the front way so you won't see me.  Don't act like you're
expecting reinforcements I'll be where I can see you."

"All right."

Tess hunched her shoulders against the rising wind as she fought her
way up the sidewalk.  Large drops were splashing on the ground, and she
wished fervently that she'd grabbed a raincoat instead of the
sweater.

Above the trees, a jagged fork of lightning split the sky.  It was
followed by a drumroll of thunder close enough to shake the ground.  By
the time Tess reached the archway, more drops were thudding around
her.

Ahead of her were rows of shadowy little buildings--a city of the dead.
Peering into the murky atmosphere, she shuddered.  A cemetery in broad
daylight was bad enough.  A cemetery under the conditions was like
something out of a slasher movie.

Straining her eyes, she tried to locate the crypt Ken had specified.
All she could see were crumbling buildings surrounded by weeds.  The
stone flower baskets were nowhere in sight.

Tess shivered as rain suddenly began to pelt her hair and shoulders.
Ahead of her and to the right was a green canvas tent set up beside one
of the crypls.  Although it was probably meant to shade a funeral party
from the sun, it should provide her with some refuge from the storm.

Her heart was pounding thickly in her throat.  Sprinting ahead, she
made it to the shelter as the heavens opened up.  Then she tried to
keep her teeth from chattering and almost succeeded.

Tess jumped as lightning lanced the sky and thunder rumbled over the
necropolis, the vibrations dislodging bricks from some of the aging
vaults.

Was her overactive imagination playing tricks on her, or was someone
calling her name?

"Ken?  Vance?"  No one answered, but as the rain let up a bit, she
thought she saw a flash of white through the gi0om.

A man in a white shirt beckoning to her?  Uncertain, she hesitated
under the canvas.

"Teas.  Oh, God, Teas..."

She was sure she heard her name again, only this time it was like a
desperate plea for help.

"Ken?  Are you in trouble?  What?"  she called out.  When he didn't
answer, she began hurrying toward the spot where she'd thought she'd
seen the shirt.

The weedy grass was soaked now, and her feet sank into the ground as
she made her way between the low buildings.  As she reached out to
steady herself against one of the tombs, her fingers dislodged several
bricks.  Fetid air from within drifted toward her, and she gagged.

Snatching her hand back, Tess stumbled forward in the dim light, trying
not to touch any more of the walls as she went.

Wisps of fog had begun to rise from the ground, making it harder for
her to see.  It was impossible not to feel slithery shapes oozing from
the dank ground and plucking at her legs.  She knew it was her
imagination.  She hoped it was her imagination.  Still, she had to
press her lips together to keep from screaming.

Ahead, to her profound relief, Wavering in the misty atmosphere, the
stone baskets appeared.  Almost there.  Thank the Lord, Tess thought as
she ran the last few steps.

"Ken?"  she called out to him again, but he still didn't answer.  Maybe
he was hiding.  Mayhe he was afraid to give himself away.  Or maybe she
couldn't hear him above the thunderous pounding of the pulse in her
ears.  Then she saw the white shirt again.  Actually, she saw no more
than a stiff, shirtsleeve-clad ann protruding from the side of the
sepulcher.  It moved as if to urge her to hurry, and she sprinted
forward, rounding the corner of the little building just as a distant
flash of lightning snaked across the deep purple of the sky.

Ken was standing, awkward as a scarecrow, in the shadow of the
building.  His clothes were dripping, his hair was plastered to his
scalp, and his face was drained of all color--except for the little
round red hole in the middle of his forehead.

Tess's mind tried to reject what she was seeing.  Yet her brain refused
to stop processing the visual images.  "Ken, Oh, no.  Oh, please,
no."

As if she were a mother trying to get the attention of a wayward child,
she stretched upward and plucked at his stiffened arm.  His sightless
eyes didn't change direction, but he swayed toward her like a
marionette hanging on slack strings.  It was then that she saw the rope
cinched up under his arms and around his chest--the rope that must he
holding him erect.

Her eyes traveled above his head, up the length of hemp anchored to the
stone cross at the top of the roof gable.  The sight of the hateful
rope freed the scream that had been frozen in the back of her throat.
It ripped from her lungs--the long, loud wail of an anguished
mourner.

Even as she screamed, even as she knew there was no help or comfort she
could give him, she was clutching at his body, trying to tear him down.
She succeeded only in pulling him forward so that his weight fell
against her shoulders.

Thunder cracked again.  Vaguely she realized that she hadn't seen any
lightning first.  It was the wrong way around now.  She felt the heat
flash past her face.

The crack came again, and this time there was a ringing in her ears and
a searing pain across the top of her head.

"t down, cher.  For God's sake, get down."  Confused, she realized that
someone was shouting at her.  Like an apparition, Vance was lunging
toward her from out of the rain.  In the next moment he was looming
over her, shielding her body, dragging her away from the man she had
come to meet, the man who was beyond help.

As Vance threw her to the ground, the air whooshed out of her lungs,
and she fought for breath.

"Someone's shooting at you," he clipped out, as he dragged her across
the wet grass and around the side of the sepulcher.  When she was out
of danger behind the brick wall, he rolled over and freed the gun from
the back of his waistband.

There was another loud report.  At the front of the building, a patch
of brick and mortar crumbled.  Seconds later, Vance returned the fire,
shooting into the mist and darkness at an enemy he couldn't see.

But no more volleys came from the shadows.  When Vance stopped
shooting, all Tess could hear was the awful ringing in her ears. Dazed,
she pushed herself erect and pressed her hand to the back of her head
where it throbbed.  Her pall came away wet and sticky, and she gasped
as she stared down into the red mess.

Vance had rolled back toward her.  When he saw her upturned hand, the
color drained from his face.  "Mon Dieu.  You're hit."

"No, I... must have... have... bumped..."

He was beside her in an instant, bending her head forward against his
chest so he could search her scalp, his fingers pushing aside her wet
hair.  She heard him let out an exclamation of profound thanks.

"It just creased your scalp, thank the good Ood.  A bullet cut across
the top of your head."

"Oh."

"Head wounds can bleed a lot."

"Oh."  She repeated the same dumb syllable.

"Does anything else hurt?"

Tess struggled to make her mind work.  "Just my knee,

where you pushed me down.  "

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right.  Better than a bullet through the middle of my head."
She glanced back at Ken and couldn't hold back a little choking sob.

Vance folded her into his arms and soothed his hands down the freezing
skin of her arms.  "Cher, you're so cold.  Why didn't you wait?"

"I heard someone calling me."

"Come on, we're getting out of here."

"What about Ken?  We can't just leave him like that.  And shouldn't we
wait for the police?"

"There's nothing you can do for him now, cher.  We'll call the police
as soon as we get to a phone.  It's better not to stay till they come,
because they're just going to ask a bunch' of questions you can't
answer.  You don't know what happened here before you arrived, and
neither do I."

Vance was right, she supposed.  He was reaching for her hand to help
her up, when she snatched it back.  "What about... I mean, may he he...
maybe,..  there's something.  Some clue.  Don't we have to look?"

He swore under his breath.  "Unfortunately, you're right.  Stay here.
I'll be back for you."

Tes wasn't about to stay there by herself.  Ken had called her and
asked her to meet him here.  He must have been shot while he was
waiting for her.  He'd been her friend.  She should be helping.  Still,
it was several moments before she could get to her feet and make her
legs function.

When she reached the front of the crypt, she found Vance methodically
going through the dead man's pockets.

"My God, aren't you even going to get him down?"  she quavered, aware
that her voice was verging on hysteria.

"The less I disturb the scene, the better for the police."

"Sorry.  I guess I didn't think of that."

"I told you to wait for me," he clipped out.

"I can't do that."  The words were high and strangled.  Vance pressed
his hand over her shoulder for a second.  "I'll be quicker than you."
Swiftly he went on with what he was doing.  After finishing with the
pockets, he patted down the body.  Then he reached for the dead man's
left hand.

She couldn't see what he was doing now, but he was taking longer.  "Did
you find something?"

He made what she took to be a negative sound before beginning to search
the steps and the ground around the tomb.  "If there were any
footprints, they've probably been washed away or trampled on by us." He
turned back to Tess.  "Come on.  We've pressed our luck long enough.
let's go."

Adrenaline had been keeping her upright.  All at once Tess wondered if
she had the strength to make it back to the car--wherever it wasl

Vance must have seen the.  fatigue sweep over her face.  "Come on,
chef."  Swinging her up into his arms, he started for the gate.  She
was too wrung-out to protest.  Instead, she leaned her head again at
his shoulder, dosed her eyes and snuggled inW his warmth.

For just a moment he stopped and pressed his lips to the side of her
face.  Then he kept moving toward the archway.

got out a blanket.  After wrapping it around Tess, he opened the door
and lowered her to the seat.

Eyes closed, she leaned back and drew her knees up, hugging them
tightly against her chest.

A few blocks from the cemetery, Vance pulled into a gas station with a
pay phone at the edge of the parking lot.  When Tess looked up in
alarm, he pressed his hand over hers.  "I'm going to call the police,"
he explained as he exited the car.

Tess nodded slightly.  As the door closed, lears began to leak from
behind her closed eyelids.

"Well, they're probably on their way over there now," Vance said a few
minutes later as he climbed back behind the wheel.

Tess didn't respond.  Her shoulders had started to shake as the trickle
of tears became a flood.

"Chef, what is it?  Are you hurt?  Is it the gunshot?  What?"

Unable to answer, she shook her head.

Vance drove the car around the back of the station where some trees
shaded the tarmac.  Cutting the engine, he pulled Tess up and into his
lap.

As he rocked her in his arms, he murmured low, soothing words in a
mixture of French and English.  She pressed her face against his
shoulder and sobbed, unable to stop, unable to get control of herself.
It was a long time before the well ran dry.  Finally she lay limp
against his damp shoulder.

"Cher?"

She fumbled in her purse for a tissue and blew her nose.  "Ken... he's
dead... because of me."  The last part was a trembng gulp.

"Non.  You don't know that."

"He called me.  He had some information about Lisa.  Somebody didn't
want him to give it to me."

"You don't know what happened.  How did they find out where he was
meeting you unless he told them?  For all you know, he could have been
involved.  It could have been a trap for you."

"Then what happened?  Why is he dead?"  .

"Maybe he and his friends had a disagreement."

"No.  That's not how it happened," she insisted.  "He sounded upset.
Maybe they held the gun to him and forced him to make the call."

Vance didn't look convinced.

When she stared at him challengingly, he sighed.  "All right, we're
going to find out."  She'd never heard his voice more soothing.

Maybe that was the last straw.  His condescending tone.  But suddenly,
it was all too much, and Tess couldn't cope--with anything.  The fear,
the tension, the guilt, the frustration.

Or perhaps it had something to do with the bullet that had slashed
across her scalp, leaving her with a throbbing headache.  She had
passed beyond rationality into some other state where she could only
react like a wounded, bewildered animal caught in the jaws of a trap.
Her friend was dead.  Her friend and two women.  And somebody was
trying to kill her.  For a moment that terrible realization threatened
her sanity.

She thrust it away and focused on something else.  "How are we going to
find out what happened to Ken?  How?  Tell me how."

When Vance opened his mouth, she hurried on.  "We don't know anything!
We don't know about Lisa.  Or Erica Barry.  And if that isn't bad
enough, you won't let me find out anything about my mother."

"Cher, that's not true.  And it's the least of your wor-fies at the
moment."  He sounded weary.

"Oh, is it?  You don't even understand the way I feel, because you
didn't have a good relationship with your mother."

She saw him flush.  Then his expression closed.  "Maybe it's the one
thing I can do something about," she rushed on.  "But you won't let me
ask your aunt any questions.  And you won't let me get those boxes out
of the attic."

"Tess, I know you're upset .... "

The tears began to flow helplessly once more.  This time he didn't
reach for her.  "You're damn fight I'm upset."

As he started the engine again, her body jerked.  "Take me home.  I'm a
mess.  I want to take a shower and change into something that fits
properly."

"All fight."  He started the car.

She hadn't expected cooperation.  When she threw him an incredulous
look, he shrugged.  "You're not going to get any more arguments from
me."

"Fine."  Leaning back, she pulled the blanket up around her shoulders
and closed her eyes.  Anything beyond brooding was too much effort.
However, after a while, she began to wonder why it was taking so long
to get home from Legacy Cemetery Number Three.  The dfive over hadn't
been this long, had it?

Her eyes drifted open and she saw that they were no longer in the city,
but on the highway.

"What?"

"Are you feeling any better?"  Vance asked in a conversational tone.

"Where are we going?  I asked you to drive me home."

"I am.  To my house."  He was doing it again--taking charge without a
by-your leave.  Thwarting her.  "I don't want to go to your house."
"You're not in any shape to know what you want."

She straightened in her seat, looking at him with shock and fury.  "You
were lying to me, you bastard."

His face contorted as ff she'd slapped him, and she knew at once how
he'd taken the insult.  "

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I shouldn't have said that."

"I've heard it before."

"I guess I should have picked a better word.  You pig, maybe."

"It's best to sfik with honest reactions.  Then people know where they
stand with each Other."

"Vance, for God's sake, stop it.  You're blowing this out of
proportion.  I'm angry because you're not letting me make decisions for
myself.  You'd be angry if someone did that to you."

"Decisions for yourselfl" He snorted.  "We're not talking about
accidents anymore.  Whoever shot at you could have gone straight back
to your house.  They could be waiting there."

She couldn't think of a ready nswer to that.  Instead, Tess folded' her
arms and pulled up her knees.  After several moments of strained
silence, she slid Vance a sidewise glance.  His hands were rigid on the
wheel, and his eyes were focused straight ahead on the road as if there
were no one in the car but himself.

She'd uttered a couple of careless words, and he was acting as if she
were invisible.  No, it was more than a few words.  It had been
building as her hysteria had built.  A little while ago, she'd thrown
his relationship with his mother in his face.  That must have hurt,
too.

She didn't know how to approach him anymore.  All at once she felt very
alone and very afraid.  The only tliing she had to hang on to washer
anger.  With him.  With the whole damn situation.  With whoever was
stalking her.  In fact, anger was the only thing she could clutch as
they rode home in silence.

She'd hunched down in her seat and withdrawn so far into herself that
it was a surprise to find the car coming to a stop in front of his
house.

"Probably you want to take a shower," Vance said as he opened the door
and got out of the car.  He might have been talking politely to one of
his customers about porch molding.

"Yes.  Thanks," Tess answered, striving to match his tone.  Opening her
own door, she climbed out and stood swaying in the driveway, her knees
barely able to support her weight.

She knew Vance was aware of her reaction, yet he made no move to steady
her.

"There's a bathroom downstairs.  You can use that one.  I'll go
upstairs."  Without waiting for an answer, he started toward the
house.

Tess followed, still trying to clutch her anger a protective blanket.
She could feel it ebb' rag away as she climbed the stairs to the
gallery.

She wanted to grab Vance's arm and make him stop and listen to her,
except that she wasn't even sure what she wanted to say.

As she stepped into the front hall, the view of the stairs hit her in
the face, and she felt her heart squeeze so tightly that for a moment
she was afraid she was going to faint.  Turning quickly away, she
ducked into the bathroom and pulled the door shut.

After stripping off her muddy clothes, she adjusted the taps and
stepped under the water.  It wasn't until she'd begun to lather her
hair and felt a stinging pain that she remembered the bullet that had
cut across the top of her head.  Gingerly, she probed the wound.  It
was only superficial, and the blood had dried--so she simply washed the
shampoo out of her hair again without disturbing the forming scab.

She might have stayed under the pounding spray all afternoon.  However,
the hot water finally be gall to giro oat, and she shut the taps off.
When she stepped out of the tub, she found a pile of clothes neatly
folded on the washstand beside the door.

Vance had been here, she thought as she held up a pair of man's cutoffs
and a blue polo shirt.  Even when they were barely communicating, he
was still thinking about her needs.  Maybe that meant something.

Quickly she slipped into the pants.  Although they weren't too bad a
fit, the shirt hung well below her knees.  At least she didn't have to
wear the muddy dress.  And she could clean up the sandals outside if
he'd lend her a rag and a bucket of water.

She wondered where Vance was, until she caught the smell of something
spicy wafting toward her from the back of the house.  Following her
nose, she found him in the kitchen, stirring the contents of a
cast-iron pot on the stove.  He didn't glance up when she came in.

"What are you doing?"

"You mi.nsed lunch.  I thought you'd be hungry."

"Again his tone was polite and impersonal.  On the surface, everything
was dead calm.  Yet Tess could feel echoes of tension vibrating around
them in the still air.

"Do you want to eat?"  she asked quietly.

"It's been a long time since breakfast.  I could have something," he
allowed.

"What are you cooking?"

"It's just leftover shrimp gumbo."

"It smells good."

He didn't reply, and the conversation came to a halt.  For another
minute or so he stirred the soup.  Then he turned the heat down and
cleared his throat.  "I've been thinking.  Maybe I was wrong to jump to
conclusions."

All at once hope bloomed inside her chest.  "About us?"  she asked in a
shaky voice, taking a rapid sp toward him and reaching out with her
arm.

For the first time since the drive home, he gave her a direct look.  It
was the same look he'd given her the night she'd come to get him Out of
jail, and it made the little bud of hope inside her freeze and die.
"No.  About your mother.  Maybe there is something yon can find out."

Chapter 7i elve

"You don't have to put yourself out on my account," Tess whispered,
knowing she couldn't manage anything louder.  "It will help fill the
time."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Research.  We can go as soon as we've finished."

"You don't have to fill any time.  You can just take me home."

"I said I'd keep you safe until Monday morning.  When I give my word on
something, I don't go back on it," he said stiffly.

Turning away, he got two bowls from the cupboard and spooned gumbo into
each.  Then he set the table with spoons and napkins.  They sat across
from each other.  He ate.  She forced herself to swallow a few
spoonfuls of the gumbo.  Perhaps it was good, but she couldn't tell.

Dipping her head and stirring the soup, she glanced up at him.  He
looked perfectly relaxed.  She wanted to scream.

Instead she willed her mind to function.  He'd been this way before,
when they'd driven to Lonnie's.  When he'd been looking for excuses to
detach himself from her.  This time was worse, because they'd gotten
closer.  And then she'd lashed out at him.  Now he was shielding
himself the way he'd told her worked best--by withdrawing.

She knew for damn sure he wasn't going to do anything to change the
situation.  Was she strong enough to make him understand he was giving
up too easily?

Vance finished eating and leaned back in his chair.  She saw his gaze
flick to her bowl, but he didn't comment on her lack of appetite.
Probably that was too much personal interaction for him.

"All set?"

"Where are we going?"

"Charter University Library.  I did some renovation work for them.  So
they let me use the fac'dities whenever I want ."  '

Wh'de she gathered her courage for something more meaningful, she
continued the impersonal conversation he'd begun.  "Will they let me in
dressed like this?"

"If you put your shoes on."  "Suppose I don't want to go."

"Cher, you told me how important this is to you."

As he moved away to open the refrigerator, Tess got quietly out of her
seat.  When he turned around again, she was standing right in front of
him.

"Don't," she whispered.

"Don't what?"  His voice didn't change at all, but his eyes had frosted
over.  "Don't help you see if there are any articles about your mother?
An obituary, at the very least?  Maybe we can pick up some clues about
what happened.  Or there may be something about her background."

She wasn't listening to the recitation.  "Don't treat me like I'm some
stranger from the city."

"I can't control my reactions."  Although his lips moved, his body
might have turned to stone.  Yet she could see a fine sheen of
perspiration on his skin.

"I think you can."

When he didn't answer, she took a sl forward, slipped her arms around
his muscular body, and pressed her cheek against his chest.

This time he was the one who growled "Don't."  Yet he didn't pull away.
And he was far stronger than she.

Tess held him tightly for a moment, knowing that the focus of what she
said would have to be on her.  On how she felt, on what she'd done and
why.  Not on him.

She began to speak quickly her ore her voice broke, her face half
buried in his shirt.  "Vance, for years I've kt so many anxieties--so
many fears--deep inside because there was no other way to deal with
them.  It was like a boiling pot, but I thought I had it all under
control--except maybe when the dreams came bubbling over the edges and
spilling down the sides, and I'd wake up in a cold sweat.  But now so
much more has been dumped in.  And thi.afternoon, I couldn't keep the
lid on any longer.  It was safer to be angry than frightened.  !"  m
sorry.  "

She felt a tremor shake his body.  The first uncontrolled reaction
she'd sensed since the terrible moment when he'd closed her out.  Other
than that, he didn't move.

"Vance, I fell apart after finding my friend, Ken, hanging like a dead
steer in a slaughterhouse and having a bullet slice across the top of
my scalp.  Does my reaction to that have more weight on your mental
scales than how it was when we made love this morning?"

He muttered something low and guttural.  Then he wrapped his arms
around her shoulders, pulling her into his strength.

Witha little sob, she clung to him.

"Don't cry, pour l'amour de Dieu.  Don't cry."

"I... can't... help it."

She felt his lips brush her forehead.  His hands stroked up and down
her back.

"I shouldn't have taken out my feelings on you," she whispered.

"But you've been through a devil of a lot.  Anyone would have
cracked."

" He uttered a short, self-deprecating laugh.  " I did, too.  But with
me, the damage doesn't show quite so much.  "

"Oh, Vance.  Don't do that again.  Don't pretend I'm invisible."

"Cher, I've been protecting myself like that for a long time."

"You don't have to be that way with me.  I promise.  If I

hurt you, if I make you angry, tell me.  "

"If I can."

As lightly as raindrops sliding through tall grass, his fingers moved
through her hair and found the injury.  "Does it hurt?"

"It's all right."

Touching her cheek, he stared do at her.  "I think you must be like the
Acadian'women who trekked down here from Canada when the British exiled
them.  You look so damn fragile.  But you're not."

Tess smiled up at him.  "And I think you're like the men.  Everything
they had was ripped away from them.  But they found a way to survive.
Together,"

"Ah, Tess."  His lips came down on hers.  It was a kiss that began
tenderly and ended in a rush of raw passion.  He devoured her mouth.
She returned the urgent assault, her hands moving over the strong
muscles of his back and shoulders and into his thick, dark hair.  When
he finally lifted his head, they were' both breathing raggedly.

"Bien-aime, trusting anyone is hard for me.  I'm always ready to find
reasons why it wov2t work.  And I usually do."

She saw him swallow slowly, his eyes watching hers, as if he were
afraid the simple admission would be enough to drive the wedge back
between them.  It had just the opposite effect because she knew what it
must have cost him.

"I know.  Oh, Vance, I know.  Feeling this way about someone is new for
me, too.  It scares me a little, too.  But I don't want to run away
from it."  There was so much she wanted to say to him.  So much she
knew he wouldn't accept.  Instead, she covered his face with sweet
little kisses that he began to return.  Leaning back against the
refrigerator, he pulled her with him as they continued to kiss and
touch, relearning the caresses that had brought them both pleasure, and
finding new joys.

The first time tir lovemaking had been fierce.  This time it was slow
and genfie, a communication of tenderness and caring as well as
passion.  It was several hours later before either one of them
remembered about the library.

AS THEY DROVE AWAY from Vance's house, Tess gently touched his
shoulder.  He took his hand off the wheel for a moment to press her
fingers.

"There's something I should.  ask you," she said in a low voice.

"Umm ?"

"What did you tell the police when you stopped and made that call after
we left the cemetery?"  she asked.

His expression became watchful.  "You're sure you want to talk about
it?"

"I can handle it now."

"Just that they'd find a murder victim in Legacy Cemetery Number Three.
Then I gave them the approximate location and hung up.  There isn't
much more either one of us can tell them--except that whoever killed
Ken was waiting for you, too."

Tess nodded.  "The--the--person who murdered him will know I kept the
appointment.  And they'll know I got away."

"But they'll also be pretty sure they've scared you off the story."

"Yes."  Tess closed her eyes for a moment.  "Vance, even when Lonnie
showed me the damage to the car, there was some part of me that still
wanted to think it was some kind of accident."

"I imagine it's hard to make yourself believe someone is Ixying to kill
you."

"A bullet across the top of your skull is pretty con vine

Vance draped his arm around her shoulder and dragged her against him.
Tess moved into his warmth and rested her head on his broad shoulder.

After several miles, Vance cleared his throat.  '"How old were you when
you came to live with your aunt?"

"It was before I started school.  I think I must have been about four
or five."

"So we know the approximate time period to start looking."

A half hour later, they arrived at the campus.  Tess had never been in
the venerable old college library.  It was all dark wood and polished
tables with green shaded reading lamps.  But Vance was right, the
students bent over the stacks of books on the' tables were wearing
everything from cutoffs to He-dyed T-shirts and rubber sandals.  She
didn't look a bit out of place.

"What restoration work did you do here?"  Tess whispered as they made
their way to the reference desk.

"Some of the paneling and the ceiling molding were damaged when a drain
upstairs overflowed."

Tess glanced at the walls and the molding, but she couldn't tell which
Vance had fixed and which was the original.  That was quite a tribute
to his skill, she decided.  After a brief conversation with the woman
behind the desk, he led her down an air-conditioned corridor to the
periodical reference room.  Like most libraries, this one had stored
older periodicals on microfilm.  Vance asked for some likely selections
and they each sat down at one of the

"What do you usually look up?"  Tess asked as she watched him expertly
thread the film.

"The home section.  When I'm working on a house, I can sometimes get
the period details I need from old photographs and descriptions.  I
also check the rare books about architects and old construction
methods."

"You're resourceful."

"I've had to be.  Was your mother's name Beaumont?"

"No.  Orelie Hugo.  That's about the only thing I really know."

"That's an unusual name.  "

"Yes."  Despite everything she'd said earlier, now that Tess was
sitting in front of a machine that might provide her with some
information, she felt a strange reluctance to start her search.

She looked over at Vance.  He was spinning the wheel, moving the film
forward.  Tess fingered the knob for a moment longer.  Then she began
to run through the film.

It was a relief when she came to the end of the first reel.  "Nothing?"
Vance asked.

Sheshook her head and threaded another one onto the machine.

After a while Vance got up and returned his film to the attendant. Then
he went over to one of the computers in the corner and sat down. In
about twenty minutes he was back, with a sheet of paper in his hand.

"Look at this."

Tess felt her throat tighten.  "What do you have?"

"I got to thinking--instead of looking through old newspapers, why not
do a computer search of your mother's name."  He handed her the paper.
"So I tried the article index."

On the paper was a list of bibliographical references:

"Medicinal Plants of the Louisiana Delta," by Otelie Hugo, Ph.  D. "The
Water Hyacinth as a Fuel Source," by Otelie Hugo, Ph.  D. "Folk
Remedies of the Louisiana Delta Area," by Ote-lie Hugo, Ph.  D. As her
gaze skimmed down the list, Tess felt her scalp prickle.

"Otelie Hugo, Ph.D," she murmured as she counted the entries.  There
were eight.  "Could there be two women around here named Otelie
Hugo?"

"It doesn't sound likely."

"What about her thesis?  That would he in the data base, wouldn't
it?"

Tess had already gotten up and was crossing the room to the reference
librarian.  "Pardon me," she began.  "I'm looking for some information
about this woman.  She wrote about the Delta area, and I think she
lived here about twenty or twenty-five years ago."

"I don't know how much material we'd actually have in this building,
but we can do a computer search, if you'll wait.  It will take about
half an hour," the librarian told her.

"Yes.  Thanks."

Vance took her arm.  "Come on, there's no use sitting around biting
your nails while you wait."

That was exactly what Tess would have done.  Instead, she let Vance
lead her out onto the campus.  He seemed to know his way around,
because he steered her away from the knots of students talking and
studying on the lawns to an iron gate.  Pushing it open, he ushered her
into a walled garden with flagstone paths that meandered under shade
trees and between beds of flowers and herbs.  It was a quiet,

peaceful place, and also very beautiful.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"No charge."  Hand in hand they began to stroll past beds of roses,
variegated sage and yarrow.  It was a bit like stepping into another
world.  At least that was the way Tess felt.  Or perhaps it was simply
the strange turn that events had suddenly taken.  Vance was the right
companion for the occasion, because he didn't try to make her talk. And
he didn't comment on her trembling hand.

Finally she drew to a stop in front of a bed of fragrant roses.  "I
feel so strange."

"I've wanted to know about my mother for so long.  But I never
expected-anything like that."  A sudden image flashed into Tess's mind,
and she turned quickly to Vance.  "I told you she used to sit at the
kitchen table and type," she whispered.  "Mayhe she was writing the
articles."

"Ou/."  He looked at his watch.  "Come on, it's time to go back."

When they returned to the library, there was a black-bound manuscript
sitting on the reference desk.

"Otelie Hugo's dissertation," the librarian informed them.  "It seems
she went to school right here at Charter.  Her maiden name was
Beaumont.  Which was how she was lisl!  in the undergraduate
commencement program.  Her major was botany."

As she heard the name, Tess's scalp contracted again.  Vance moved
closer.

"Her thesis- is titled " Folk Remedies of the Delta Region.  ""

"The same as one of the articles," Vance said.  "Is--is--there anything
else?"  Tess whispered.

"An item in the alumni bulletin saying she died while do' rag research
in the bayou country."  The librarian handed the magazine across the
counter.

Her breath frozen in her lungs, Tess turned quickly to the marked page.
It was a very brief announcement of her mother's death.  No mention of
a daughler.  No mention of a husband.  Or a sister, for that matter.
The frozen breath sighed out of her lungs.  "She was only twenty-nine,"
Teas murmured.  "Just a few years older than I am now.  Who gave them
the information, I wonder."  She looked back at the librarian.  "Is
there anything else?"

"I'm sorry.  That's all we have.  If you want to put in a request, I
can get the articles for you.  But it will take a couple of days."

"Thanks.  Can--can--I have a look at the dissertation?"

"Of course.  But there are only two copies, so you can't check it
out."

"I understand."

Vance left her alone and went off to inspect the books on the shelves
in another part of the room Tess picl!  up the oversize black-bound
book and took it to one of the tables in the corner.  Her mother had
written this.  Her mother had held this very manuscript in her hand,
Tess with a little

She began to read the first chapter.  After a few pages, she started
skimming through the rest.  Hnally she closed the book again.  She'd
thought reading her mother's words would give her a sense of
connection.  But it was impossible to merge the warm, loving woman
she'd started re-mere bering with the person who had written thidry,
academic text.  It was so flat.  So impersonal.  But then that was
probably the way all dissertations sounded.

Vance must have been watching her out of the corner of his eye.  Almost
as soon as she put the book down, he was back at her side.

"Learn anything?"  he asked.

"Not really.  I didn't take botany, so it's too technical for me."

"Do you want to photocopy some of it?"

"No.  We can go."

It had been Vance's idea to come to the university library, but he
seemed relieved to get out of the building and drive away from the
campus.

' Despite her lack of reaction to the thesis, Tess was beginning to
feel the stirrings of excitement--the same excitement she felt when she
got a handle on a story.  Besides, it was a lot more gratifying to find
out more about her mother than to think about being a murderer's next
target.  For a while, as they drove back toward Vance'S, she sat
quietly beside him making plans.  Finally she touched his arm.

"Thank you for making 'me go there."

"You didn't find out much.  I thought you'd be disappointed."

"No.  It's like my research for a story.  I interview people, look at
videotapes and read current materials.  But one thing I've learned is
that when you start to dig up information on a subject, you're going to
find more.  I can go back to the registrar's office next week and ask
to see my mother's admission application.  If they mage it a privacy
issue, I'll show them the obituary notice."  She stopped speaking
abruptly.

"What?"

"I just remembered what happened when I started sending out college
applications.  Charter was one of the places where I wanted to apply
because they had a good communications program.  My aunt got upset when
I told her about it, but she wouldn't give me any good reason why.  I
ended up going to Tulane.  It was one of the few times we argued about
anything.  Now I think my aunt didn't want me to go to the same school
as my mother."

"Why?"

"Afraid of bad luck?"  Tess murmured, her fingers unconsciously seeking
the locket around her neck.

Vance followed the movement.  "You always wear that."

"It was my aunt's."  She swallowed.  "Do you think she's the one who
sent Charter the information about my mother's death?"

"What about your father?  It sounds as if your mother took his name."

"Then where is he?"

"I don't know, cher."  Vance didn't say anything.  In fact, be kept his
lips pressed together and his eyes on the road Tess had learned to read
him.

"What are you thinking about?"  she asked softly.

He was quiet for several moments.  Then he glanced at her.  "That after
you told me about the dream, I thought you might be like me--from the
back country.  Now I know your mother was a very well-educated woman
from New Orleans who moved out there to study the plants in the
swamp."

"So?"

"You're nothing like me.  Your roots really are in the city."

"My mother's roots.  We don't know about my father.

Is

Hugo a common name in the back country?  " " Not all that common.  But
there are some families.  " " Then maybe be lived over on the next
bayou, and she met him on a research expedition to the swamp.  Maybe he
was her guide and they fell in love.  Then his people didn't want him
to marry her, and my aunt was opposed to the match.  But they disobeyed
everyone and got married.  Something must have happened to him, but she
stayed on in the little house where they'd lived--and she kept on with
her research?  "

"That's a very romantic interpretation.  Probably about as close to the
truth as a fairy story."

"It's as likely as anything else.  Perhal they were very different, and
they overcame those differences."

"Most dealings between men and women are based on fantasy.  Or maybe
it's wanting the other person to fulfill some need.  At any rate, it
doesn't last.  you don't remember your father.  What happened to him?
Did he leave your mother?  Or did she leave him?"

Tess felt her chest tighten.  "It doesn't always happen that way."

"With people from different backgrounds, it does."

"You're thinking about us, aren't you?"  He didn't answer.

She wanted to tell him that he was wrong--that she wasn't planning to
leave, that she was falling in love with him.  She kept the insight to
herself.  He'd just as good as announced that he still couldn't trust
his own feelings--or hers.  But then why should he?  All his experience
told him that it would end badly.  And the only thing she could do to
prove him wrong was to stick around and let him see how she felt.

Silently, she leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.  "I didn't mean to make you feel worse--about
your mother."

"I'm just feeling sad because of what I missed," she said aloud.  But
she was still thinking as much about the future as the past.  What
would it take, she wondered, to mala this man who'd been hurt so badly
comfortable with love?  He'd been protecting himself by labeling their
relationship a fantasy.  But she knew it was very real.  Not just for
her--but for him, too.  He cared about her, even if he couldn't tell
her.  In her soul, she knew that.  The trouble was, unless he permitted
his feelings to grow and develop beyond the first, exciting stage of
discovery, they would die.  And the idea of letting that happen made
something inside her shrivel up.

Tess sat with her eyes closed for several minutes.  When she opened
them again, Vance had turned off the highway and was heading for his
house.

There wasn't much she could say to him that he'd believe deep down. But
perhaps there were other ways to mahe him see how she felt.

IN inRLY HOS of the morning when he was sure Tess was asleep, Vance
eased away from her in the wide bed.  She'murmured his name and reached
for him.  "Shh.  I'll be back soon."

He stood naked beside the bed, waiting for her to settle down again,
his eyes storing up details.  In the light slanting in from the
bathroom, he could see her silky hair was tousled on the pillow.
Tousled from his fingers.  And her lips were swollen from his kisses.
Sacr bleu, making love with her was beyond anything he could have
imagined.

He knew she'd meant what she'd said in the kitchen this afternoon.  He
knew her lovemaking had been honest and passionate and giving.  Yet he
also knew that a brightly flaming fire could easily burn itself out.
Whatever else might be true, ss had turned to him because she needed
help.  And no matter what she might tell him now, he suspected that it
was only a matter of time before she realized that the two of them
operated in two different worlds that happened to have touched for a
time.  The knowledge was too chokingly painful to dwell on for long.
Inslad, he turned his attention to finding justifications for his
ac-tious.

For years he'd made his own rules and lived by his own personal code.
He wasn't used to explaining himself to anyone, and he wasn't used to
discussing his plans.  Now, as he began to climb into the jeals he'd
tossed so hastily onto the floor, he knew Tess would be angry and
disappointed if she knew what he was going to do.  More than that,
she'd try to call the police.  And that was one thing he wasn't going
to let her do.

Chapter Thirteen

Tess had dropped her purse on the floor in the front hall.  He could
get her keys on the way out and have them back before she even knew
they were mis smg But that was the least of his problems now.  At the
bottom of the stairs, he sat down to slip on a pair of running shoes.

Next, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the shiny
s'dver object he'd found in the graveyard and hidden before Tess had
had a chance to see it.

For long moments, he stood looking at the metal disk in his hand.  It
might very well be a clue to the identity of the man who had killed Ken
Holloway.  The man who was af Vance grimaced.  If he were a fine
upstanding--no, a trusting--citizen, he'd head straight for the nearest
city precinct station and hand over his evidence.  Except that he'd had
too much experience with bureaucracy and with police officers who were
on the take--or who had more pressing agendas than protecting the
public interest.  They might just shove his offering in a drawer
somewhere.  Or they could turn it back to the owner and tell him where
they'd gotten it.  Which would put both Tess and himself in a great
deal of danger.

So his options were severely limited.  And he was going to have to work
quickly.

He turned and glanced back up the stairs, picturing Tess warm and
giving in his arms, and now sleeping so trustingly in his bed.  He was
used to taking responsibility for his own decisions.  Taking
responsibility for another person's life was something different.  A
shudder swept over his body.  If his logic was wrong, he was putting
Tess in jeopardy.

His jaw tightened.  He had a long night's work ahead of him, and he'd
better get going.

TESS WAS ACCtSTOMED to rising at the crack of dawn and getting to the
station in time for early assignments.  "She woke Monday morning just
as the sun was hitting the windowpanes, and her mind immediately
flooded with sweet memories of making love with Vance.  When she
reached out and didn't find him, her body went stiff.  " I'm right
here, cher.  "

She looked up and saw him standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in
jeans and a navy knit shirt.  A black shadow of beard darkened his
cheeks, his hair was mussed and there was a hint of tension around his
mouth.  Studying his face, she decided that he looked more like a man
who'd been out all night on some clandestine mission than like one
who'd just gotten dressed.

"You're up early," she murmured.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair away from her
face.  "I was at your house."

"What?"  She pushed herself up, dragging the covers with her and
folding them around her breasts.

"Were you planning to go into work this morning in cutoffs and one of
my shirts?"

"l--no" -- She stopped and looked beyond him where a suitcase rested on
the floor.  "But I wasn't planning to have you go through my closets
and drawers, either,"

His hand moved from her hair to her cheek.  "I realize I was taking
liberties.  But I didn't want you going back there yet.  Not even for a
little while.  Not until I'm sure it's safe."

"When will that be?"

"After you go in and tell-them you're off the Lisa Gau-treau story. And
after we see how they react."

Tess swallowed.  Last night it had been easy to put thoughts of the
morning's confrontation out of her mind.  "Chris is usually in by
eight-thirty."

"Then we've got time for a shower and breakfast."  He took her hand and
began to help her from the bed.  "Did you pack my robe?"

"Sorry, cher.  I didn't think about that."  He pulled her naked from
the bed and into his arms, pressing her tightly against his body.  His
lips found her neck and then the tender flesh of her ear.  And she
wasn't inclined to complain about what he'd packed.

Two HOURS LATER, Vance's red Mustang pulled up at the curb a block from
the KEFT building.  Tess sat in the passenger seat, dressed in the
cream-color suit and teal blouse he'd selected for her.  It was an
outfit that had always made her feel cool and confident.  Had he seen
her wear it on the air?  Or had he sun ply known her taste?

On the ride into town, she'd done a fairly good job of staying relaxed.
As the confrontation drew near, she could feel every muscle in her body
tightening up.

"This is the second time I've dropped you off when I wanted to go with
you.  I don't like it," Vance muttered.  "But letting them know you're
mixed up with me is a bad idea."

"

Tess swallowed and reached for his hand.  Once her fin-gets closed
around his, she didn't want to let go.

"Remember, it's better if you play your big scene in front of an
audience.  So the word spreads fast."

He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss.

"TII be okay."  She reached for the door handle.  "TII call you as soon
as it's over."

"I'm sorry.  I won't be home."

She waited for him to tell her where he was going.  "Let me phone you
in an hour or so," he said instead.  "I could be out on an
assignment."

He nodded.  "We'll figure out when we can get together.  Go on now.
We'll both feel better when you've gotten it over with."

"Yes."  And I'd feel better if you trusted me with your pans.  The
observation went unspoken.  This wasn't the time for a lesson on the
ethics of relationships.  So she squeezed his hand for a moment before
opening the door and stepping out on the sidewalk.

Shirley Barnes, the newsroom secretary, glanced up when she saw Teas.
"You were a friend of Ken Holloway, weren't you?"  she asked gently.

"Yes.  I found out about it Saturday.  It's terrible," Teas murmured.

"It's going to mean overtime for the other cameramen until we can get a
replacement," film editor SUm Reardon observed.  He'd been passing
through the room and stopped to join the conversation.

"I--yes."  Tess blinked.  She had been thinking about Ken in such
personal terms that she hadn't even considered how his death would
affect the station.

Shirley clicked her tongue as she watched the play of emotions on
Tess's face.  "It's a real shocker--coming on top of the others."

"I assume the police have been here again asking more questions.  Do
they have any leads?"

Stan shook his head and looked expectantly at the see Shirley obliged.
him by continuing the recitation.  "That's not all."

Tess's fingers wound themselves in the strap of her purse.  "My God.
What else?"

"Brad Everett came marching in a little while ago and told our esteemed
leader that he's not going on the air this morning, or any other
morning."

Tess's mouth dropped open.  "What?"

Stan stood with his arms crossed.

Shirley continued.  "I got it straight from Desmond's secretary.  Mr.
Let-the-Chips-Fall-Where-They-May says KEFF is a death trap, and he's
getting out while there's still time."

"You mean he's not planning a story on the latest development?"  Tess
couldn't hide her sarcasm.

"I guess he's not so tough when he thin Ira his own skiffs in danger of
getting punctured," Stan said.

"But he has a contract with the station.  Desmond will he livid.  He'll
sue' the pants off Everett," Tess responded.

"Maybe he doesn't care.  Or may he there's an escape clause for
hazardous duty.  Desmond is behind closed doors with his lawyer now,"
Shirley reported.  It sounded as if she'd already told the story
several times.

"We!!"  I'd better get on: with it," Stan murmured as he headed toward
one of the editing booths.

"What did Larry say?"  Tess asked, unable to drag herself away.

"He got that funny look on his face and locked himself in his office.
He used to be the linchpin around here.  Now, if you ask me, he's
cracking under the pressure."

Tess stood numbly, trying to take in the latest revelations.  Perhaps
she should step into her office before she talked to Chris.  However,
as she starld into the hall, she saw the news director standing outside
her door.

"Where the hell.  were you last night when I needed you?"  he growled,
advancing toward her.  "I'm short a cameraman.  I don't need to be
short a reporter, too."

Tess stared at him--unsure about how to take his insensitivity.  He was
short a cameraman he cause Ken was dead.

"The world doesn't stop, you know.  There was?  fire in one of the
warehouses on the river, and I needed somebody on the scene," he
continued.

"It's hard to deal with, isn't it?  Everything happening at once,."
Tess murmured.  "Is Desmond coming down on you?"

"You didn?  answer my question."

"You couldn't reach me because I was with a friend last night ."

He stopped and gave her an inquiring look.  "Oh?"  She pressed her
hands against her sides, aware that Shirley and several Other staffers
were looking cover fly in their direction--anticipating some sort of
juicy Confrontation.  And someone else had stopped in the hall, in the
shadows where she couldn't see who it was.  But she sensed interested
ears lislening.

Well, Vance had told her it was better to have an audience.  Better
still, she wasn't even going to have to mention him.  Taking a deep
breath, she began, "Chris, I know you're having a morning from hell.
And this isn't going to help.  I was coming in to talk to you about the
Lisa Gau-treau story."  As the sentence ended, Tess's voice rose.

She'd thought she was going to have to fake hystxia.  With the first
words out of her mouth, she knew she wouldn't have any trouble sounding
like a woman fighting for sur Chris shook his head dismissively.  "Not
now.  I don't have time to talk about her now."

"I--I'm dropping the assignment."

"Oh, no, you're not!  Larry's hardly been functioning for the past
couple of days.  I'm doing my job and his, and I don't need any more
damn problems."

"I'm afraid you've got another one, Chris.  Ken left a message on my
ansvring machine Saturday saying he had some information about Lisa."

She had his full attention--and everyone else's.  "Naturally, I went
out to meet him.  But when I got to the cemetery he was.  already dead,
and whoever killed him took a shot at me, too."

Vance had told her to watch for reactions.  She had the satisfaction of
seeing the news director's mouth drop open--and hearing collective
gasps from around the room

Before Chris could recover, she rushed on.  "So that's why you couldn't
get hold of me.  I was hiding.  And trying to decide what to do.  I've
never ducked an assignment before.  I've gone down into the city
pumping stations for you.  I've flown in a hot-air balloon up the
Mississippi and done a lot of other dangerous stunts.  What I keep
coming up with this time is that somebody is desperate to stop ns from
figuring out what really happened to Lisa.  And I'm not going to make
myself the next target by staying on the story."

For a moment Chris seemed at a loss for words.  "That does put things
in a rather different perspective," he finally said.

"Digging into Lisa's background isn't worth getting killed for."

"I can't argue with you about that."  He put his hand on her shoulder
and squeezed.  "Tess, I'm sorry I lit into you.  It's just that I'm
under a lot of stress."

"But that's no excuse.  A man is dead and all I can think about is how
to redistribute his workload."

Tess covered his hand with hers.  "Tell me if there's anything I can
do."

The' offer allowed him to click back into business mode.  "Stay
available for assignments."  He paused a moment.  "And would you mind
checking the stories you have in production?  I may need to have a
couple of news features that are ready to go."

Tess nodded.  She wanted to ask how the Brad Everett problem would
affect their SCheduling.  Would the station be filling in with news
features?  Local programming?  Canned material?  She didn't dare bring
up anything so sensitive now.  "I'll get right on it," she told him
instead.

"I'm sorry," he apologized again.  "I know I can always count on
you."

As he headed down the hall toward.  the executive of-rices, Shirley
stared at Tess, her expression proclaiming that she didn't quite
believe what she'd heard.  "Is all that true?"

"Of course.  Do you think I'd lie about something like that?"

The secretary shook her head.  "It's just... no.  I guess not.  You've
always been one of the few people around this zoo who plays things
straight."

"Thanks."  Another vote of confidence, sort of, Tess thought as she
turned to leave the newsroom.  Her mind still on her conversation with
Chris, she started toward her office.

As she passed the bank of file cabinets in the hall, there was a roar
of sound like a 747 landing directly on the roof Or perhaps the
building began to shake with the impact first.  Afterward, Tess was
never sure in which order things had happened.  But she knew at once
that she'd been knocked off her feet and had landed with a grunt of
pain on her backside.  For several seconds she sat on the tile floor
dazed and too disoriented even to push herself up.  The budding was
old, and this part had never been remodeled.  Now chunks of plastr were
falling from the ceding like ice rock from an avalanche.  Folding her
arms over her head, she tried to ward them off.  One hit her on the
arm, tearing her jacket and gouging a jagged hole in her skin.  She
cried out, struggling to push herself up.  In that instant, the wall
next to her buckled and more debris pelted down.

A bomb, she thought.  It must be a bomb.  Unless New Orleans had been
hit by the mother of all earthquakes.

Behind her in the newsroom, someone was screaming for help.  Someone
else was walling in pain and ln'ror.

Tess was pulling herself erect using the handles of the nearest file
cabinet when Desmond LeRoy came staggering down the hah from the
executive wing, cursing and shouting at the top of his lungs.

"You bastard!  You bastard!"  he screamed.

Tess managed to stand on rubbery legs and stretched out her arm toward
him.  "Please.  Wait.  There are people who need"

He gave her a savage look and rushed on past, heading for the exit to
the parking lot.

Tess stared after him, hardly able to believe that he would simply
leave while staffers were in danger.  Then a moan captured her full
attention.  Maldng her way as quickly as possible around the rubble on
the floor, she headed toward the sound.

"Easy, easy.  Take it easy and I'll get you out of there."  The
soothing words came from Stan, who was on his knees beside Shirley's
desk.  Only the secretary's legs were visible.

Tess dropped down beside him amid the chunks of white plaster and white
powder that covered the floor.  She drew in a sharp breath as she saw
Shirley lying behind the desk.  One of the columns that supported the
ceiling had' fallen over and was pinning her to the floor.  Stan
wrapped his arm around it and pulled, obviously making an enormous
effort.  But although Tess could see the muscles of his back and arms
bulging, the heavy piece of metal didn't move.

He cursed and cast his eyes briefly at the ceiling, where more debris
was filtering down.

"You'd better get out of here while the getting's good," he muttered.

Shirley moaned.

"We've got to get her, too."  Tess gestured toward the length of metal.
"Can you move out from under thi.  thing ff we can lift it up?"  she
asked the secretary.

"I don't know.  I--I--can't feel my legs.  But I'll try."

Tess grasped her hands around the pillar.  "Say when," she
instructed.

"Now," Stan grated.  They both heaved, and the heavy weight came up
slightly.

"Move," Tess shouted at Shirley.  For a moment, she thought it wasn't
going to work.  Or they might make things worse by dropping the column
back on the secretary.  But Shirley managed to roll to the side and
pull her-serf free just before Tess's strength gave out and the heavy
weight came crashing back to the floor.  She sat down, panting and
feeling cold sweat pouring off her body.

Start tried to help Shirley to her feet.  She shook her head and
gestured toward her legs.  "No.  Hurts."

He was just about to pick her up when two men in white uniforms came
running into the room wheeling a stretcher between them.  Ambulance
attendants.  Thank God, Tess thought.  Somebody must have turned in the
alarm.  She hadn't heard the siren.  She'd been too focused on moving
the obstruction to be aware of anything else.

"I think this woman's legs are broken," she gasped.  Stan gestured
toward the still-buckling ceiling.  "Come on.  The building isn't safe.
We're getting out of here."  He helped Tess up and slung his arm around
her shoulder.  Then, like two drunken comrades, they helped each other
toward the door.

A minute later she found herself sitting at the side of the parking lot
feeling sick and unable to keep her arms and legs from Uembling.

Stan whistled between his teeth as he gave her a careful inspection.
She followed the direction of his gaze and saw that her arm was
bleeding.  She hadn't known.

"You're bad off yourself," he said.  "You should never have been
liftin' that pillar."

"Had to."  Tess couldn't manage any more words as she leaned back
against the wheel of a ear and watched ambulances and fire engines
arrive.  Stan stopped one of the attendants and gestured in her
direction.  When he came over and saw her chalky face and bloody
sleeve, he hustled her into an emergency vehicle.  Several more victims
were brought in.  Then they took off for Tulane University Medical
Center.

Tess wasn't one of the worst cases.  As she arrived at the emergency
room, she saw several unconscious staffers.

And Larry Melbourne was just being wheeled into the back on a
stretcher.  His eyes were wide and stating, and his jowly face was like
wrinkled pastry dough, except where blood had dried on a gash across
his high forehead.  My God, she thought, was he going to die?

With so many casualties, Tess expected to sit in the waiting room for
several hours.  She was surprised that after a brief conversation with
the nurse in charge, the attendants helped her into one of the cur
rained cubicles and let her he down while she was waiting to be
treated.  Her own doctor could probably take care of her arm.  Except
that she didn't have the strength to haul herself up and away.

Tess was lying with her eyes closed, trying not to focus on the
throbbing pain in her arm, when the curtain was whisked aside.  Looking
up, she expected to see one of the doctors.  Instead, Vance crossed
swiftly to her side.

"Cher.  I heard about it on the radio in the car.  I went over to the
station looking for you.  The place is a mess."  Tess nodded.

"When I couldn't find you, I didn't know ... I was afraid..."  She saw
his Adam's apple bob.  "Someone told me you'd been brought here," he
continued in a gritty voice.  "Are you all right?"

"Mostly."  She gestured toward her arm and winced.  "Just scraped up, I
think."

He leaned over her narrow bed, carefully spread the torn fabric of her
jacket and inspected the wound.  "Not exactly a scrape.  They should he
taking care of this instead of just leaving you lying here."

"Other people are worse off.  Larry had a gash on his head.  He looked
terrible.  Shirley's legs..."  It took too much effort to continue the
exclamation.  Her lids fluttered closed.

Vance-found her hand and wrapped it in his larger one.  Just holding on
to him made her feel a Ylttle better.

With his other hand he brushed her hair back from her face.  The
gesture scattered plaster dust, and she started to cough.  Vance
muttered something too low for her to hear.  "I'll be right back."

When he reappeared, he had a wet cloth in his hand.  He pulled over the
metal chair in the corner, then sat down and began to wash her face and
neck, murmuring in

French.  Tess closed her eyes again while he worked.  "That feels
good."

"It's about the only thing I can do for you."

"You can give me some information.  You said you heard it on the radio.
Was it just at the station?  What happened?"  she asked.

"Just at the station.  A pipe bomb, they think."

A bomb.  That's what she'd ass tuned "Has anyone claimed
responsibility?"

"Not that I heard.  But it was in Studio Seven.  The building's been
declared unsafe, the station is off the air for the time being at
least, and the owner" -- '"Desmond LeRoy.,"

"Ou/.  Desmond LeRoy can't be reached for comment."

"Good Lord."  Tess tried to sit up, but Vance's hand on her shoulder
prevented it.  "Studio Seven.  That's the one they renovated especially
for the Brad Everett Show.  I heard from the secretary that he came in
this.  morning, threw a fit about safety and quit."

Vance stared down at her.  Sac rE bleu!  I'd like to know how all this
fits together.  "

Before they could exchange any more information, the doctor appeared.
"Ms.  Beaumont, I'm sorry we couldn't get to you sooner.  How are you
doing?"  he asked.

"Not too badly."

His stern gaze flicked to Vance and the cloth in his hand.  "Would you
mind stepping outside while I do an examination?"

Vance's expression made it clear that he did mind, however he didn't
make a fuss.  "I'll be in the waiting room," he told Tess.

Half an hour later, with ten stitches in her arm, she walked slowly out
front and found him.

Seeing her pale face, he was on his feet at once and at her side.
"Let's get out of here."

"In a second."  Turning back to the desk, she caught the attention of
the nurse.  "Can yOU tell me if the other people who Were brought in
from the station are all right?"

"No fatalities," the woman informed her.  "We do have a number of
broken bones and some external injuries.  And one of the sound
technicians is in surgery.  We won't know anything on that for several
hours."

"Thank you," Tess said.  She would have liked to get a list of the
victims, but she didn't want to hold up anyone's treatment by taking up
the nurse's time.  Instead she followed Vance outside and over to his
car.

When he'd closed his door, he turned to her and pulled her carefully
into-his arms, His lips slid across her cheek, found her mouth and
pressed.  She sighed and moved into his embrace--into his kiss.

It was several moments before either of them broke the contact.

"Did you quit the story?"  Vance asked.

"yes."

"When I heard the radio report I just about went crazy.  I thought they
were still after you," he finally said.

She found his hand and laced her fingers with his.  "That bomb was in
Brad Everett's studio--not my office."

"Ou/.  And now the station's closed.  And you don't have to hang around
there for a while."

"Hang around!  I was working for a living.  Now I'm out of a job.  At
least until Desmond gets his act back together," she pointed out as the
larger implications of the explosion sank in.

"That's true.  But you're not seriously hurt.  And what you need to do
is come back home and take it easy for a few days."

Back home?  Did he mean to his house?  And then what?  She was still
too shaken to grapple with those implications, so she simply nodded.

Vance pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the highway.
After several blocks Tess became aware that he had speeded up.  Then he
made a couple of sharp turns that took them away from the direct route
to the highway.  "What's going on?"

"Somebody's following us.  Hang on tight."

Chapter Fourteen

Tess's heart began to pound thickly in her throat.  She'd thought the
'ctor was finished.  Who was after them now?  The same man who had
forced her into the bayou?

She snatched quickly for the armrest as Vance swung the wheel again,
trying to shake their pursuer.  The car tipped and swayed as he
screeched around the corner.  Glancing in the rearview mirror, he
cursed under his breath.

When she'd regained her balance, Tess twisted around to look behind
them.  A sporty little silver car was right on theft tail.  And with
its power and maneuverability, it had no problem keeping up.

"I've seen that car before," she told him.

"At the cemetery when you were supposed to meet Ken?"

"No.  In the KEFT parking lot.  It's new."

"Get down."  Vance started to push her below the level of the dashboard
as their pursuer dw abreast of the Mustang.  When Te gasped in pain, he
loosened his grasp on her shoulder.  "Sorry."

She.  did a double take as she saw the driver.  Larry Melbourne!  She'd
spotted him in the emergency room being wheeled away.  Now a bandage
partially covered the high dome of his forehead, but his bulldog jowls
were clearly visible.  He'd made a remarkable recovery.  With only one
hand on the wheel, he was frantically waving at them.  "It's Larry
Melbourne."

"The station manager who turned the programming upside down when he
came in six months ago?"

Tess nodded.

"It looks like someone lit a fire under his seat."

Tess watched him pull up so close that the two cars were almost
touching.  Perhaps the head injury had affected his mind.

"He wants us to stop."

"Tough luck!"  Vance stepped on the accelerator.  Larry sped up, too.
In fact, he passed them and pulled in front of the Mustang.  Like a
sheepdog cutting an animal out of the herd, he began to edge them
toward the side of the road The way the truck had crowded her off the
pavement the night she'd been coming oust to Ernestine's, Tess thought
with a gulp.

Vance swore.  Tess saw that in a moment he would have the choice of
sideswiping trees and cars on the fight, running into the station
manager, or stopping.  For several seconds, he delayed the decision.
Finally, he slammed on the brakes.

Tes was thrown forward and then jerked back into place as her seat belt
ought and held.

"Okay?"  Vance asked.

He reached for the door handle.  But Melbourne was at the side of their
or before anyone could get out.

"Are you crazy?"  Vance growled.

The threat in his voice would have made any sane man back off.
Melbourne held his ground.

"I've got to talk to Tess," he insisted.  "It's important "

"Important enough to almost get us kiIled?"  Vance gave the door a
shove, pushing the other man back against the hood of his own or.
Leaning over, he grabbed him by the collar.  "Are you the one who's
been trying to kill her?"  he demanded.

"Of course not!  And they're not after her.  They're after me."

As Teas climbed out of the or and approached the two men, Vance slrpped
quickly between her and their pursuer.  "He's dangerous."  '

"I don't think he's trying to hurt us."

"He damn near got us all killed,"

"I have to explain," Melbourne insisted.

Tess recognized the hysteria in his voice, and his eyes swung
pleadingly to her.

"It's all right, Larry," she soothed.  "No..  I was out in th hall when
you were talking to Chris.  I can't let you go on thinking it was
directed at you."

"What wasn't directed at me?"

"All the bad stuff that's been coming down around the station."  He
swallowed convulsively.  "It's me they're after.  I've ruined
everything!  Now I'll be lucky to get away .  in one piece."

Tess was still mystified, and she could see from the perplexed look on
Vance's face that he wasn't following the conversation any better than
she was.

"Who's after you?"  Vance demanded.

"I don't know.  The mob, if you have to give them a name."  In the past
he'd always spoken precisely.  Now his speech was slurred.

"For what?"

"Gambling debts.  In Las Vegas last year.  See, first I was on a roll.
Then I started los' rag bad.  But I kept thinking my luck was gonna
change."  He shrugged.  "Instead, I got flushed down the toilet.  And I
couldn't pay up."

"The mob came after you to collect on gambling debts?"  Tess
clarified.

"Bingo.  They were going to break my legs and wreck my career.  But
there was no way I could pay out that kinds bread.  So I skipped town.
I thought they wouldn't find me because I changed my name.  But they
tracked me down here.  And they wrecked the station like they said they
would."

"You changed your identity?"  Tess asked.  "Then how did you get a job
if you didn't have any credentials?  Why did LeRoy hire you?"

"Because the scuzzbag was desperate to make a name for himself.  I
heard about him and figured out how to ring his hells.  Then I talked a
good line."  For a moment the old confidence came back in his voice.
"He needed somebody like me--Somebody creative who wasn't afraid to
take chances with the schedule to pull the vieWers.  First I
practiCally worked for free--on a trial basis, pending getting my
credentials.  Then when he could see how well things were working
oUt--a ri sum6 was a mOOt point."

Tess stared at him.  Gambling debts.  A new name.  A station manager
with no credentials.  The whole thing sounded like some sort of
paranoid delusion.  Yet as she lOOked back, she remembered that Larry
had never mentioned anything about his background.

"You think someone killed two of Brad Everett's guests and a cameraman
because of you?"  Vance demanded.  "Yeah.  And I'm not stickin' around
to get clobbered."

"Why didn't they just go after you?"  he persisted.

"Warnings.  They thought they could make me pay up if they scared me
enough."

"Has anyone contacted you?"  Vance continued the line of questioning.
"They keep Calling.  But I don't answer the phone anymore."  He glanced
over his shoulder as if he expected a hit man to come charging out of
the bushes.  Then he tOOk a step toWard his car.

Vance leaped forward and clapped a hand on his shoulder.  %4rrt.  "

"For what?"

"If all this is true, you've got to tell someone else."

"Yeah, that's right.  LeRoy oughts know, too.  You tell him.  I'll back
you up with a letter.  From Alaska or somewhere."  As he finished
speaking, he straightened and wrenched himself away from Vance.  In the
next moment, he scrambled into his car and shoved it into gear.  Then
he swung the wheel in a circle and peeled away.

"You could have stopped him," Tess murmured as she watched Larry
disappear.

- "Why didn't you?"

"Because I haven't changed my Opinion.  He's dangerous.  The farther he
is from you, the better."  He moved over and draped his arm around
Tess's shoulder.  "Come on, let's go."

"His story sounds crazy.  Do you think he was telling the truth?"

"He thinks he is.  I don't know how all of that fits into the picture.
But there are ways to check."

Tess nodded as she allowed Vance to escort her back to the Car.  When
she flopped into the passenger seat, she realized that her knees were
trembling again.

Vance climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.  Locking her
hands together in her lap, Tess tried to bring herself under control.
It was difficult.  TOO many things were happening too quickly.  Soon
she wouldn't be able to tell black from white or up from down.

After glancing briefly at Tess, Vance didn't try to engage her in
conversation as they sped toward Savannah Bayou.  She was grateful.
With the rhythm of the car rocking her, she could feel her mind closing
down the way it had the day before--barricading itself into some
quiet,

peaceful place where nothing bad could touch her.  "We're here."

Tess's lids fluttered open.  Startled, she looked around.  They weren't
at Vance's.  He had pulled up in front of Ernestine's little house.

"What are we doing here?"

"It's safer."

Safer than what?  Wasn't the danger over?  But she was too foggy to
question Vance's logic.

As they stepped onto the porch, she glanced question-.  ingiy at him.
"Where's Ernestine?"

"Maybe this is the morning that one of her friends takes her shopping.
Come on inside."  His voice was low and gentle.  "You need to crawl
into bed and sleep."

"Umm."  He was right about that.

He led her to the bedroom where she'd spent Friday night and gently
helped her unbutton her blouse and pull her injured arm from the
sleeve.

"There's no point in saving it," she said, as he laid the ruined
garment on the chair.

"Or your skirt, either, I guess."

When she was clad in her slip, he pulled back the covers and she
crawled underneath.

Moving over to make room on the narrow mattress, she reached for him,
and he hugged her against his chest.

"I'm so tired."

"I know."  He pressed his lips against her cheek.  "I'll be back by the
time you wake up."

"what about Ernestine?  You can't leave her a note."

"Actually, I can.  There's a magnetic board we' use.  With the same big
plastic letters I bought for cans."

Some of the fog had lifted from her brain.  "Where are yOU going?"

As soon as the question was out of her mouth, Tess could see he wished
she hadn't asked.  "I need to take care of a little business," he
answered.

"Business?  The same business you had this morning when you told me I
couldn't get in touch with you?"

"what?"

"Just some things I need to do."

"Vance, are you ever going to trust me?"  "I trust you, cher."

"Then tell me where you're going."

He didn't answer.

"Does this have something to do with Lisa?"

It could.  "

"You never did intend to let me help you, did you?"

"Please, Tess, you're in no shape for anything but rest.  And it's
better if you don't get involved in what I'm do " Is it against the
law?  "

She saw his Adam's apple bob.

"Vance"

"Cher, stop asking me questions.  You have to let me handle things my
way."

She hitched herself up in bed.  "Is it always going to be like this
between us?"

"We'll talk about it when you're feeling better."

"Vance, I know you're used to making your own decisions.  So am I. But
if you want our relationship to work, it has to be a partnership."

"Chef, I'm sorry.  I'm trying to keep you out of trouble, and for the
moment you have to trust me."

"Yes, Vance, I want to trust you.  Let me help--with whatever it is.
Please."

She could tell by the closed expression on his face that her words were
having no effect.  "Let me be a little more plain.  This isn't like
after Ken was ldlled.  I'm not having some sort of hysterical reaction
to the bombing or Larry Melbourne.  I'm thinking very clearly.  Before
we went back to Aunt Pauline's house, you said you wanted everything
that happened between us to be honest.  Well, this hn't honest.  And if
you walk out that door now, I don't know if I'll be here when you come
back."

"How are you go' rag to leave?  Walk?"

Apparently he wasn't really interested in hearing her answer.  Before
she could figure out the rest of the sentence, he had stalked out of
the little room.

Tess lay stating at the empty doorway.  A few minutes latex, she. heard
the car engine start again.  Well, so much for ultimatums, she
conceded.  Vance was too set in his ways to consider something as
simple as another person's wishes when he thought he knew best.  He was
going to do what he wanted, whatever her feelings.  Which meant there
was really no point in sticking around.  Except that she was dead
fired, emotionally battered, and without transportation.

Seeking some sort of comfort, she burrowed under the covers and
squeezed her eyes shut.  But Vance's face con-tinned to fill her
mind.

Vance.  His father had never wanted him.  His mother had been incapable
of giving him the love or support every child needed.  Ernestine and
Alphonse had finally stepped in, but by then his personality had
already been formed, and he obviously had no idea what it took to make
a commitment to a partner.

Tess swallowed to ease the sudden pain in her throat.  When she could
no longer control her anguish, the tears began to flow down her cheeks.
What if she were willing to settle for less of him?  she asked herself.
No, if he couldn't make a commitment to her, why keep hanging on?  It
would be better to try and find some way to deal with the loss.

Thoroughly exhausted, Tess finally slept.  At first she dreamed about
Vance.  Yet even her subconscious was unable to conjure up a happy
ending for the two of them.  Instead she fled back to the time before.
She was a little girl again.  With Momma.  In the house near the
bayou.

Memories that had been buried rose to the surface.  She was playing
with fragrant dried leaves while Momma crumbled a basket of them and
put them into packets made of waxed paper.  A woman came to the door
and told Momma her little boy was sick with the flux, and Momma got out
a little box of white powder and gave it to her.  The woman thanked her
and gave her some money and went away.

Then all at once the woman was there again.  Only this time she was
crying and yelling at Momma.  And Momma kept shaking her head and
saying she didn't understand what had happened.

Suddenly everything changed, and Tess was standing in the middle of the
swamp bewildered, terrified and a'ying.

Aunt Pauline came gliding toward her across the dark water, holding out
her comforting arms.  Clasped in one of her hands was the silver
locket.  She gestured with it toward Tess.

"Aunt Pauline, where's Momma?  What's happening?"  she wailed.

"Look in the locket, child.  Look"

Her aunt's voice was drowned out by the sound of voices.  Confused,
frightened, Tess tried to hold on to the dream and Aunt Pauline's
words.  She was trying to tell her something important.  No, it wasn't
Aunt Pauline, she realized with a start.  She could hear someone else
talking.  Tess opened her eyes and blinked.  At first she didn't
remember where she was.  Then it came sweeping back over her like a
cold, early morning fog rolling in off the gulf.  The explosion. Vance.
The terrible sadness of knowing that he couldn't share himself with
her when it counted most.

A stooped figure filled the doorway.

"Ernestine?"

"You're awake, hein?"  the old woman said.  Her lined face looked
pinched, and the furrows across her brow

"Yes."

"Lonnie was just here."

"Lonnie?"

"He brought your car."

"It's fixed, then."

Emestine nodded.  "I heard there was a bomb at the TV station.  Are you
all right?  Do you feel well enough to get up?"

Tess pushed herself up against the pillows.  She felt stiff, and her
arm throbbed where it had been gashed.  But she'd expected as much.  "I
think so."

"Cher, I've been waiting for you to wake up.  I want to ask you a
question."

"About Vance?"

"Non, about Otelie Hugo."

"My mother!"  She felt an eerie sensation begin to tingle at the edges
of her nerves as the afternoon's dream snapped back into her
consciousness.  For a moment she was almost ill.  Then she pulled
herself together.

"So the name was right, for truth."  Ernestine looked pleased.  "I've
put some Clean clothes on the end of the bed.  Come on out to the
kitchen and let me get you something to eat."

"I--I'm not hungry."

"Then we'll just talk."  The old woman turned and shuffled off.

A few minutes later, Tess found Vance's aunt stirring a pot of soup on
the stove.  "That does smell good," she murmured.

"Eat a lit He bit.  It will make you feel better."

Pulling out a chair at the wooden table, Tess sat down.  Although she
picked up the spoon in front of her, she was too excited to touch the
soup.  "My mother.  How do you know her name?  What can you tell me?
Did you know her?"

Ernestine shook her head.  "Non.  I didn't know her."

"First a woman's odd name popped into my mind while I was straightening
the house Sunday.  I remembered she was someone who lived near here
long ago It stayed with me.  Then... I started thinking about the
questions you asked the other morning before Vance took you to see your
car ... and I wondered.  But I wasn't sure they were connected until
you told me."

'"Vance didn't like my asking anything.  He thought poking into what
happened to my mother could he dangerous for you."

The old woman made a dismissive noise.  "Sometimes the boy is too.
quick to make decisions for other people."

"He only does it when he cares about them."

"He cares about you," Tess said in a low voice.  "And you."

"I" -- She felt h heart squeeze.

"Nothing I can say is going to make any difference.  You'll have to
settle that with him.  This business now--about your mother--this is
between you and me, ma cheF.  '

Tess dug her fingers into a fold of clothes.  "Whatcan you tell me?"

"Not too much.  But I know where Otelie Hugo lived."

Tess felt heat prickle along her nerve endings.  "Where?"

"The other side of Antonville.  About fifteen miles up the bayou.  I
have family there.  And I recollect the talk about her--and her
husband.  He was from the back country, him."

So her fantasy had been right, Tess thought.  Or maybe it was one of
her buried memories.  Mayhe her mother had told her all about it, and
she'd forgotten.

"But he had a scholarship to the university.  They both came Out here
to study the plants.  He was killed in a boating accident."

Vance had been wrong.  Her father hadn't left her mother.  He died.

"She stayed on with the little girl, her."

Tess jumped up and began to' pace back and forth aero the room

"People didn't like them at first.  I think they tried too.  hard to be
part of the community.  But after he passed on, she changed.  She knew
about tonics and remedies for sore throats and skin rashes and such
like.  And people came to her for advice."

"Yes!"  Like the dream.  "Do you know what happened to her?"

Emestine shook her head.  "Non, I'm sorry."

Tess knelt beside Emestine.  "Tell me about the house."

"It still belongs to the university, I think.  Maybe nobody else would
take it."

Tess felt her excitement mount.  "I have to go there.  I have to see
it.  Maybe there's even some clue about what happened.  Can you give me
directions?"

"Don't you think it would be better to wait for Vance,

cheF?  Didn't he--didn't he say someone was after you?  " " Yes.  But
that's all over now.  Really.  " Ernestine nodded a bit uncertainly.

"I don't have to ask Vanee's permission."  Tess took the old woman's
wrinkled hands i;ween her own.  "A few weeks ago I did a story on
surrogate mothers.  And all the time I was asking questions, I kept
wondering how it would be if you didn't know who you were.  I know now
it was me I was really thinking about.  I was still afraid to face the
past.  So it only came out in nightmares.  Like when I ran out into the
swamp that night at your house."

"Don't You understand what this means to me?  You're dangling a key in
front of me.  A key to the part of my life that's been hidden all these
years.  But you won't let me have it."

Ernestine squeezed her hand.  "Bien.  I can see this makes your stomach
chum.  If you must go now, take the road along the bayou to Antonville.
Go through town.  On the other side, look at the mailboxes.  Look for
the university name."

"Thank you ."

"Don't be disappointed if you don't find anything.  It was so long
ago."

"Thank you."  Tess jumped up and started for the door.  Then she turned
back guiltily toward the old woman.  "Will you be all right?"

"Bien srI'll wait here for Vance.  And I'll tell him where you've
gone."

The car was almost as good as new--except for the damp smell coming
from the upholstery.  But she couldn't do anything about that until she
got back to the city.

After emerging on the far side of Antonville, Tess slowed her speed and
began looking at mailboxes.  From Ernestine's directions, she expected
to come upon the right' road immediately.  It was several frustrating
miles before she spotted a mailbox with Charter University written in
black letters across the top.  Behind it was a post with a No
Tresp/ssing sign.  Her hands gripped the wheel, and her breath came in
shallow little puffs as she turned in.  The one-lane road was rutted,
and scraggly trees, dripping with Spanish moss, seemed to press in
against the car.  All 'at once Tess could feel witches' fingers
plucking at the back of her neck.

Stomping down on the brake, Tess came to a jouncing halt and reached
for the gear leVer to put the car into reverse, then stopped in the
middle of the frantic action.  She hadn't been willing to wait another
moment to come here.  She wasn't going to turn tail like a frightened
deer and bound away.  It was broad daylight.  The bad things were all
in the past.  And she was sure she could bring back some more of the
good recollections if she sat on the front porch and maybe walked
through the rooms

Concentrating on the warm patches of sunlight filtering through the
branches overhead, Tess continued up the drive.  She came upon the
bungalow suddenly as she rounded a curve.  It Was low and weathered
and--as she'd snspected--a lot like Ernestine's.  She sat for several
minutes, simply staring at the front windows.  But there was no sudden
rush of memory.  Disappointed, she got out and started walking slowly
toward the porch.  Just before she reached the worn boards, it
happened.  Not a dream.  A clear image of a blond-haired rag doll lying
on the ground beside the steps.  Blond like her.  It had a red plaid
dress, and its name was Evangeline.  Only she hadn't been able to
pronounce the whole name, so she'd called it Lynn.

Overcome by the clarity of the memory, Tess felt her pulse begin to
race.  She'd been hoping, longing, for something like this.  NoW it was
happening.  She sat for several minutes on the steps until her blood
stopped pounding.  Then, with a smile flickering at the corners of her
mouth, she got up and wandered around the back.  Two poles still stood
about tea feet apart in back.  They were leaning precariously, and the
line on which her mother had hung the laundry was missing.  Tess could
imagine white sheets and cotton underwear flapping in the breeze, but
she wasn't sure whether it was a real memory or her imagination. Perhal
this wasn't going to be as easy as she'd thought.  Walking over to one
of the posts, she ran her fingers along the wood, and the scene around
her seemed to blur.  Once again she was a little girl watching Momma
hang out the wash.

"Aunt Pauline says bleach won't get the dirt out of my white
pinafore."

Momma pulled the pinafore out of the laundry basket and held it up.
"Well, it did.  It worked like a charm.  See how white it is?"

"Why did Aunt Pauline yell at you?  Were you bad?"  "No, honey."

"Doesn't Aunt Pauline love you?"

"She just doesn't understand why I want to live out here."  She knelt
down and took the little girl by the hands.  "Honey, if
something--Something--happened to me,

would yon mind going to live with Aunt Pauline?  " " Nothing's gonna
happen to you, Momma!  " " Shh, baby.  It's all right.  "

The long-ago scene shattered like a mirror dropped on a tile floor.

"Careful, you don't.want to get splinters from that old wood," a man's
voice said.

Tess's whole body jerked in pain.  As her head came up, she found
herself looking into a round face with a double chin and bushy brows.
Perhaps he was in his early fifties.  Perhaps soft living had aged him.
At any rate, he was the observer who had been standing off to the side
at her aunt's graveside service.  Today he wore a white cotton shirt
untucked over baggy trousers.

"Who--who are you?"  she asked in a voice that she wished was
steadier.

"(}len Devoe.,"

Chapter Fifteen

"Lisa's husband," she breathed, still caught up by the sound of his
voice.  "Have I met you before?"

He smiled engagingly.  "Haven't had the pleasure."

"What are you doing here?"  she demanded "And why were you standing in
the background at the cemetery?"

"I wanted to explain to you about Lisa.  Then I decided not to intrude
on your grief."

"How did you know I was here?"

"Folks along the bayou tell me things."

Before she could ask for clarification, he went on.  "Please.  I want
to explain about Lisa.  It will make me better.  I was at Savannah
Bayou the afternoon my wife went into the water.  !  tried to stop her,
but it was too late.."

He looked distressed.  He sounded convincing.  Yet she found it very
difficult to trust him.  "Why did she do it?"  Tess asked.

"She was never quite right in the head.  That was one of the things I
found ont after I married her.  Didn't her brother tell you?"

Tess nodded.

"After she was raped, I kept trying to help her, but she just kind of
closed up."

Was that the truth?  Usually Tess was good at analyzing the subtle cues
people gave off.  But this man's voice kept getting in the way of the
words, sending little zings of, alarm up her spine.

Devoe sighed, "Lisa was always a mystery to me.  I'd appreciate
anything you could tell me.  Do you know if--uh--she told her aunt
about anything else that was upsetting her?  I mean, besides the
rape."

"Mayhe you should ask Ernestine about that."

"I don't want to bother the old woman."

"I'm afraid my conversation with Lisa's aunt was confidential.

He sighed once more.  "You're not being very helpful.  I thought we
could do this the easy way.  But I'm going to get the information out
of you, one way or the other."  Pulling a gun out of the waistband of
his trousers, he leveled it at her chest.

A wispy breath trickled from Tess's lungs.  When Devoe took a step
forward, she automatically took two steps back.

"No use tryin' to split," he said.  His speech became more colloquial,
as if a layer of civilization had suddenly been stripped away.  His
tone became gritty, and the grit tore at Tess's nerves like an open
wound dragged across gravel.

"I made sure your car ain't gonna start."

He ignored her gasp and kept talking.

"What do you care about Lisa?  She was my wife.  What happens between a
man and his wife ain't nobody else's business."

Tess continued to stare at him, hardly able to take in his words,
hardly able to get past the awful sound of his voice.  She knew it now.
It was the voice from that terrible night long ago when the monsters
had come.

"You brought the men to my mother's house," she breathed.

"Yeah.  They're simple people.  Superstitious, too.  It was easy to
stir them up.  I just made sure a few of the folks who got herbs and
stuff from your ma died."

Tess was speechless.

"You can bring in a ton of drugs from the gulf--and stash 'em where
nobody'll bother 'era.  " Less some nosy bitch starts poking around,"
he growled.

Tess fought the nausea rising in her throat.

He was watching her closely now, the way a eat watches a wounded mouse
befoTM it-reaches out to strike again.  "Your aunt and I had a
deal,-you know.  I'd get rid of your mother, and she'd get you."

Tess's hand jerked to the locket around her neck.  "You're lying.  She
wouldn't have done that."

He tipped his head to one side.  "Guess you'll have to take my word for
it."  His tone became more conversational now.  "What I say around re
goes.  I've got plenty of money.  Enough to help out people who need
it.  So when I came up with a plan to punish your ma for what I
convinced them she'd done, they went right along with me."

It was hard to breathe now.  "what happened to my mother?"  she
managed.

"She's in the quicksand."

"Oh, God."  Tess covered her mouth with her hands and bit down on her
fingers.  The pain brought back some sense of reality.

"Where you shoulda been," Devoe continued.  "" Cause now here we
are--again.  You meddlin' in my business--just like your mother.  And
Lisa.  "

He didn't seem to want a response.

"Lisa.  Now, that wasn't so simple.  She fooled me.  I didn't know she
used to be the skinny little kid living with the Achords.  All grown
up, she was so pretty, so sexy.  So willing to please.  That girl
could" -- He stopped abruptly, as if he'd suddenly remembered who he
was talking to.  "But there's a limit to how far a man will go for a
woman--even if she's a great lay.  She thought she could' hold me up
for more dough than she was worth.  But a man's wife shouldn't oughta
try to blackmail him.  So I hired someone to teach her a lesson."

Tess gagged as she realized what he was saying.  "You had someone
rape"

He cut her off.  "Then she turns up on TV, and I've got an even bigger
problem.  I can't kill her, because now the whole thing's too public.
In the city and all.  But I can take her medicine away and replace it
with something else.  So she's guaranteed to self-destruct."

"You monster."

Olen Devoe did the worst thing he could have done.  He

VAnCETOOK THE SUTTON out of his pocket and held it up against the
large-size navy sports jacket.  The circle of brass with the crest in
the center was a perfect match to the one still attached to the
expensive fabric.

button and stepped out of the closet.  Like a man still trying to make
certain of his location, he glanced quickly around the well-appo'mted
bedroom.  Rosewood furniture.  A brocade spread.  Silver-handled
brushes on the dressing table.  Only the best for the man who lived
here.

Vance's ebony eyes narrowed.  A button torn off a sports jacket.  That
still wasn't going to be enough for the police.  He could have torn it
off himself and said he found it at the cemetery.  But it proved
something.  It proved that Tess was still in danger, whether she
thought so or not.

His teeth clenched First he'd been trying to find out about Lisa.  Then
somewhere along the line, preventing anything from happening to Tss had
become more important.  Which was why he'd spent every moment he wasn't
with her looking for Ken Holloway's killer.  Thia was the last guy he
would have suspected.  He'd come here finally because none of the other
leads had panned out.

But he hadn't said anything to Tess.  What if his s'dence was putting
her in danger now?

Mon Dieu.  He'd better get back to Ernestine's on the double.

TESS STARED AT Glen DL%'oe's beefy face.  She 11gcognized the look in
his eyes.  She'd seen it before when she'd ira re-viewed public
officials convicted of corruption.  him, they leaded to be out of touch
with reality.  Now she was pretty sure that for a moment he wasn't
really seeing her.  Perhaps his vision was focused on some past victory
or even some past defeat.  It-didn't really matter which--ff it gave
her a chance to get away.

She had a split second in which to go with her gut reaction or
capitulale.  A split second in which he might pull the trigger and
shoot her.  With a silent prayer that she was right, she ducked behind
the tree.

The shot came--too lale to stop her.

Hidden by the foliage, Tess turned and sprined into the twilight
shadows of the swamp.  It had been her nightmare for years.  Even in
the afternoon, it was dark and forbid-ding--a place of menace.  Now it
was her only refuge.

Tess heard the crack of gunfire behind her.  Once, twice.  She saw the
bark of a tree inches to her left shatter.

"Stop, damn you!"  Devoe screamed, equal parts anger and frustration
coloring his voice.

She ignored the frantic order and kept running--from her terror--from
the man behind her.

Her hands balled into fists even as she fled.  Determination kept the
terror from swallowing her.  She couldn't let Devoe get her.  Not when
he'd filled in the blank spaces in her past.  Not when she could tell
the world what he'd donoo

Clamping her lth tightly together, Tess dodged around trees and patches
of slippery mud.  Thorns tore at her dress, and she heard the fabric
tear as she wrenched herself away and kept going.  Once she slipped and
went down on all fours, but she pushed herself up and stumbled ahead.

Through the frantic drumming of her own blood, she could sense hhn
puffing and crashing through the underbrush behind her.  At least she
was in better shape than Mr.  Devoe.  He was farther behind her now.
Maybe she really did have a chance to get away.  Hope surged in her
breast, but she didn't let elation slow her up, either.

Another shot rang out.  This time it was wider.  Farther from its mark.
How many were left?

A canebrake blocked her path.  Tess began to raw her way through, but
the stiff stems slowed her down.  When she broke out onto the other
side, she found herself facing a broad ribbon of mud that curved around
her in a semicircle.

Panting, desperate, she tried to think of what to do.  She couldn't
leap across.  And there was no way to know how deep it went.  If she
started forward, she might get stuck in the middle.  Then she'd be a
stationary target in Devoe's private shooting gallery.

There was a sudden rustle in the cane behind her.  In the next moment,
her pursuer staggered out of the foliage.  His shirt was torn and
several scratches marred' his face, but his lips were curled up in a
parody of a smile.  "End of the line, honey.  It's either me or the
quicksand now."

Quicksand.  Tess shuddered as she looked at what she'd thought was mud.
Was he telling the truth?

"You're going to me what that bastard brother of Lisa's found out about
her death--and about my private business," Devoe growled.

Tess slowly shook her head.  "I'm not going to tell you anything," she
said, repeating her earlier statement although now her voice was raw.

He kept the gun trained on her.  "Well, now, we could trade.  Wouldn't
you like to go to your grave knowing the truth about yOUr aunt?"

"You were lying."

"You'll never know unless you tell me what you know about Lisa.  Or I
could just shoot you in the shoulder or something that might"

Tess heard the crack of the revolver, and every muscle in her body
tightened as she waited for the slug to tear into her flesh.  To her
astonishment, it Was Devoe who grabbed his shoulder and screamed.

"Drop the gun," a voice behind him growled.

When she peered through the cane, she saw Desmond LeRoy coming toward
them.  A familiar-looking cigar was clamped in his teeth.  A not so
familiar-looking pistol was in his hand.  Thank God.  He was a very
strange kind of savior materializing out of the mist.

"Drop the gun, you son of a bitch," he repeated.  Devoe's face drained
of color.  Tossing the weapon to the ground, he sank to his knees at
the edge of the mud, still clutching his shoulder.  Blood began to ooze
from between his fingers.  "Please"

"Shut up."  LeRoy spat the cigar into the mud.  It hissed and gave off
a column of blue smoke.  With a savage kick,

he sent Devoe's weapon spinning off in the same direction.  It landed
next to the cigar.  But it was much heavier and sank slowly below the
surface.

Tess edged toward her boss.  "Mr.  LeRoy," she gasped.  "Thank the
Lord.  How did you know where to find me?"

LeRoy's gaze didn't leave the Other man.  "The aunt.  Mrs.  Achord."

Tess nodded.  They could turn Lisa's husband over to the police.  She
could tell them about what had happened to her mother.  And may he the
information she had for Vance would soften his anger when he found out
that she'd gone against his instructions.

leroy took a step toward the man on the ground.  "You bastard.  First
you tried to make me your messenger boy.

Then you tried to ruin me, didn't you?  "

"No.  Please.  It wasn't me."

Tess stared at them, trying to intea'pret apieture that had blurred and
SUddenly reformed in a different configuration.  They knew each
other.

"Mr.  LeRoy"

The little man ignored her.  "Oh, come on, Glen.  You expect me to
believe it wasn't one of your men who tried to sabotage the station
this morning?  Too bad for you the bomb in the men's room fizzled.  The
only one that did any damage was in Studio Seven."

Tess's head swung from one man to the other, as she struggled to
understand what was going on.

"Why would I bomb you, Des?  We work together real good.  And we go way
back, remember."

"Sure we do.  Way back to when you needed money to finance your dirty
business, and I was stupid cough to get sucked in.  I would have ended
up in the slammer, except that my mother cut a deal with the district
attorney."

"I would have gotten you out of it if she hadn't stepped n. " '

"Sure."  He spat out the syllable as if it were a curse.  "I thought it
was finished.  I didn't know you'd hold it over me every time you
needed a favor."

"Let me explain"

"Yeah.  Explain why Brad Everett broke his contract.  Explain why my
station manager is missing."  LeRoy's voice rose like steam hissing
through a faulty valve.  "Explain how I'm going to attract viewers now.
You can't deliver the viewers, you don't get the advertisers.  And if
you don't get the advertisers, you go down the tubes."  With the last
Word, he aimed a savage-kick at the wounded man.  It connected with
Devoe's chest.  On a piercing scream, he tumbled backward into the
muck.

The scream changed from pain to terror as the drug lord began to sink
into the goop.  Quicksand.  It really was quicksand.

Tess star el in horror as Devoe began to thrash wildly with his good
arm.  It wasn't like when Vance had floated near the surface of the
muck.  He was going down.  Fast.

"We can't-- We've got to help him."  Kneeling, Tess stretched out her
hand toward the struggling man.  No matter what he'd done, she couldn't
let anyone die like this.

LeRoy wasn't taking any chances.  With the flat of his pall, he slammed
Tess backward.  He was stronger than he looked.  She tumbled to the
ground, gasping at the impact.

"Stay where you are," he growled as the gun swung toward her.

Eyes bulging, arms lashing at the surface of the mud, Devoe struggled
to extricate himself.  "Help me.  Help!  Help" -- he gasped.

"Please" -- Tess whispered.  "You can't just let him drown.  We can
turn him over to the police.  He'll be punished for what he's done. Not
just to you.  To my mother."

"Punished!  Fat chance.  Half the police force is on his payroll.  In
town.  Out here where he picks up his drug shipments.  So stay where
you are."

It was all over quickly.  One last scream, and Lisa's husband sank
below the glistening surface.

"Good riddance to garbage," LeRoy muttered.

The look in his eyes made the breath trickle from Tess's lungs.  She
had seen his face turn evil as he watched a man die.  He was looking at
her with the same expression.

"Ernestine knows you came after me," she managed.  "But she doesn't
know what happened when I got here.  Actually, I was too late to save
you.  Devoe had already shot you.  Then he attacked me, and it was self
defense."

"But the connection between you"

"Nobody who's still around town knows.  You're my most pressing problem
now," he said.

"No.  I'll keep quiet about all this."  Even as she made the specious
offer, she could see that he wasn't going for it.

"Oh, come on.  You're not the kind who keeps quiet.  Look at the way
you've stuck with this Lisa C-antreau thing.  You just couldn't let it
go, could you?  You had to keep digging and digging.  Watching the
videotape.  Asking her brother questions.  Pestefing the aunt.  I knew
Glen was going to be mad as a nest of hornets.  He'd already gotten on
me about Lisa being on the show."  He snorted.  "As if I could tell
Brad Everett what to do"

"You were the one who put the tape on the top shelf."

"No.  I dropped the word to Roger Dallas that I'd rather have him for
the weekend anchor than you--that I wouldn't interfere if he slowed you
down."

So he'd been using Roger.  But that was doing things the hard way.  "We
had a meeting.  You could have just told me to drop the
investigation."

"You're wrong.  How could I?  Everybody would have wondered why I was
backing off."

"Was that you that night in the pickup truck?"

"I don't do that kind of scut work.  I have it hired out."  As they'd
been.  talking, Tess had been edging away.  She'd given Devoe the slip.
If she could fade into the cane, maybe she had another chance.  She
could go back the other way--get to the road Get help.  Or maybe Vance
was on his way over.  Maybe he'd called Ernestine, too.  Maybe he was
worried about her.  Or maybe he didn't care.

"Hold it."  The ice in LeRoy's voice stopped her almost as effectively
as the gun in his hand.

Yet she saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, as if this whole
interlude were-more than he'd bargained for.

"You can't say Devoe shot me.  His gun's at the bottom of the bog.
They'll be able to tell the bullet didn't come from it," she tried.

LeRoy's face had set itself into grim lines.  "This gun isn't
registered to me.  It could be Devoe's.  But it doesn't matter.  The
bad stuff is almost over now.  I can put this behind me and start
rebuilding."  He looked from Tess to the swamp.  "And they're not going
to find either one of you."

As LeRoy took a step toward Tess, he didn't see the patch of mud
lurking under a covering of leaves.  When his foot connected with the
ground, his leg shot out from under him.

Seizing the desperate advantage, Tess went for the grin.  Her hand
connected with the clammy metal, and the weapon sailed into the air,
landing on the quicksand.

"You bitch."

In the next moment, LeRoy twisted around and hooked his fingers into
the hem of Tess's dress.  The fabric tore as she wrenched herself away.
For a moment she was free.  Then he reached higher, his fingers se
rabbling at her knees.  They dug into her flesh and held.

Tess tried to twist out of his grasp.  When that didn't work, she began
to pound at his hands.  But he held her in his terrible gp.

She could feel them' both sliding over the edge of the firm ground.
"No--please--don't.  Stop.  We're going in--'"

But he was beyond hearing.  He'd ceased to care about anything but
preventing her escape.

He snapped back to reality as he hit the muck.  Crying out, he let go
of Tess and made a wild grab for a root hanging over the bank.  He
missed.

Tess followed him into the slime, but she was able to twist her body so
that she landed several feet away.  Terror deluged her as a vivid
picture of Devoe's last minutes flashed into her mind.  He'd gone down
into the quicksand struggling and flailing as he pleaded for help.

Oh, God.  It was going to happen to her, too.  She was going to
disappear below the surface of the muck.  Even as she tried to pull
herself up, she could feel the viscous stuff dragging her down into its
wet, sucking embrace.

A scream broke from her lips.  It was answered by an echoing wall of
panic from LeRoy.

She could see him beating at the brown surface with his arms.  It was
all she could do to keep from imitating his frantic movements. Iuslead,
she forced herself to remember what had happened when Vance had
stumbled into the quicksand.  He hadn't gone down like Devoe.  He'd
fioaled to the surface like a cork in a bucket of water.  Well, not
quite as buoyantly as a cork.  But he'd kept his head above the deadly
stuff.

Tess focused on the way he'd looked.  He hadn't been wildly struggling.
He'd hardly moved.  In response, her own thrashing stopped.  All at
once, she realized she wasn't sinking any farther.

"You can float," she called to LeRoy.  "If you stop struggling like
that, you'll stop sinking."

He paid no heed.  Unable to watch him go down, Tess closed her eyes and
tried to imagine that she was floating far away in a beautiful p l of
warm water.  Perhaps if she held absolutely still, she could stay like
this for hours.

It was only a few minutes before she realized that wasn't going to
happen.  LeRoy's ripples were affecting her body.  His struggles were
sucking her down too.  The muck pressed painfully against her cheat,
making it hard to breathe.

"Stop," she gasped out as she felt her lungs being compressed.  "Hold
still.  Please?"

He didn't answer.  But he did slow his thrashing movements.  Perhaps he
was simply too tired to struggle.

Tess felt the quicksand grasping at her shoulders and squeezing the
breath from her body.  The terrible sensation sent panic sweeping over
her.  All her anguish came bubbling out in a strangled cry for help.

To her astonishment, the plea was answered.  "Tess.  For the love of
God, where are you, Tess?"

"Vance!"  she called out with all the strength she could muster.

"Cher.  Keep talking to me."

'"Over here," she puffed.  "I--we"

In the next moment, a haggard-looking Vance came crashing through the
canebrake.

LeRoy reached out toward him.  "Help," he gaSped.  Vance didn't answer.
Instead he pulled a knife from his pocket.  Then he turned away and
quickly began to hack at several of the canes.  When they came free, he
slid them to Tess

"Not her--me!"  LeRoy screamed, the sound cut in half by the pressure
on his lungs.

Ignoring him, Vance maneuvered the slender pole toward Tess.  Grasping
the ends, she tried to hoist herself up, but the muck held her fast,
and her mud-slick hands slid off the smooth surface.

"I... I... can't"

"Wait."  Cursing softly under his breath, Vance withdrew the poles.
With the knife, he hacked several angled cuts along the ends,
roughening the exterior.  Then he slid the makeshift lifelines back to
Tess.  Again, she grasped the ends.  This time, there was something to
grip.  She winced as the rough edges dug into her hands.

In the background, LeRoy was still screaming at Vance.  Tess tried to
blot out the sound as she concentrated on getting free.

"I can't go in there after you.  Can you hold on?"

Vance's voice was edged with anguish.

"I think so."

"I'll pull you out.  You don't have to do any of the work," he promised
as he began to haul the shafts back.

Tess gritlxl her teeth and clamped her hands to the sharpened surface.
For long, terrible moments, she felt the quicksand hold her fast.  Then
with a slurping noise, it yielded some of its' power She was coming up.
Slowly at first and then faster so that all at once she found herself
collapsing onto the bank beside Vance.  As soon as she was on stable
ground, he dropped the poles and pulled her into his arms.

"Tess, mon Dieu, Tess," he breathed, crushing her against his chest.
She held on to him just as tightly.

"Let me see your hands."  He shifted his grip so that he could examine
her fingers and palms.  They were red and gouged from the cane.  "I'm
sorry.  I didn't have any other way."

"I know.  I know.  It's all right."  She pressed her face against his
chest.  "Thank you for coming after me.  Thank you for getting me out."
She wanted to cling to Vance and forget about everything else, yet she
realized that LeRoy was still screaming at them.

Vance continued to ignore him.  "How did you end up in there?"

"He pulled me with him.  He shot Devoe and tossed him in--and watched
him drown.  He was going to kill me, too."  She swallowed painfully.
"But we have to get him out."

The look on his face was harsh.  "Perhaps."  Standing up, he took one
of the canes and slipped it to the Station owner, whoe shoulders were
now covered with the thick mud.

It took some effort for him to raise his hands.  When he finally freed
them from the mud and wrapped them around the splintered end, he
screamed.  "How the hell do you expect me to hold on to this damn
thing?"  he bellowed.

"The same way Tess did," Vance clipped out.  He watched while the man
in the quicksand took hold of the shaft, but he didn't begin to pull.

"Cet me out of here," LeRoy whimpered.

Vance kept a grip on his end of the cane.  Instead of pulling he
reached into his pocket and brought out a shiny round disk.  "This
button came off your navy sports coat."

"Yeah, so what?  Where the hell did you get it?"

"I found it in the cemetery.  In Ken Holloway's hand, to be exact ."
'

Tess gasped.  LeRoy's face hardened.  "Suppose you tell me what
happened."  The station owner was silent.

Vance gave a vicious tug on the pole.  LeRoy screamed as the cut edges
tore out of his hands.

"Tell me what happened, or Tess and I will walk away from here."

Tess gripped his arm.  Briefly, he pressed his fingers over hers.  But
his dangerous gaze never left the man in the quicksand.

"No.  You can't-- Please" -- the little man blubbered.  "Get me out of
here.  I--I--can't breathe."

"Put the pieces of the puzzle together for me.  Did you kill my sister?
Ken?  " Did you bomb your own TV station?  "

"Bomb my station?  Kill your sis?  Hell, n You think I'm crazy or
something?  Devoe bombed the station.  That's why I took care of him.
The only other one I had to get besides Ken was Erica Barry."

Tess gasped.  "You?  But why?"

"She could tie me to Devoe."  Despite his grip on the pole the mud was
creeping up his neck.  "Please--get me out of here"

Vance shook his head curtly.  "Talk."

For a moment I. eRoy's eyes rolled madly and Tess was afraid he would
lose his slender grip on sanity.  Then he clutched the cane more
tightly and lifled his chin.  A stream of words began to pour out of
his mouth so rapidly that Tess had to strain to understand him.  "Erica
was one of Devoe's honeys back in the good old days.  She cognized me
when she came to the studio for that program.  Don't you had to take
care of

Despite the muggy heat of the swamp, a chill swept across Tess's
skin.

"You gotta understand," LeRoy pleaded.  "You gotta know what it's like
to be there on the edge of success.  To make itoh your own.  The
station was finally paying off for me.  I was just starting to make it
big.  Then of all the damn, stinking, rot luck, she turns up on the
Brad Everett Show.  Right after Lisa made her surprise visit.  It still
would have been okay, 'cause I wasn't in the studio or anything.  But I
had to go out to take a leak, and she had to be coming out of the
little girls' room.  I guess I must have looked star fled She's so much
heavier now, and the camera puts len pounds on you.  I didn't recognize
her on TV.  She didn't say anything.  But I could tell she feaiem-be
red me as soon as she saw me.  I haven't changed that much.  So I went
to her house that night.  I thought if I made it' look like a ritual
murder, the police would think it was some nut."

Tess swallowed around the grit clogging her throat.  She thought she'd
figured out Desmond LeRoy.  She'd never come close to understanding the
man she worked for.

"My sister" -- Vance growled.  "Why did she end up in Savannah
Bayou?"

LeRoy had began to blubber.  "Not me.  Not me."

"Devoe drove her to it," Tess answered quickly.  "He told me before
LeRoy killed him.  He switched her medication.  He said she was poking
into his drug business.  Just like my mother."

"What?"

"Later, Vance.  Later."  She gestured toward the man in the quicksand.
His face was cfimn now, and his eyes were bulging out of his head.  As
he sank lower, a strangled, high-pitched wall like the cry of a
textif'l cat came from his mouth.  Tess's fingers dug into Vance's arm.
"Please-- Get him out of there.  Before it's too late."

"Hang on," Vance growled as he began to haul back on the pole.

Tess held her breath, wondering if it were already too late.  Finally,
with agonizing slowness, the station owner's pudgy body began to emerge
from the quicksand like a shriveled raisin being pulled from cake
batter.  He kept his death grip on the pole while Vance pulled.  Then
he was flopping onto the ground beside them, where he lay pant Vance
stared down at him with distaste.  "We'd better call the sheriff."

"He's right here," a gff voice behind them answered.

Chapter Sixteen

Vance and Tess whirled to find themselves facing Frank Haney, the man
who'd locked up Vance for tossing the TV camera in the water.  He
looked much as he had that night at the jail His uniform was still
rumpled and decorated with half-moon patches of sweat at the armpits.
Perhaps the only difference was that the strands of hair across his
scalp stood out at Wild angles.

Vance's whole body tensed when he saw the beefy man.  Tess laid a
cautioning hand on his arm.

"Ernestine Achord called me," the sheriff explained, answering their.
unspoken question.  His gaze shifted among the three people at the edge
of the quicksand and settled on Vance.  "When you took off like the
devil was after you, I guess the old lady figured you were gonna need
some help.  I got here a few minutes ago and decided to see what
developed."

Tess moved closer to Vance, remembering the last time the two men had
confronted each other.

"Glen Devoe is in there."  He gestured toward the quicksand, his eyes
never leaving the sheriff.

"Yeah.  I heard."  He crossed to LeRoy, hooked broad hands under the
man's arms and pulled him to his feet.  "Come on.  You have the right
to remain silent, of course.

Except that these folks have already heard your freely given
confession.  And Ms.  Beaumont saw you kill Devoe.  Which don't put
you'm a very good position.  "

LeRoy's head was bowed and his lips were pressed together.  Either he
meant to take the sheriff's advice, or he was too overcome to speak.

"I'll need a statement from you," Haney said, address /ng both Vance
and Tess.

"Right now we're going home to get cleaned up," Vance replied.  His
voice was even but underlaid w/th a note of challenge.

The sheriff gestured toward LeRoy.  "You want to put this dude away,
don't you?"

"Seems we agree on that."

Vance didn't reply.

Haney swallowed.  "You've caused me some grief in the past."

"The feeling's mutual," Vance said tightly.

Tess looked from one man to the other.  They were standing facing each
other, neither one of them moving.

Haney tipped his head to the side, and Tess's muscles tightened as she
waited for him to say something.  The words, when they came, were a
surprise.  "You saved Ms.  Beaumont and collared LeRoy."

Vance nodded almoit imperceptibly.  When he saw Tess staring at him, he
cleared his throat and addressed the sheriff.  "Tm glad you showed up
when you did."

"Yeah, well it's going to be alot easier to enforce the law around here
with Devoe gone."

Probably the first civil words the two of them had exchanged, Tess
thought.  It was a start toward normal relations:

, Vance and Tess were silent as Haney husfied LeRoy toward the road
"There's been a lot of bad feeling between him and me," Vance sad when
they were alone again.  "Maybe things will be better now."

"It could be," Vance allowed.

"He thought of you as a troublemaker.  This time you're on the same
side."

Vance laughed.  "If you'd told me that would ever happen, I wouldn't
have believed it."

Silently, they star led back through the swamp.  She should be feeling
better, Tess thought.  But now that the danger was over and she and
Vance were alone, she could feel a new Insion mounting.  Nervously, she
fingered the locket that hung around her neck.

"Something's bothering you," Vance said as they reached his car.

Tess nodded.  A lot was bothering her.  A lot that she didn't know how
to deal with.

Perhaps Vance felt the same way.  He star to open the door.  Then he
turned abruptly back to her.  Instead of meeting her eyes, his gaze
honed in on the silver oval clasped between her fingers.

"Why do you wear that?"

"It was my aunt's.  I put it on after she died.  To fed dose to her.
Now... I don't know... Devoe made it sound she knew he was going to
kill my mother... that she was in on it."  Tess gulped.  Then a
tingling sensation rippled across her nerve endings.

Vance saw the look of shock on her face.  "What is it?  What's
wrong?"

"The dream."

"Your nightmare?  Like the one you had at Tante's house the other
night?"

"No.  When I went to sleep in Lisa's bed this afternoon, I dreamed
something different.  About Momma.  And Aunt Pauline.  She came to
rescue me, and she was holding out the locket."

"Can I see it?"

Tess nodded.  Vance reached around the back of her neck and found the
catch.  She held her breath as he unhooked it, feeling suddenly as if
some important discovery were going to be made.

He snapped the locket open.  Inside was the confirmation picture of
Tess.  He touched it gently and then ran his thumbnail around the
edges.  "Do you mind if I take it out?"

"Go ahead."

Underneath was a fiat s'dver plate.

"Right after her funeral, I tried to get it up.  I couldn't," Tess told
him.  "Maybe I didn't really want to pry any fur Vance pulled a
penknife out of his pocket, opened the smallest blade and inserted it
carefully under the edge.  The plate popped up.  Inside a small
compahaent was a folded, yellow piece of onionskin paper.

Handing the locket back to Tess, Vance waited while she removed the
paper with trembling fingers and carefully spread it open.

As she stared at the lines of tiny script, her heart started to thump.
"It's addressed tome.  Aunt Pauline wrote it."  Softly she began to
read aloud.

My dearest Tess,

I believe Mr.  Devoe killed your mother.  The only way I could take you
home was to swear that I would never speak of her again.  Forgive me
for the burden I will carry to my grave.

"Oh, my God," Tess breathed.  "She..."

"She had a terrible decision to make," Vance said, finishing the
sentence.  "I guess she thought caving in to Devoe was the only thing
she could do."

Tess wanted to believe it.  But it was a lot to take in.  "She kept a
diary.  Mayhe she wrote about it in there."

"Or left a more complete record for you somewhere.  But right now, all
you have to know is that she must have found out Devoe ran things in
town and she had to choose between trying to avenge a dead woman when
the authorities would probably have turned a deaf ear--or saving her
daughter."

"When you put it that way, I can understand it better," Tess
whispered.

"It's a lot to take in all at once," Vance said.

Tess nodded.

He shifted his weight uneasily.  "Ernestine is waiting to find out what
happened to you."

"Yes, she must be terribly worried.  We'd better tell her we're all
right."

Tess felt a cord of tension pulhing her shoulders back against the car
seat as they rode back to Savannah Bayou.  A few hours ago she'd made
it pretty clear to Vance that things couldn't work out between the two
of them.  He wasn't doing anything to make her believe otherwise.

As they approached the house, Tess could see Ernestine on the front
porch looking anxiously down the road It was a relief to be able to
focus her attention on the old woman.  Vance bolted out of the car and
hurried to her side.  "Did you bring her back?"  she asked.

"Cher, are you all right?"  she called out when she heard Tess's
footsteps.

"Yes.  Thanks to Vance."

"Come in and tell me what happened."

"She's a mess, Tante.  She was in the swamp."

"Then I can wait until you both bathe and change.  If you're quick."

It was good to wash the mud off, Tess thought as she swiftly bathed.
"I'm using up your supply of spare dresses," she told Ernestine when
she returned to the living lOOm.

"You're welcome to them."  The old woman looked uncomfortable.  "I'm
sorry.  That man.  Desmond LeRoy.  He said he owned the station and
that he had to get in touch with you.  But as soon as I told him where
you were, I started to wonder if I'd made a mistake, me."

"He fooled a lot of people," Vance said from the doorway.  He was
wearing fresh jeans and a clean white shirt.  Tess's eyes were drawn to
the drops of water still glistening in his wet hair, catching the sun
coming in the window.  "After I found the button at the cemetery, I
started looking for the jacket it had come from.  LeRoy's closet was
the last damn place I searched."

"You broke into his house?"  Tess asked.  "Apartment," Vance corrected.
"First I thought it was that other reporter--Roger Dallas.  Then the
news director, your friend Chris.  Or Brad Everett.  Or Larry
Melbourne."

"You searched all their houses?"  Teas asked carefully.

"Ou/.  That was why I couldn't tell you what I was doing he added
tightly.  " In case you were questioned.  " " The police"

"Would have needed a search warrant.  They couldn't try everyone.  I
could.  They never would have pegged LeRoy.  There wasn't really any
evidence pointing toward him.  I'd simply eliminated everybody else at
the station."

They gave Ernestine a brief account of what had happened after Tess had
left for her mother's house.  Then Vance stood up and paced to the
door.  "We should go."

"Yes," Tess whispered.  She knew they had both been deliberately
putting off whatever it was they were going to say to each other.  Now
that the unavoidable was drawing closer, her heart was starting to
pound.

"Do you want me to take you home?"  Vance asked as he starl the
engine.

Tess's fingers dug into the edge of the seat.  "No."  "Then where?"

"Your house is closer.  We need to talk," she whispered.

Tess saw the look of relief flash across Vance's features, but it was
quickly gone.

Ten minutes later they were both standing uncertainly in front of the
steps that led to the gallery.

Vance closed the car door very deliberately.  Then he turned to her.
"Cher, don't torture me any longer.  If it's all over between us, tell
me now.  I've got to know."

"Hope unfurled in her chest.  " I don't want it to be over.  "-With a
low curse, he crossed the few feet betweefi them and pulled her into
his embrace.  Her arms went around him and they held each other,
swaying like trees clinging to the earth in a hurricane.

"I thought I'd driven you away," he muttered.

"Oh, Vance, I'm so sorry I told you it couldn't work.  I thought you
couldn't trust me enough to let me help you investigate Lisa's death. I
didn't know you were trying to find out who was after me."

"I should have told you.  I'm just so used to"

"To playing your cards close to your chest."

He tipped her face up to his.  "I didn't know you were a gambler."

"I've been afraid to gamble before Now I know some times it's the only
way to get what you want."

"Bien-air ne He held her more tightly.

"Vance, we haven't known each other for very long under normal
circumstances, either."

"Ou/.  But I'm very selfish.  I need to be sure I'm not going to lose
you.  That we have the time to work things Out ."  '

"I think you'd have to make a concerted effort to lose me."

They smiled at each other, and he threaded his fingers ill through hers
as they climbed the steps to the gallery.

Once they were in the living room, his expression grew serious.  "Cher,
do you forgive your aunt for what she did to you?"  he finally asked.

It was the last thing she'd expected him to ask.  "I--I-yes."

She heard him swallow convulsively and raised her face, her eyes
searching his.

"Then perhaps you can forgive me, too."

She looked at him questioningly.

"I did the same thing, you know.  I made decisions about what was best
for you without letting you have any say in the matter.  It's one thing
to keep the truth from a little for her own good.  It's quite another
not to give a woman any choice."

"You understand that?"

"Oui."

"You understand that a man and woman have to trust each other and rely
on each other if they're going to make anything imPOrtant work between
them?"  she asked, her voice not quite steady.

"I'm starting to understand.  But I'm so used to taking responsibility
only for myself.  I thought that if I got trouble, I'd be the one who
had to suffer the consequences.  Instead," you were almost killed
because I wasn't there when you needed me.  "

"You came back in time."

"Thank the good God."

She knew how hard it had been for him to admit those things.  Now she
knew she had to taka risk, too.  "I haven't exactly been easy to live
with.  Every time you told me something I didn't want to hear, I got
angry with you."  "You were having a pretty bad time, cher."

"Still, it must be part of the reason you've kept telling yourself that
a woman me--whatever that is--couldn't love a man like you."

She felt him go very still.

"It's not true, you know," she continued.  "If I hadn't been falling in
love with you, I wouldn't have gone to your bed."  She rubbed her
knuckles lightly against the stubble on his cheek.  "Vance Gautreau, I
love you because of your background."

She saw the guarded expression on his face.  And the hope he was trying
so hard to hide.

"How could you?"  he asked in a fierce voice.

"I love you because of what you've been able to make of yourself
despite a rot tea start in life.  I love you because you're intelligent
and creative.  I love you because you have so much strength.  And so
much tenderness hidden below that tough exterior.  And because you'd
take any risk for the people you care about.  I 1oveyou.  And it's been
so hard to keep myself from saying that."

The breath stopped moving in and out of her lungs as he cupped her face
in his hands and gazed down at her.  "Don't put me on some kind of
pedestal--or you'll be disapPOinted."

"Don't worry.  I'm a realist.  I also know you have a hot temper.  And
you're impulsive.  And bullheaded.  And tte -dur--hardheaded."

He nodded.  "All of those, ou/.  But I won't claim to be stupid, and
I'm beginning to think the luckiest day of my life was the day you
walked into that jail."

He 1oo10ed at her with such lendemesa that her heart seemed to stop for
a moment.

"Je t'aime," he whispered softly.  Then louder, "I love you, Tess."

All at once she was seeing him through a film of tears.  Then he was
kiss' rag the corners of her eyes, kissing her mouth, holding her as if
he would never let her go.

"We'll work it out.  I promise," she managed between kisses.

"Ou/.  We have to."

"Take me upstairs.  Take me upstairs very slowly.  The way you did the
first time."

"The famous stairs."  He laughed softly.  Then he swung her into his
arms and carried her toward the front hall.

"ILHOUETTE

COMING NEXT MONTH

A MAN OF SECRETS Amanda Stevens

Lawman

Natalie Silver couldn't understand why FBI agent Spencer Bishop was
helping her out.  But when her ex-husband Spencer's brother was found
dead in her shop, she needed Spencer as much as she'd once loved him.
But the more clues he found, the nearer he came to her secret and to
the child he didn't know was his.  BABY IN MY ARMS Madeline Harper

Kate McNair had just inherited a baby, been the victim of a hit-and-run
and been the target of a drive-by shooting!  That was aside from
meeting a man with dark good looks and mysterious eyes--Ben Blackeagle.
With nothing in her life under control, Kate needed to rely on Ben .
because her life and her baby were in jeopardy.  PROTECT ME, LOVE Alice
Orr

My Bodyguard

Five years ago Delia Barry had awakened next to a man who'd been
murdered.  Knowing she'd he accused of the crime, she'd fled the scene.
She'd started a new life in New York, but now the past is threatening
her and only one man can help her .  the dangerous, elusive Nick Avery.
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Cheyenne Nights

Belinda Connor didn't want to be a temporary wife to Derek Walker, but
now that she knew someone wanted her dead, she had no choice.  Their
marriage would draw out the killer and save her family home.  If
Derek's scheme worked, the marriage would end but could he endure
losing Belinda again?

ILI-IOLIETTE'

Sensation

A thrilling mix of passion, adventure and drama

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SECOND FATHER Sally Tyler Hayes

FRISCO'S KID Suzanne Brockmann

THE ONE WHO ALMOST GOT AWAY Alicia Scott

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