Shattered Lullaby
by
Rebecca York

"I won't let you leave until I know it is safe!"

"You can't keep me here."   

"I can if I have to, but I am hoping that you are smart enough to
wait.   If you want to risk your own life that's one thing.   The
baby is quite another."   

Anger almost choked her.   "Where do you get off telling me what to
do for the baby?"   

"It's as much my child as yours."

"Technically, maybe.  But I've been dealing with the pregnancy on my own for
months!"

"I came to you as soon as I knew," Miguel said.   Then he added,
"Did anyone ever tell you you were stubborn?"  

"Yes.  You did.  Did anyone ever tell you you were a male
chauvinist?" 

"No." 

"Somebody should have." 

There was more she could say.  She could tell him she hadn't been
able to stop herself from falling in love with him.  She could tell
him how much she'd missed him or that she wanted their child to know
and love his father.  But the words were too dangerous to speak.

Dear Reader, We all have favorite themes in the romance novels we read.
One of mine is the good woman who isn't married but who becomes pregnant and
then must cope on her own with the emotional turmoil and problems of unwed
motherhood.  Will she tell the man she loves that she's carrying his child?
If she does, how will he react?  Do they have a chance of happiness together
now that he unexpectedly has to face the responsibilities of fatherhood?
These are some of the issues I deal with in Shattered Lullaby, the story of
Jessie Douglas and Miguel Valero.  And, of course, because it's the kind of
book I love to write, all these personal problems play out against a
background of intrigue and danger, since Miguel is on the run from a man who
will go to any lengths to kill him and anyone who gets close to him.  Miguel
thinks his fugitive status limits his choices, but he doesn't realise that in
Jessie Douglas he's found a woman strong enough to cope with his deadly
dilemma.  I hope you enjoy Shattered Lullaby and the many more 43 Light
Street books I'm planning.  All my best, Rebecca York Ruth Glick, writing as
Rebecca York.

Previous titles by REBECCA YORK 43 Light Street books: Lifelines Shattered
Vows Whispers in the Night Only Skin Deep Trial by Fire Hopscotch Cradle and
All What Child Is This?  Midnight Kiss Tangled Vows Till Death Us Do Part
Prince of Time Face to Face For Your Eyes Only Father and Child Nowhere Man
Directory 43 LIGHT STREET Room ADVENTURES IN TRAVEL 204 ABIGAIL FRANKLIN,
Ph.  D.  509 KATHRYN KELLEY, Ph.  D.  Clinical Psychology

BIRTH DATA, INC.  322 INNER HARBOUR PRODUCTIONS 404 THE LIGHT STREET

FOUNDATION 322

KATHRYN MARTIN-McQUADE, M.  D.  515 Branch Office, Medizone Labs O'MALLEY &
LANCER 518 Detective Agency LAURA ROSWELL, L.  L.  B 311 SABRINA'S FANCY Hall
STRUCTURAL DESIGN

GROUP 407 NOEL ZACHARIAS 311

L.  ROSSINI Lower Level 

Chapter One 

Lock the office door.  That was the most important rule when working
late at night.  With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Jessie
Douglas realized she'd forgotten to throw the bolt.

Sitting up straighter, she ran a nervous hand through her blond hair.

She'd been focused on the pile of reports on her desk, each one representing
a family on the edge of desperation--like Mrs. Sierra, who needed help paying
for day care because her husband had disappeared and left her with two young
children.  Jessie had been writing a request for stopgap funding for the
family, when a sound like stealthy footsteps penetrated her concentration.
Was there really someone out there in the darkness beyond the circle of
light cast by her desk lamp?  Swinging her chair away from the computer
screen, she peered into the black well of the waiting room, praying that her
weary mind was only playing tricks; praying that all she heard was the
pounding of her own pulse in her ears.  Maybe the door actually was locked,
she told herself hopefully.  Or the building superintendent, Lou Rossini,
might have let himself into the office and was trying hard to be quiet now
that he realized she was working late.  Sure.  And maybe elephants can fly.
Several agonizing seconds ticked by as she wiped her slid denly damp hands
against her slacks and waited for confirmation of one of a woman's worst
fears.  Under the new tile flooring, an old oak board squeaked, the sound
pricking the skin at the back of her neck, Someone was out there, all right
someone sneaking across the floor, stalking toward her office, step by
careful step.  Her eyes darted around the little room until they focused on
the telephone just six inches from her hand.  She could call 911.  No good.
She'd be scooped up long before help could arrive.  She was on her own.  Her
gaze darted around her office, and fixed on the green metal Statue of Liberty
that a grateful client had given her last year.  It was pretty tall, and
heavy for a paperweight.  Maybe if she hid it below the desk, she could use
it as a weapon.  But it was too late for even that minimal protection.  Be-
fore she could grab the statue, a figure stepped purposefully out of the
darkness of the waiting room into the partially lit doorway.  Too bad she
hadn't turned on the overhead light, Jessica thought as she squinted at the
shadowed shape, trying to guess his intentions, trying to make the image
there square with the menacing picture her mind had conjured up.  His body
blocked her escape route as he stood dead center in the doorway, with his
mouth set in a grim line and his eyes narrowed under their straight black
brows.  The picture was spoiled by his diminutive height and by the way he
held his scrawny arms with unbearable stiffness.  The overall effect was an
image of Latin machismo, she thought with sudden insight.  He wanted her to
see how tough he was.  They stared at each other across six feet of charged
space, each gathering strength for the confrontation.  Yet despite his grim
expression and stealthy approach, she felt relief kindle within her breast.
Good grief, it wasn't a robber or a rapist; it was a boy from the recreation
center in the barrio, where the Light  Street Foundation was running sports
and other programs for kids who might otherwise be home alone after school,
or on the streets.  If she remembered correctly, he was ten years old.  And
his name was Luis.

She also remembered they'd had a couple of friendly conversations.  Had he
marked her as an easy robbery victim?  "Luis?"  He nodded tightly as he
dragged in several lungfuls of air.  "You're pretty far from home,"

she said, keeping her tone conversational.  He answered with another nod.  He
must have gone to a lot of trouble to sneak up on her; now he looked over-
whelmed that they were actually face-to-face.  "What are you doing here at
this time of night?"  He took another breath, than let loose a flow of
Spanish so rapid, she could barely follow him.

"Slow down."  Pushing back her chair, she came around the desk.  "It is an
emergency, senorita," he said, switching to heavily accented English as he
stared up at her with huge, dark eyes that seemed to dominate his thin face.
"You must come with me."

"Where?"   He gestured impatiently.   " " A house.   In the neighborhood,"
he answered, making an effort to enunciate carefully.   She thought about the
dark streets of the inner city, where unspeakable crimes seemed to happen
every day.

"What kind of emergency?"  she asked.  "Something with your mother or your
sister?"

"No."   His weight shifted from one sneaker-clad foot to the other.   "But
we have to hurry."   "Luis... I can't just go down to the barrio at this time
of night.   Please, tell me what's wrong."   "You must come!"   "We can call
the police if you need help."   She realized her mistake as his expression
turned into one  of panic.   With lightning speed, his small, grabby hand
darted under the open flap of his jacket.   When the hand emerged it was
holding a shiny little pistol.   It might be small, but Jessie was pretty
sure it was no toy.   And the business end was pointed somewhere in the
region of her belly button.   "Luis, be careful with that."   She was
surprised that her voice could sound so steady as she faced a deadly weapon.
"We have to go," he insisted, a small, scared boy trying to act the part of
a tough guy as his voice rose, "or else!"   Knowing his fear made him more
dangerous, she replied,

"I can't go anywhere if you shoot me."

For another few moments he held on to the hard look in his eyes and the
revolver clutched in his small hand.  Then his face crumpled and the gun
lowered.  Careful.  Don't startle him, she warned herself as she took one
cautious step closer and then another.  "Put the gun down,"

she said.  His gaze fell to the weapon as if he were surprised that he was
holding it in his hand.  "Put it on the desk."  A strangled sound rattled in
his chest.  With a thunk he set the revolver down carefully.

The knot of tension inside her released.  "Good.  Gracias."

"It's not loaded," he said in a barely audible voice that carried as much
chagrin as apology.   She came down on her knees so that her face was a
little below his level.   When she held out her arms, he hesitated for an
instant, then closed the distance between them in a rush and clung to her.
She felt his shoulders begin to shake as she smoothed her hands across his
back, murmuring words to comfort both of them, He hid his face against her
shoulder, and she knew he must be fighting for control.   When he lifted his
head, his eyes were large and bright, shimmering with tears that he'd
struggled to hold back.   "I'm sorry,"

he whispered.  "I hope so."

 "Are you going to call the police?"  His voice rose as it reached the end
of the sentence.  She should.  Instead, she made the kind of decision that
her job with Baltimore's underprivileged frequently forced upon her.
"Probably not."  He let out the breath he'd been holding.  "My stepfather
told me I'd better not get in trouble."

"Then why did you come here with a gun?"   "He needs your help.   I was
afraid you wouldn't come."   "Who?   Your stepfather?"   This man must be
very important for Luis to risk so much by coming here and threatening her
with a gun.   He shook his head impatiently.   "No.   Not him.   It's Dr.
Miguel.   He's going to die."   The last part came out as a sort of croak.
Jessie's heart lurched.   Miguel was a common enough name, yet she knew of
only one who was called

"Doctor" even though he wasn't licensed to practice medicine in the U.  S.  "
as far as she knew.  A sudden image leaped into her mind an image of a man
with fierce dark eyes, lean features, and a mouth held tightly closed when he
looked at her.  She shook her head, silently denying that it was him.  " You
know him," the youngster insisted, his fingers digging into her arms.

"He used to come to the center sometimes in the afternoons.  He played
basketball with us.  Now he just sees if anyone is sick.  When Senora Morano
had the problem with her heart, he told the family what to do.  He saved her
life!"  She felt a coldness pass over her skin.

Dr.  Miguel might mend hearts, but he had broken hers two months ago.

And the wound was as fresh as the day she received it.  It had all started
when he'd stopped by to talk to her about Emesto Alcanzo, a boy who needed
glasses.  They'd begun with a chat about eye care.  Two hours later they were
still comparing notes on the community, Baltimore, and Don Quixote's
relevance to modern life, of all things.

She'd asked Miguel if he wanted to grab a quick dinner,  and the evening
that followed would stay etched in her memory until the end of time.  They'd
sat for hours in a small cafe off Thames Street, sharing a pitcher of sangria
as the conversation grew more intimate at least on her part.  She'd told him
about her failed marriage and her decision to go back to school and become a
social worker.  As she'd talked, she'd felt that she was sharing her hopes
for the future with a man who was going to become very important in her life
and very quickly, judging by the man-woman awareness between them that had
charged each look, each sip of sangria, each little gesture.  The
anticipation had built all evening, and she'd known he was going to kiss her
when he walked her back to her car through the darkened streets.  Instead,
he'd only given her arm a quick squeeze and stepped away.  The disappointment
had been sharp.  It was only the beginning of her disillusionment.  Later she
realized that she had done most of the talking, and knew little more about
Dr. Miguel personally than when he'd knocked on her office door not even his
last name.  She'd assumed they'd remedy that situation, but she'd been wrong.
The next day, he'd spared her only a curt nod, then turned away after their
business discussion.  Since that time, he'd been as remote to her as a ship
sailing through Arctic waters.  And she knew that he regretted their hours
together.  She told herself she understood.  Doubtless he was in the country
illegally.  Doubtless he was hiding from the INS.

And he was afraid the agents who trawled the neighborhood for fugitives would
ask her questions about him.  Bitterly, she'd labeled him a coward, though
she wasn't sure whether she was referring to him or to herself.  He hadn't
spoken to her since that memorable night.  Still, more than once, she'd
caught him watching her with an intensity that brought goose bumps to her
skin.  Against her will, she'd caught herself watching him, too, when she
thought he wasn't looking.  But she hadn't seen him for several weeks.  The
boy's voice broke into her tangled memories.  "He helps a lot of people who
don't have the money to go to the  doctor.  Like my mother.  Now he's
burning with fever.  He needs you."  Her breath caught in her throat.  "He
asked for me?"  Luis spread his hands.  Again he spoke too quickly in Spanish
for her to follow.  Maybe this time it was on purpose.  He ended with,

"I think he will die if you don't come quick."

"He won't want my help," she said, almost to herself.   "There is no one
else."   "But I'm not a doctor,"

she insisted,

"You studied emergency medicine."

"How do you know?"   "I heard you tell Rosita's mother, when she came to
pick her up from the sickroom.   The nurse wasn't there that day, and you
were doing her job."   "Yes, but " "That's fine.   He knows what to do.   You
just have to get him the right medicine."   Right.   Sure.   Against her
better judgment, she let the boy's urgent voice persuade her.   Probably she
was making her biggest mistake of the evening, worse than leaving the door
unlocked, she thought as she opened the bottom left-hand drawer of her desk
and retrieved her purse.   Yet the pinched look on Luis's face told her that
there was no time to waste.   "You are coming?"   he asked in a relieved
voice.   "Yes," she answered, silently promising herself that if things were
as bad as Luis said, she was going to call an ambulance.   Miguel might not
like the decision, but in her judgment, it was better to be deported than
dead.   After turning off her computer, she spotted the gun still sitting on
the edge of the desk.

With a shrug she slipped it into her purse.  the midday sun was hot, burning
his skin, burning through his body and into the center of his brain with a
relentless heat that sapped his strength and made every step he took a new
agony.

 Madre de Dios.  He needed a drink.  Cold water to wet his cracked lips and
cool his mouth.  He would stand in an icy shower, let the water sluice over
his body, and open his mouth to the blessed wetness.

He shivered in anticipation, yet part of his mind knew there was no water in
this place; only the heat and the sound of insects buzzing in his ears.  He'd
run from the killers into the back country, where a man could lose himself if
he kept moving, if he kept his wits.  Because they were back there, tramping
through the underbrush, the men with the automatic weapons, following him.
They would catch up, and they would gun him down the way they had murdered
the others Margarita, Anna, Tony, Paco.  And it was his fault.  A smothered
sound of protest and sorrow bubbled in his throat.  He wanted to scream, but
he kept the agony locked inside.  If he screamed, the sound would bring them
to him.  He had to get away.  And not just for himself.  He had to bring the
killers to justice.  To do that, he had to stay alive.  His body shuddered,
then his eyes opened.  For a moment he had no idea where he was as he stared
at the dark, bare room where he lay on a narrow, lumpy bed.  Then a moment of
clarity came to his fevered mind.  He wasn't in the jungle.  He was in his
basement apartment in Baltimore.  Sick as hell.  The pounding headache, the
heat burning up his body, and the terrible thirst came from fever.  Agua.  He
needed water.  And he needed to remember to speak English, he cautioned
himself.  This was the United States, where even the poorest house had a
kitchen sink with hot "nd cold running water.  He just had to turn on the
tap.  It was only twelve feet away, on the other side of the small room.  But
when he tried to push himself up, his arms shook and he fell back on the thin
mattress.  The best he could do was kick at the covers, push them away from
his hot skin.  The effort made his heart pound.  With a groan of frustration,
he lay back, and the thought flitted into his head that he was going to die
in this  miserable basement room in a city far from home where nobody knew
his real name.  luis stuck close to Jessie as she led the way to the elevator
and then out the back door to the garage across the alley, where she'd parked
one of the vans that belonged to the Light Street Foundation.  Pulling out of
the garage, she headed down Light Street and turned onto Pratt, taking a
familiar route.  For the past eighteen months she'd been dividing her time
between the Light Street office and their outreach center in Baltimore's
growing Hispanic community.  Erin Stone, the foundation director, had
wanted someone fluent in Spanish.

Jessie had thought she was fluent enough, but she hadn't been prepared for
the countless idioms and dialects she was now expected to understand.  But
she was doing her best.  And Erin seemed happy with her work.  "Where are we
going?"  she asked as they turned onto Princess Street.  Luis reeled off an
address above Fells Point, in the neighborhood where many Mexican and Central
American immigrants both legal and illegal lived.  Jessie's hands tightened
on the wheel as she drove under burned-out lights that turned the streets
into dark canyons looming on either side of them.  She passed more than one
boarded-up building, and several times she saw figures slip hastily into the
shadows as the van's headlights knifed through the dark.

Casting a glance at the boy hunched in his seat beside her, she casually
asked,

"Do you know Miguel's last name?"

"Diego."   "How did you find out he was sick?"   she asked.   The boy
hesitated.   "If I'm going to help, you have to give me information," she
said softly.   "You have to trust me."   He knit his fingers together in his
lap, the pressure building until the skin was white.   Then he said in a
choked voice,

"He was sitting on the sidewalk around the corner from his house, leaning
against a building.  I thought he was... drunk... or stoned."  He gave her a
sideways look that made her throat tighten.  She nodded, wishing she didn't
live in a world where children tossed off such observations.

"I was going to walk past him, pretend I didn't see his shame.  Then he said
my name.  When I stopped, he pushed himself up.  He had to stand with his
back against the wall, and he asked me to help him get home."

"And you knew he was sick?"

"When I touched him, I could feel his skin was as hot as a radiator," the
boy said,

"Did he say what was wrong with him?"

"II don't know for sure.   But it's bad," Luis answered in a low, evasive
tone.   "It sounds like Miguel should be in the hospital."   "No!"   "He's
illegal?"   she asked, trying to make the question sound as casual as
possible.   "He's hiding out from bad men who want to kill him!   That's why
he doesn't go to the center now."

"How do you know?"

"I heard it on the street."   "Yes, but" -- "Everyone knows," he insisted
vehemently in Spanish.   Everyone but her.   After eighteen months of
community social work, she was still an outsider--trusted only so far by
people who were afraid of getting chewed up and spat out by the system.
Since nobody in the barrio had revealed Miguel Diego's secret to her, she was
left with only the bittersweet memory of their one vivid encounter, and the
image of his face--of high cheekbones, masculine angles, expressive eyes, and
lips that had softened into sensual lines when he'd talked to her.   Don't be
a fool, she scolded.   To remind herself of reality,  she deliberately
changed his features back to those of the hard-edged man who had kept her at
a distance for the past two months.   That was the way he wanted it, she told
herself.   It had been his choice.   Yet the features wavered, and she had
the sudden conviction that he was a man at war with himself, a man who
couldn't afford the luxury of comfortable choices.   Beside her, Luis sat
up straighter as he carefully eyed a line of narrow row-houses.   "It's the
third one.   Right there."   Jessie peered at the dwelling, seeing window
frames with peeling paint and front steps listing dangerously to one side.
Slowing down, she tried to make out any signs of life behind the grimy front
window.   All she could see were darkened rooms.   "Are you sure this is the
right place?"   "5T.   Dr. Miguel's apartment is in the back.

Downstairs.  Through there.  " He pointed to a dark, narrow passageway
between two buildings.  " Great.  " She didn't like the looks of the house,
or the street.  For one frantic moment she wondered if this was all an
elaborate scheme.  Had some adult persuaded Luis to lure her down here
tonight?  For what?  As she pulled into a parking space several yards down
the block, she shook off the suspicion.  The gun told her the boy had acted
out of desperation.  Their conversation had persuaded her he was trying to
help a man he liked and respected

"Cross the yard and go down the steps," the boy called over his shoulder as
he jumped from the van and lunged into the passageway between the buildings,
the blackness swallowing him whole.  "Wait."

Scrambling to keep up, she followed him into the unlit tunnel, then had to
stop abruptly when she realized she couldn't see well enough to keep from
bashing into a wall.  Finally, she emerged into a small courtyard enclosed on
three sides by a sagging wooden fence.

 "Luis?"  she called.  He didn't answer.  Then a metal trash can clattered
to the ground somewhere nearby, and she almost jumped out of her skin as the
ringing noise reverberated along her nerve endings.

Rats, she told herself, when the can continued to rattle as if being rocked
by spectral hands.  Or maybe a stray cat scavenging for dinner.

"Luis?"  she called once more with a mixture of exasperation and fear.
Nobody answered.  After long seconds of silence, she was forced to concede
that her young escort had vanished into the darkness.

Chapter Two On a surge of panic, Jessie flattened her back against the wall
as her gaze darted around the enclosure.  The only other exit seemed to be a
set of concrete steps to her right, descending into a well of blackness.
Luis had brought her to this place--and now he had vanished The smart thing
would be to cut her losses and make a hasty retreat--maybe call 911 and let
them take care of the medical emergency, if there was, one.  Yet she felt
torn between prudence and concern.  Again in her mind, she saw Miguel's face.
This time, the mixture of diffidence and vulnerability in his eyes had a
kind of transcendental effect on her, as if the feelings he evoked were more
important than anything else.  Almost as if her feet had made a decision
without consulting her brain, she moved away from the wall.

When she reached the stairwell, she took a step downward.  The worn concrete
surface was uneven, causing her to lose her footing in the blackness.  She
thrust out a hand to catch herself against the rough brick wall.  The misstep
knocked her out of her trance.  No outside force was compelling her to stay
in this place.  She had a choice.  She could turn around and leave if she
wanted.  Instead, she went forward.  Only by feel did she know when she'd
reached the bottom of the stairs.  Then she turned a corner and found herself
 facing a beat-up metal door with a tiny, high window that glowed dimly with
interior light.  Was this run-down place really where Dr. Miguel lived?  With
a little sigh, she knocked.  When there was no answer, she tried the knob.
It turned, and she boldly pushed open the door and stepped into the small
room beyond.  A host of impressions assaulted her as she stood on the
threshold of discovery.  The air was damp and musty.  The only light came
from a small lamp on an old wooden table that shared a far wall with an iron
bed.  The lone occupant of the room was a man with a broad chest and narrow
hips who lay stretched out on the bed.  One arm was slung over his eyes,
hiding his face.  He was saved from total nudity by a pair of white cotton
briefs that stood out like a beacon against the dark tones of his skin.
There was no way of knowing who he was.  God, this could be any of a thousand
men and angel of mercy Jessie Douglas had blundered into his bedroom
uninvited.

Hesitating in the doorway, she took in more details.  It was obvious he had
kicked away the covers, which hung over the bottom of the mattress and pooled
on the gray tile floor, revealing his well-muscled body in all its
particulars.  When she realized which "particular" she was staring at, she
felt heat rise in her cheeks.  She should be worrying about his health, not
observing the way the cotton briefs molded to his impressive masculinity.
Her gaze was pulled abruptly upward as his hair- roughened chest suddenly
rose and fell in a series of shuddering breaths.  "Miguel?"  she called in a
hoarse voice, hardly aware that she had taken several quick steps forward.
She wasn't sure whether he heard her call his name, but his arm moved,
revealing his face for the first time.  It was him although the sharp
contrast between his previous appearance and his present state shocked her.
A fine sheen of perspiration covered his brow.  Dark smudges almost like
bruises marred the skin under his closed eyes.  Black stubble covered his
sunken cheeks.  And although he  seemed to be asleep, the tautness of his
features told her he was in pain.  "Miguel," she called again, her own
features contorting as she watched his face.  His eyes were closed, and he
moaned in frustration as he tried and failed to push himself into a sitting
position.  The sound tore at her.  She'd been frightened of coming here;
frightened of a man she hardly knew, if she were honest with herself.  Yet
tonight, she knew she was seeing him at his most defenseless, and the
realization caused a tide of protective instinct to swell inside her.

He needed her help, although she was pretty sure--judging from his past
behavior with her--that he wouldn't want to accept that help.  Still, she
had made her own decision.  Turning, she closed the door, shutting them in
the room together.  Then she knelt beside the bed and with a hand that wasn't
quite steady, she softly touched his cheek.  For several heartbeats he lay
without responding, and she was vividly aware of his stillness, except for
the rise and fall of his broad chest and the rapid pounding of his heart.
His skin was damp and hot to the touch.  Luis was right about one thing, at
least.  He was very sick.

But with what?  "Miguel?  Miguel Diego?"  she said, staring into his face.
His lashes were incredibly long and dark--squandered on a man, really.  In
sleep they heightened his appearance of vulnerability.

She said his name again, and he stirred, as if he'd just realized she was
speaking to him.  The dark lashes fluttered open, and his expressive eyes
found her in the dim room.  The last time she'd seen him, they'd been clear
and bright and lit with the fierce inner light that spoke of pride and
determination.  Now they were dull and glazed over by his illness.

"Anna.  Oh, God.  I thought they killed you," he said in Spanish, his hand
coming up to grip her arm, pulling himself toward her.  The raspy sound of
his voice was a shock--but not as much as the words.  Who was Anna?  Had
somebody really  killed her?  Or was he speaking from the depths of a night-
mare?  All at once she remembered what Luis had told her: Bad men were after
him.

"I'm not Anna," she said, answering in English to help him orient himself in
time and space.  He blinked, pulled himself toward her, and she saw him
making an effort to focus on her face, to anchor himself to present reality.
His features contorted with what looked like crushing disappointment.  "I
thought..."  Even as he spoke, he fell back against the pillow as if
defeated.  She brushed aside her own disappointment.

What had she expected, exactly?  That everything would change because she had
undertaken this rescue mission?  "I... It's Jessie.  Jessie Douglas.  From
the rec center," she whispered, her breath catching.

When he didn't reply, she added,

"You remember me?"  "We had dinner.

I wanted " He stopped abruptly, and she saw the color in his cheeks deepen.
His gaze shifted away from her, and he tipped his head downward, taking in
his state of undress.  " You should not see me like this," he said in a thick
voice as his hand began to search blindly for the sheet that had slipped
below his grasp.  Modesty was the least of their worries, she thought.  Yet
she helped him tug the covering over his muscular body, up to chest level.
When her hand landed on top of his, she kept it there, her fingers feeling
cool against his burning skin.  " Everything's okay," she said softly,
conscious of the lie, conscious of the need to ask him some important
questions like about Anna.  Turning his head a fraction, he studied her.  "
What are you doing here?  " he asked in a barely audible voice.

"Luis brought me," she replied, then felt compelled to add,

"He insisted."  "He should not have bothered you."  "He was very worried."

"I will be fine."

 Right, and the moon is made of Cheddar cheese, she thought as she watched
him lick his cracked lips.  "Do you want me to get you a drink of water?"
she asked, half expecting him to refuse even that small service.  But his
need was too great.  "Si."  She stood, glad that there was something she
could do for him, glad to break the intensity of the contact.  Turning, she
surveyed the little room.  It was sparsely furnished with the iron bed, a
chest, an old Formica table, two chairs, and several sturdy wooden boxes
stacked against one wall.

A tiny kitchen unit was strung out along the adjoining wall.  Crossing to it,
she opened a battered metal cabinet and took out one of the jelly jars she
found on the shelf.  As she filled it with water from the sink, she noted
that his dwelling might be old and shabby, but everything was orderly and
clean.  The only thing out of place was the clothing he'd discarded in a heap
near the end of the bed.  Returning to his side, she knelt once more.
Although his eyes were closed, he must have been listening to her move about
the room.  As soon as he sensed her presence, his dark lashes flickered open
and he extended a shaky hand toward the jar.  "Let me help you."

"I can do it."   Biting back a denial, she handed over the glass, watching
the contents spill down the sides as he tried to hold it steady.   Neither of
them spoke.

After a small pool of water had splashed onto his chest, she lifted the
vessel from his grasp again and set it on the rickety nightstand.

"Sometimes it's a sign of strength to accept help," she said mildly.

He made a low sound in his throat as he tried and failed to sit up.

She had never dealt with anyone as proud, stubborn and arrogant to name a few
choice traits.  Figuring she didn't have anything left to lose, she sat on
the bed and wrapped her free arm around his shoulder.  When he didn't reject
her  overture, she lifted him, cradling his body against her chest so that
she could bring the glass to his lips.  He leaned heavily against her as he
drank, swallowing quickly, greedily as if he'd been caught out in the hot
desert sun.  She hadn't considered that giving someone a drink of water could
be such an intimate act, but holding him like this while he drank was very
intimate.  "Have you had enough?"  she asked softly, when he'd downed half
the liquid.  "More, please."  She allowed him to drink his fill as she
cradled him in her arms.  When he was finished, he sank back heavily against
her and sighed, the effort to simply quench his thirst having been almost too
much for him.  She let him rest for a moment, then eased away, leaving him
propped against the wall.  "Gracias," he finally said.  "You're welcome."
When he turned his head and looked at her, she asked,

"Do you know what's wrong with you?"

"Malaria," he answered in a hoarse whisper.   "In Baltimore?"   "A relapse.
I got it in San Marcos.   In the hill country."   She knew that could
happen.   One of her clients had had a boyfriend from El Salvador with the
same problem.   The man had gone into a coma and died.   "You should be in
the hospital," she said quickly as she inspected the dark streaks marring the
skin under his eyes.   He looked almost as if a couple of goons had pummeled
his face with their fists.   He regarded her steadily.

"Impossible."

"Why not?"   "I do not have ... the energy to explain," he replied with
profound weariness.   It wasn't just from his illness, she thought.   This
man was worn-out from some heavy burden he had been carrying around for a
long time.   Or was she reading too much into his ragged voice and  haggard
expression?   All she could tell for certain was that the brief conversation
was rapidly sapping his strength.   "If you can get me mefloquine I will be
okay."   He paused for breath.   "Or maybe pyrmethamine," he added, reeling
off the names of the medicines with a physician's precision.   And where was
she supposed to get either of those drugs without a prescription?   Maybe
from her friend Dr. Katie Martin McQuade, who was married to medical
researcher Mac McQuade.   They owned Medizone Labs, which specialized in
developing the medical potential of plants from around the world.   "I may be
able to get you what you need."   "Without disclosing the name of the
patient?"   he asked, apparently following her train of thought.   Avoiding
her gaze, he stared into the darkness beyond the circle of light from the
lamp.

"Yes."

"You would do that for me?"   She nodded, shifting on the bed so that she
was facing him.   "Why?"   he asked.   "My job is helping people," she said
evasively, knowing he was more likely to accept her offer if she kept the
transaction impersonal.   She sensed he was making, a decision about
whether or not to trust her.   Sick as he was, he held on to the balance of
power in this encounter.   As she waited for his approval, time stretched
like wire pulled taut.   She wanted to say all sorts of things that would
push him in the right direction, but she knew that nothing she could say
would matter to him.   He would keep his own counsel.   "Come back in the
morning," he said after several tense, silent moments.   "I don't think
that's smart," she answered quickly.

"You can't stay.  It is... dangerous."  The word hung in the air between them
like the sound of a bomb ticking.

 "Luis said that you were on the run " She hesitated for a fraction of a
second.  "From the INS?"  His gaze held steady.  "Worse than the INS."
"Who?"  His Adam's apple bobbed.  "The less you know about me, the better.
For your own sake."  She wanted to push him for explanations, make him give
her more information.  At the same time, she felt a little bud of hope unfurl
inside her.  The night they'd gotten close, he'd made her think the two of
them could eventually mean something to each other.  The next day, he'd
ruthlessly turned away from her.  Was he finally giving her a valid reason?
Had he been afraid that her getting close to him would put her in danger?  It
was all she could do not to grab him by the shoulders and shake the truth out
of him.  But she could see every word he uttered was stealing more of his
strength.  Even so, his eyes locked with hers in silent defiance.

God, this man was something else.  Too sick to get out of bed, yet fighting
like a raging bull every step of the way.  "But you'll let me get you the
medicine?"  she asked, pushing for clarification.  He ignored the challenge.
"From whom?"

"Katie and Mac."   "Who are they?"   he asked, the hard edge of suspicion
back in his voice along with a little tremor as he tried and failed to keep
his teeth from chattering.   "They're good friends."   If she'd had more time
for pleasantries, she would have explained that they were part of the group
that someone had dubbed the Light Street Irregulars friends who rallied
around when one of their own was in trouble.   They were there if you needed
them and didn't press for inconvenient explanations when it was better to
leave the details vague.   "You trust them?"   he asked, cutting to the
bottom line with the precision of a surgeon.

"Implicitly," she answered, as she scooped up the covers and draped them
around his shoulders.  He was starting to  have chills.  Not good.  Before
he could come up with any more objections, she said,

"I'll be back as soon as I can."  hearing the soft click of the door behind
her, Miguel sighed and leaned his head heavily against the wall, conserving
his strength.  Now that she was gone, there was no longer a reason to keep
his body from shaking, so he let the tremors take him.  God, he hated Jessie
Douglas seeing him like this, weak as a Newborn baby and almost as helpless.
He was certain she knew how he felt, too.  Hiding his emotions had simply
been too much effort.  His eyes squeezed closed and his face contorted as he
struggled to blot out the images of her in this wretched place--and the feel
of her body as she held him while he drank a glass of water.

Desperately, his mind scrambled for a refuge.  He succeeded only in calling
forth another vivid scene--the first time he'd seen her.  He had been talking
to one of the boys in the big room with the Ping-Pong tables when he'd been
distracted by a flash of movement from the corner of his eye.  Lifting his
head, he'd turned and seen what looked like an angelic image in a Renaissance
painting.  He'd told himself she couldn't be real.  But when he'd blinked
to clear his vision, she was still there, blond and lovely and serene--in the
midst of grubby chaos.

As soon as he could breathe again, he'd started weaving his way across the
crowded room so he could get her into a conversation that would lead to the
two of them ending up alone together in some quiet, comfortable place.  He'd
stopped himself before he'd reached her and spent the rest of the afternoon
fighting the impulse to learn more about her.  He'd kept on fighting the
compulsion for weeks.  Finally, he'd come to her with a story about a boy who
needed glasses.  The story was true enough, as far as it went.  He had
delivered his message and ordered himself to leave.  Instead,  they'd
started talking, and he'd found himself dropping his guard for the first time
since the fiasco in Mexico.  Perhaps he'd been hoping she wouldn't be as
charming as she looked or that he could find something about her to dislike.
But she'd been everything he'd imagined and more.  They had liked each other
at once; had found so much to talk about, even though he was careful not to
reveal his background.  While they had shared a meal, he had drawn her out,
fallen deeper under her spell.  His mind had flashed him images of dark, hot
fire igniting between them as he kissed her good-night.  Somehow, though,
while he'd walked her to her car, he'd ordered himself back to his senses.
The next day he had found the strength to coldly cut off any chance of a
relationship with her.  Still, the craving for her had grown like an
addictive drug spreading a seductive warmth through his system.  Long after
he should have gone underground, he had found himself drifting over to the
recreation center so he could at least feast his eyes on her.  And to his
secret gratification, he'd seen her watching him with the same intense
interest he felt toward her.  He even knew she'd asked some questions about
him.  All she'd found out was the standard story.  He was Miguel Diego, a man
who didn't want to talk much about his background and who supported himself
by wielding a mop and a broom at night.  He hadn't told her or anybody else
that he was really Dr. Miguel Valero, fugitive from the law, in danger of
being sent back to San Marcos to face murder charges.  His hands clenched
convulsively at the corners of the blanket she had draped over his shoulders.
He was so worn down that the idea of simply closing his eyes and going to
sleep forever had a seductive appeal.  But he hadn't sunk to quite that
cowardly level.  He had to stay alive.  As long as he drew breath, there was
still a chance he could get the men who had turned his clinic into a
slaughterhouse and made it look as if he were the one who was responsible.
He'd read about it in the papers as he'd traveled north,  hiding like an
escaped criminal.  The story was that the greedy Dr. Valero had gotten into a
drug deal and then turned up short on cash.

So the cartel had come gunning for him.  Only he'd been out of the clinic
when they'd stormed inside.  Unable to find him, the gunmen had taken out
their vengeance on innocent people.  It sounded plausible in a country like
San Marcos where the allure of making a fortune in the drug trade was all too
tempting.  If he died now, no one would ever hear the real story.  He'd
simply be another statistic.  Along with Anna and Margarita, Tony and Paco,
and the rest of his staff, And the patients five innocent women who had been
at the wrong place at the wrong time; women whose haunted eyes he saw in his
nightmares.  One of them had been a charity case from a village near the
coast.  The great plastic surgeon Miguel Valero was going to fix the ugly
birthmark that covered half her face.  Instead, she'd been executed in a hail
of machinegun bullets.  Soon there could be another woman on his conscience
sweet, innocent Jessie Douglas, who had shown up in his miserable basement
room and wanted to help him.  It was wrong to let her get this close to him.
If she was an angel of light bathed in reflected radiance from heaven, then
he was the angel of death, slipping out of the shadows of darkness.  He could
bring her harm if she was caught anywhere near him.  Yet he only needed her
for a little while, he rationalized.  Then he could leave Baltimore, go on to
the next city.  And Jessie would be safe.  As she reached the sidewalk,
Jessie stopped for a moment, wondering where to find a phone so she could
call Katie.  Then she saw a flicker of movement near a flight of steps to her
left.  Someone was watching her from the shadows.  Goose bumps rose on the
skin of her arms as she quickened her pace.  She'd be safe in the van, she
told herself, unwilling to give in to panic.

But it was already too late for escape.

 "There she is.  I told you," a voice hissed from behind her, and she
realized there was more than one watcher.  A hand grabbed her arm, pulling
her to a stop.  "What's your hurry, sweet face?"  From the darkness, a group
of shadows swarmed, then circled around her, imprisoning her with a wall of
bodies as surely as if they had enclosed her with iron bars.  She saw young
men teenagers their faces bright with the excitement of the hunt.  They were
all dressed in baggy pants and orange shirts or jackets with black stripes.
Gang colors.  The colors of Los Tigres, to be exact.  Although she'd heard
nasty rumors about the gang's exploits, she'd never seen them up close and
personal like this.  They must have spotted the van, seen her park and get
out.

Then they'd hung around, waiting for her to come back.  At least she should
be grateful that they hadn't barged into Miguel's apartment and caught both
of them.  She tried toughing it out.  "Let me go," she said in a tight voice.
"I don't have time for this.  I have work to do."

Several of the group laughed.  "Work.  Yeah."

"There's only one kind of work a woman does at night," another voice
observed.   It belonged to a guy who shouldered his way forward, the crowd
parting deferentially for him as he approached.   He was taller than the
rest, meaner looking, with rank orange hair and a safety pin piercing the
skin over one eyebrow.   "No," was all she could manage.   "Then what are you
doing down here at this time of night, blondie?"   he asked.   "Slumming?"
' "You give it to her straight, Georgie," one of his cohorts approved.

The rest of them snickered at the brilliant witticism, and Jessie fought not
to cringe as their leader took a menacing step toward her.

Chapter Three The guy called Georgie formed his lips into a smile that made
her insides curdle.  Her eyes darted to the windows of the houses across the
street.  A few still showed yellow lights behind closed blinds.  People were
awake, but even if she screamed bloody murder, probably no one would want to
get involved.  The creep's eyes swept up and down her body, lingering on her
breasts as his tongue flicked out to lick his lips.  "We're going to have
some fun," he said in a voice that made her skin crawl.  She tried not to let
him see her fear, for all the good that would do her.  Behind him some of the
others murmured their approval and she caught a note of gathering excitement.

"You'll like spending some time with us, caramelo," the spokesman continued,
playing to his audience, calling her "caramel" in this case, a mocking
Spanish endearment.  "We have a nice safe place where we can all take turns
getting to know you real well."

"No," she said, fighting to control the terror in her voice, fighting to
pretend that she wasn't so scared she could barely keep her knees from
buckling.

Georgie's lips quirked into a parody of a smile, his expression telling her
that she wasn't fooling anyone.  "You don't have much choice," he told her.

"You're pretty stupid  to come down here all by yourself in the dark, so I
figure you're getting what you deserve."  She stood facing him, her knees
locked, her skin clammy.  "What's in that expensive purse of yours?"  he
asked.

Her gaze dropped to the pocketbook slung over her shoulder, and the answer to
the question leaped into her brain.  Not just a wallet and keys, she thought
as her hand reached into the partially unzipped opening.  Swallowing to
moisten her dry throat, again she tried to sound tough.  "I'm not as stupid
as you think."  As she spoke, she pulled out the shiny little revolver Luis
had brought to her office.

He'd said it wasn't loaded.  Maybe he'd been lying, she told herself.

Or maybe it didn't matter if she acted like she was going to scatter this
flock of turkeys.  A collective gasp issued from the flock, and her
confidence leaped.  Obviously, they hadn't expected any kind of defense on
her part.  Georgie's eyes fastened on the gun.  "Back off, or I'll spatter
your guts all over the sidewalk," she hissed, hardly recognizing her own
voice.  With deliberate care, she leveled the weapon at his midsection.
Several gang members backed away.  Those on the fringes of the group began to
fade into the shadows.  When Georgie didn't move, she spoke again,

"Get the hell out of here."  For endless heartbeats, he stood his ground, his
eyes filling with hatred.  Too late, she wished she hadn't stooped to using
such ugly language.  "I'll get you for this," he snarled.  "I wouldn't count
on it."  He gave her one more deadly look, then spun on his heel and
sauntered down the block, probably trying to create the illusion that the
decision to disengage had been his.  A violent tremor shook Jessie as she
stared down at the gun the gun that probably wasn't even loaded, she reminded
herself.  To keep herself from whimpering, she crammed her fist against her
mouth and backed toward the  van.  When she felt the cold metal touch her
hips, she whirled and shoved the key into the lock.  Opening the door, she
sprang inside, jammed her hand on the automatic lock, and started the engine
with a grinding noise that seared her nerve endings.  After laying, the
weapon on the seat beside her, she yanked at the wheel with both hands.

Somehow she managed not to mow down the car in front of her as the van
leaped out of the parking space like a bronco from the chute.  She sped down
the silent block, ran a stop sign, and didn't slow down to below the speed
limit until she was several blocks from Miguel's.

Pulling around the corner, she nosed behind a stop sign and quietly began to
cry.  They had intended to rape her.  There was no doubt about that.  But
would they have let her out of their clutches alive?

Several minutes passed before she felt enough in control to drive again.
Fumbling in her purse, she brought out a tissue and blew her nose.  Lord, now
what?  Since she'd left the office with Luis, she'd been taking this one step
at a time.  She'd planned to call Katie, go back to Miguel's with medication,
and then check on him in the morning--if it was reasonable to leave him
alone.  Los Tigres had changed those plans.  It was no longer safe for her to
pop in and out of Miguel's apartment.  If she was going to help him, she'd
have to take him someplace else as quickly as possible.  The decision didn't
sit easily with her.  She hated being pushed into a course of action without
considering the consequences.  But the alternative was abandoning Miguel or
turning the job over to someone else.  Since she didn't know whom to trust
with that kind of responsibility, she turned the van around and headed in the
direction from which she'd come.  But no way was she going to park on the
street again, she thought as she made a wide circle around the scene of the
near disaster.  Instead, she found the alley paralleling Miguel's street and
drove cautiously up the cracked pavement, squeezing past several trash cans
as she looked for the third  house on the left.  All the yards were hidden
behind high wooden fences with gates.  The third gate was open a couple of
inches, and she realized that must have been where Luis had slipped out.  She
just hadn't been able to see it from where she'd been standing in the yard.

As she turned off the headlights, her breath grew shallow.  Driving back here
was one thing.  Getting out of the van again was quite another.  For several
minutes, she sat with her hands clamped to the steering wheel, her eyes
probing the darkness.  Finally she pulled forward so that her door was as
close as possible to the gate, and cut the engine.  Then she picked up the
gun, made a rapid exit from the van, and slipped into the backyard.  She
entered the apartment to find Miguel was sitting slumped against the wall.
His head jerked toward the door as she stepped inside.  "You... We have to
get out of here,"

she said.  He focused on her face, his eyes glinting.  Probably she looked
like she'd been crying, she realized suddenly, sorry that she hadn't thought
to check her appearance in the mirror.  "What happened?"  he growled, pushing
himself up straighten Before she could think of what to say, his gaze zeroed
in on the revolver still clutched in her hand.  "Tell me," he commanded
sharply, "have they found me?"

She didn't know who "they" were.  Probably not Los Tigres.  "No," she
answered, then concluded from his tense expression that a one-syllable answer
wouldn't suffice.  "Some members of a gang saw me park the van.

They were waiting when I came out.  " His eyes narrowed as he studied her.  "
I told you to get out of here.  You should have taken my advice.  " " Yes.
We'd better go," she agreed.  " Where did you get the gun?  " " From Luis.  "

 His gaze bored into hers.  "He gave it to you for protection?"

"Not exactly."  Apparently she didn't have to draw Miguel a picture of the
encounter.  "That boy!  He is going to be sorry when I catch up with him," he
growled, although she could see that the long exchange was sapping his
strength.  Jessie slipped the weapon back into her purse and gave him a few
minutes to rest while she collected some toilet articles from the bathroom
and stuck them inside a travel bag she found there.  The bag went into a
pillowcase, along with some extra clothing and the wallet lying on the floor
beside the bed.  When she'd finished packing, she knelt beside Miguel, a
T-shirt in her hand.  He was dozing lightly.  His eyes snapped open when she
gently touched his arm.  "Let's get you dressed," she said briskly.  Nurse
Douglas.  Only she was afraid she lacked some of the critical training.  She
might need some coaching from Dr. Diego.  "I can do it!"  He managed to get
the shirt over his head, then sagged against the wall, breathing hard.

She helped with the sleeves, wanting to tell him that he didn't have to prove
anything to her.  She was certain he wouldn't welcome any discussion of the
subject.  Getting his pants on was going to be harder, she decided as she
knelt on the floor in front of him.  But she'd always loved a challenge.
Without comment, she bunched up the legs, slipped his feet through the
bottoms, and worked the fabric upward.  As she tugged the pants over his
hips, she kept her eyes averted and her hands carefully away from the front
of him.  So it was several seconds before she realized that the elasticized
waistband had gotten caught on the most prominent part of his lower anatomy.
He made a strangled sound and reached to free the pants.  She reached at the
same time, and their hands collided squarely over the stumbling block.

 "Sorry," she murmured, sure her face had turned the color of tomato soup.
"I will do it," he said roughly.  She pulled her hand away and let him
complete the task while she picked up his shoes and socks and sat back down
on the floor in front of him.  There was no danger of his seeing her face
now.  This should be the easy part, she told herself.

Yet there was something very intimate about handling a man's feet, she
discovered.  His were narrow and well shaped, with bluntly cut toenails and
high arches.  When her fingers moved against the sensitive flesh, his body
twitched.  It was a relief to finally announce,

"All done."  He answered with a grunt that might have been construed as
thanks.  "You'll have to walk to the van," she told him as she got to her
feet.  He closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall as if he were
gathering strength for a trial by fire.  "Ready?"  she asked.  "I suppose you
have been told before that you are stubborn," he answered without opening
his eyes.  She shrugged.  Apparently they had that trait in common.  This
time she had won because he was simply too sick to fight her.  He leaned
forward, his fingers gripping her arm.  ' "Promise you won't take me to the
hospital."

"I " How could she agree to something like that?   What if his life depended
on hospitalization?

"Promise!"  He lifted his head, and his gaze burned into her.  "All right.  I
promise," she agreed, feeling trapped.  Yet she understood that giving her
word was the only way she could get him to cooperate.

Because she couldn't take too much of his scrutiny, she bent and slung an arm
around his shoulder.  They were both silent as she grabbed the pillowcase and
her purse before helping him to his feet.  When they started  across the
small apartment, she realized it was going to be a longer trip than she'd
anticipated if he made it at all.  Two thousand miles south of Baltimore, in
the country of San Marcos, a man with lean cheeks and hard eyes touched a
finger to his face, then turned his head from one side to the other as he
inspected his reflection in the mirror.  The tiny scars just in front of his
ears were healed now like the scars at the sides of his nose, and below his
eyes.  They had been made with surgical precision by a master craftsman.  And
they were all but invisible.  The larger wounds that marred the back of his
neck were still a little red, but they were hidden by hair that reached his
collar.  Delicately, he fingered one of the slashes.  Every week, it was less
noticeable to his touch.  Soon, even these scars would be undetectable to all
but the most intimate of explorations, and he could put the next phase of his
plan into action.  He smiled, pleased with his appearance.  Pleased with
Miguel Valero's work.  The doctor had fashioned a wonderful face.  And now he
was the only one left who could prove that Carlos Jurado was not dead; that
Carlos Jurado had turned himself into another man.  As he thought of the last
barrier to complete success, the satisfaction he felt evaporated like spit on
a blazing sidewalk.  His hand balled into a fist that he almost smashed
against the mirror.  But prudence stopped him.  He gave a bark of laughter.
There was no need to get angry, no need to push his blood pressure up.  He
had men looking for Valero.  Competent men.  They had almost caught up with
him once in Mexico, even though he had changed his name and gotten false
papers.  A woman had betrayed him.  And someone would betray him again if the
price was right.  As jessie guided miguel into the darkness of the stairwell,
every instinct urged her to hurry.  But she had to let him set  the pace as
they hobbled slowly up the steps.  When they finally made it to the yard, he
stood still, breathing heavily, and she wondered if he could go on.  But he
was made of strong stuff.  In a few moments, he began to move again slowly
but doggedly.  "Perdon," he murmured as he stumbled on a patch of loose
paving.  Jessie struggled to stay on her own feet as his weight came down on
her shoulder.  "It's all right,"

she said, hoping she had kept the fear out of her voice.  This was the worst
part--being in the dark, exposed and defenseless.  It felt like hours before
they reached the van, and all the while she kept imagining menacing shapes
coming at them from the shadows.  As Miguel leaned against the vehicle, she
opened the side door.  "You can lie down in back."  He sucked in a breath and
blew it out.  "I can sit in the front seat."  She might have taken the time
to argue, if she hadn't heard the sound of feet coming toward them along the
pavement In a panic, she pushed Miguel into the back seat, scrambled in
behind him, and slammed the door.  Seconds later she was in the driver's
seat, shoving the key into the ignition.  The moment the engine came to life,
she bulleted down the alleyway, almost taking out a cluster of trash cans on
her left.  When she reached the street, she spared a glance in the rearview
mirror.  Two boys were running toward the van--two boys wearing gang colors.
With a frantic moan, she pulled out into the street and made a
tire-screeching getaway worthy of a Hollywood stunt man Not until she'd
traveled several miles did she glance behind her again.  Miguel was propped
in the corner, his knuckles white where he clutched the shoulder strap for
support.  "Are you all right?"  she asked.

 "More or less.  What happened?"

"I saw them.   Two of the boys from the gang Los Tigres."   "They are bad.
And now they're your enemies, I think."   She wasn't sure how to answer as
she sped into the night.

"Another stone weighing down my conscience," he muttered.  "It isn't your
fault."

"Of course it is," he snapped.   They rode in silence for several minutes
before he asked,

"Where are we going?"  "My house."

"No."

"At the moment, you don't have much choice."   Maybe it wasn't such a great
idea, but she couldn't think of anything better.   Their eyes met in the
rearview mirror as she left the harbor area and headed up 1-95 toward
Catonsville.   She broke the contact first, because she had to watch the
road.   But she felt his gaze like a laser drilling into the back of her
head.   By the time she reached the red brick rancher she'd bought when she
came to Baltimore, he was asleep, lying on his side with his feet jammed
against the end of the seat.   He didn't stir when she pulled up beside the
kitchen door and cut the engine.   Quietly she climbed into the back and
eased down onto the floor, looking at his flushed face in the dim glow from
the overhead light.   He'd worsened visibly in the time it had taken her to
get him out of his apartment and drive home.   She suddenly realized how much
responsibility she'd taken on by bringing him here.   Gently, she pressed the
back of her hand to his hot cheek, stroking the stubble of his heavy beard.
He hadn't shaved in several days.   How long had he been sick?   The dark
lashes fluttered open, his eyes registering confusion then alarm until they
focused on her and held like a compass fixed on magnetic north.   As she saw
his expression soften, she felt a dangerous  warmth well up inside her and
knew she was getting too close to a man who could hurt her badly.   "Let's go
inside.   You'll feel better in bed," she managed, the last part coming out
in a little croak.   He pushed himself up and his eyes locked with hers for a
moment.   She was the first to look away.   Awkwardly she helped him slide
off the seat and exit the van.   It was slow going into the house even slower
than before.   "What do you need before you sleep?"   she asked.

"Bathroom ... water ... aspirin," he gasped.  She led him the few steps to
the bathroom, wondering if it was safe to leave him alone.  Knowing he
wouldn't allow her help, she waited in the hall until she heard the sound of
water running.  She found him leaning on the sink, supporting himself on his
elbows, splashing cold water onto his face.  He followed by scooping some
into his mouth from the faucet.  "Miguel?"

"I am fine!"  he retorted, his words slurred.  When she touched the side of
his neck, his skin felt as if it were on fire.  Maybe the aspirin would help.
Opening the medicine cabinet, she shook two tablets out of the bottle.
"Here."  He stared at the medication, then shook his head stiffly.  "Did
Carlos Jurado buy you, the way he bought Juanita?"

 "Who?"   "Carlos " He stopped abruptly, his expression confused.

"That's the man you're hiding from?"  she asked quickly, pressing for
information.  He nodded.  "Is he a cop?"

"I wish."   The observation was followed by a gritty laugh.   "Why is he
after you?"

 "I know his name, and I know his secret!"

"Which is?"   His eyes narrowed.   "If you want to stay alive, do not ask me
questions!   He killed everyone at the clinic.   Everyone except me."
"When?"   ' "October."   Six months ago.   A long time to live like a
fugitive.   Was it really true, or was Miguel in the grip of some paranoid
delusion brought on by his illness?   At the rec center, she'd taken care of
a child with a high fever a little boy who had started hallucinating.

He'd thought monsters were under the sickroom bed, and there had been no way
to calm him.  Yet Miguel's case was different.  She had no doubt that
something real something terrible had happened to him.  He blinked, as if
trying to figure out where he was and what she was doing there.  So much for
the moment of connection they'd shared in the van; or perhaps it had only
been her imagination.  "It's okay," she said softly.  "I'm Jessie Douglas.
You're at my house.  You're safe here.  Remember?"  He gave a little nod, but
she didn't know whether he believed her.  She'd brought him home because it
had seemed like the best alternative.  Now she realized just how dangerous a
situation she'd set up.  What if he decided she was the enemy?  Restraining a
hysterical little boy was one thing.  Defending herself against a large,
aggressive man was quite another.  "You'll feel better if you take the
aspirin," she said carefully, wishing she could get him into a tub of cool
water.  That might help lower his fever, but she doubted he'd let her take
off his clothes and bathe him even if she thought she was up to it.

 To her relief, he finally accepted the aspirin, then allowed her to steer
him into the only room in the house with a bed her bedroom.

Flopping onto the spread, he lay with his eyes closed, breathing heavily.
Jessie straightened his legs and removed his shoes and socks.

She was tugging on the waistband of his sweatpants when his eyes came open.
The look he gave her made her jerk her hand away.  A little smile played
around his mouth as his gaze slid over her, starting with her mouth,
caressing her breasts, ending below her waist.  She felt every nuance as if
he'd actually touched her.  "Don't," she said in a weak voice.  "I wanted to
take you to bed the first time I met you," he said thickly, his hand
capturing hers.  "And now, here you are, undressing me."

( (T___*

"You wanted it, too.  I saw the way you looked at me."

"Don't say that," she protested, fighting the fluttery sensation in her
stomach.

"Why not?  It's true."  His speech was slurred slightly, his brain apparently
incapable of censoring his words or his actions.  "You have the face of an
angel.  And a very sexy body.  That night we had dinner, I could hardly keep
my hands off you."  His thumb stroked her palm seductively, sending prickles
of sensation across her skin and up her arm.  "Do I?"  she asked, her own
voice unsteady.  "Yes."  His eyes drifted closed, and his breathing became
more quiet.  Just like that, he had fallen asleep.  Shaking herself, she
pulled from his grasp.

Forget about his pants, she told herself as she began to tug the covers out
of the way.  The movement jerked him awake again, and a deeply puzzled
expression flitted across his face.  "I thought..."  He was  silent for
several moments, regarding her gravely.  Then he said, "You fuss too much,
Anna.  You must learn to relax."  An unexpected stab of disappointment
pierced through her.  Was he talking to her or to someone else?  Setting her
jaw, she fought for perspective.  Her reactions were absurd.  He might be
lying in her bed, but she had no right to be jealous.  If he had told the
truth earlier, Anna had died violently.  At the clinic he had talked about?
He lay very still, and she realized he'd slipped back into sleep.  He kept
doing that--then waking up, confused.  He was getting worse, and she wondered
if she could handle this by herself, Leaving her purse and the pillowcase
full of clothing beside him, she went into the spare room she used as an
office and nipped through her Rolodex, It was late for calls, she realized,
as she found Katie's number.  But she didn't have many options.  It was
either call her friends or call an ambulance and break the promise Miguel had
wrung from her.  After several moments' hesitation, she dialed the number.
Katie answered on the second ring.

"I know it's late," Jessie apologized quickly.  "I hope I didn't wake you."
"No.  As a matter of fact, Mac's on a research trip and I was sitting here
watching a dumb movie.  What can I do for you?"  Jessie dragged in a quick
breath and let it out in a rush.  She'd been hoping Mac would volunteer to
come along.  "Jessie?"

"There's a medical emergency.   Something confidential," she added, wanting
to make things clear from the outset.   "I have a guy here who's pretty
sick."   She cleared her throat.   "But he insists that he won't go to the
hospital."

"Why not?"  "He's a fugitive from somewhere in Latin America."

 "Is he in trouble with the law?"  Was he?  Making a decision to take Miguel
at his word at least for now Jessie answered,

"No."

"Tell me what's wrong."   Quickly she gave Katie a brief summary of the
facts she knew.   "There are several distinct malaria strains," her friend
said in response.   "We can't be absolutely sure what medication he needs
until we do a blood test.   But I'll stop by the lab and pick up the best
treatment alternative.   I can get to your house in about an hour."

"I appreciate it," Jessie told her with sincerity, wondering if she'd done
the right thing.  After hanging up the phone, she hurried back to the bedroom
to see how Miguel was doing.  She'd only been gone a few minutes, but she
found the contents of her purse and the pillowcase strewn across the bed.
Miguel's sweatpants were lying in a twisted heap on the floor, and he was
sitting with his back propped against the pillows, his head bent, and his
arms partially hidden by the edge of the sheet.  "Are you all right?"  she
asked anxiously.  His head jerked up.  Eyes glazed, forehead beaded with
perspiration, he stared at her.

Or was he seeing someone else?  "Miguel?"  His arms came free of the
covering.  Clasped in both hands was the shiny little revolver she'd taken
away from Luis the same weapon that she'd used to fend off Georgie.  Too bad
she'd been too scared and too busy to check whether or not it was loaded.
"You are back," he growled, speaking in Spanish, moving the pistol so that it
was pointed where it would do the most damage.  I always knew you would be
back to finish  the killing.  " He seemed to be looking right through her as
his face contorted in anger.  " I'm not your enemy.  I'm Jessie," she gasped.

"Jessie Douglas.  I brought you to my house, remember?"  "Lying scum!"

he growled, still in Spanish.  "Carlos Jurado sent you to kill my staff.
Kill my patients.  But you are not going to get me."  The gun wavered, and
she wondered how long a man in his condition could hold it steady.  Maybe he
wouldn't be able to shoot straight.  Maybe there weren't any bullets.  But
she couldn't trust her life to either eventuality.  "Please," she tried,
taking a step closer.  "Put the gun down."

"You must be crazy!"   he spat.   The weapon listed to the side, but she
could see he was working hard to hold it on her.   "Miguel, it's Jessie.
Jessie Douglas," she cried out again, her voice rising in desperation as she
saw his finger tighten on the trigger.

Chapter Four Jessie braced for the impact of a bullet.  It never came.

Despite her numerous deadly mistakes this evening, she was living a charmed
life.  Springing across the room, she threw herself against Miguel, the
impact of her forward motion knocking him backward into the pillows.  She
heard the breath hiss from his lungs as he took the force of the collision
squarely in the chest, but the pistol stayed in his hand.  "Miguel, it's
Jessie," she repeated urgently.  "You're safe.

Nobody's going to hurt you.  " Paying no attention to her words, he kept
fighting her with his remaining strength.  " I brought you home," she panted.
" You're at my house.  Please, trust me!  " It seemed she was wasting her
breath.  " No.  " He made a mighty effort to push her off him, then struggled
to get the revolver into position for another shot.

Wh"* if there really was a bullet in one of the chambers?  she thought
frantically as she tried to wrest the gun from his grasp.  Under ordinary
circumstances she would have been no match for a well-muscled man, but she
felt his strength flagging fast.  Her fingers on his, she pried the pistol
from his hand and lay across his chest, panting.

When he stopped moving, she eased away so that she  could look into his
face.  His expression had changed dramatically, and for the first time since
she'd returned to the bedroom, she was sure he recognized her.  "Everything's
okay," she whispered, her hand pressing over his, trying with her touch to
bridge any gap between them.  "Oh, God," he gasped.  "I thought " He was
silent for long seconds, then said in a shaky voice,

"Jessie, I had a gun in my hand.

Did I just try to shoot you?  " She nodded.  His teeth clenched as he sank
back against the pillows.  " It's all right.  You didn't know what you were
doing.  " Without thinking, she wrapped the fingers of her free hand around
his, carried them to her lips.  " That is no excuse!  You cannot keep a loco
in your house," he choked out, trying to yank his hand away.  She kept hold
of him, determined to maintain the contact.

"I think it's called 'delirium' when it's caused by a high fever, Dr. Diego,"
she said quietly.  His face contorted, but she continued quickly,

"You need medicine and someone to take care of you until you're feeling
better."

"What if I... threaten you again?   What happens then?"   "We'll deal with
it.   Lie still."   "I'm getting worse.

Delusional.  "

" My friend Katie is coming over to bring you medication.

You'll start feeling better soon.  " " You called her?  When?  " " While you
were getting the gun out of my pocketbook.  " Miguel made a guttural sound.
After checking to see that the revolver was really empty, she set it on the
floor, then moved to the head of the bed and cradled him against herself,
stroking back the damp hair from his forehead, murmuring low, soothing words.
She could feel his warm breath penetrating the thin fabric of her blouse,
heating her skin.  She tried to stay detached, but when  she thought she
detected the touch of his lips brushing her shoulder, she felt her heart
melt.  " Why are you doing this?  " he murmured.  He had asked the question
before.  Last time her answer hadn't been entirely honest.  This time she
whispered,

"I want to," then, "Everything's going to be all right.  Trust me on that."
"It has been a long time since I trusted anybody," he replied in a barely
audible voice, as if the admission were welling up from some hidden place
inside him.  "I know."

"How?"   "It's pretty obvious.   I think it's turned into a bad habit."   He
gave a short, mirthless laugh.   "Changing my habits kept me alive."   She
thought about the things he'd inadvertently revealed earlier and wanted to
ask about Carlos Jurado.

Who was he and what had happened between him and Miguel?  But she knew this
wasn't the right time not when he'd finally settled down a little.  Several
silent moments passed till she felt the tension ebb from his rigid shoulders,
felt him calming in her arms, felt her own heartbeat returning to a normal
rate.  There was something elemental about holding him close like this that
was an antidote to all the uncertainty that had come before.  Exhausted, she
curled against him, rested her cheek on the top of his head.  Her eyelids
were impossibly heavy, and she let them drift closed.  "hide!"  miguel's
voice was low and urgent as his hands pushed at her shoulders.  "Get away
from me.

Hide!  " She lifted her head, blinked as she tried to remember what they were
doing together in her bed.  The chiming of the doorbell penetrated her
consciousness, then the sound of loud knocking.  Miguel's eyes were dark and
fierce, his cheeks flushed as  he turned and began searching frantically on
the surface of the bed.

"Where is the gun?"

"You don't need the gun.   It's my friend Katie at the door.   She's coming
to bring you medicine.   Remember, I called her?"   she asked, her gaze
locked on his.   "We're safe here.   You don't need the gun," she repeated.
"I'll be right back."   Standing, she used her foot to slowly push the weapon
farther under the edge of the bed.

Then she hurried to the front door.  Peering cautiously through the peephole,
she was relieved to see a distorted image of her friend.

"Sorry I took so long," Katie apologized.  "I don't usually need to put my
hand on medication, and I had some problems finding it.  So I called Mac, and
I've got some great news.  There's not much malaria research going on in the
U.S."  but it turns out Medizone is working on a medication that's designed
to be effective against all strains of the disease, and with reduced side
effects.  The drug's still in the testing stages, but Mac says it's better
than anything on the market.  "

Jessie nodded, then put a hand on her friend's arm.  "Before you meet
Miguel, you'd better know he's, uh, having a little trouble remembering where
he is, and that I'm one of the good guys."

"A high fever will do that."   "I know," Jessie said as she led the way to
her bedroom.

Miguel was sitting up, his head turned toward the door, but she could see it
was taking considerable effort to maintain the position.

After Jessie introduced them, Katie stepped closer.  "I'd like to examine
you, if that's all right.  And get you started on a course of treatment as
soon as possible."  He nodded.  Jessie stood uncertainly in the doorway.
Katie looked from the patient to her.  "Why don't you have a cup of coffee or
something while I'm checking him out."

 "Yes.  Right."  Miguel wouldn't want her as a spectator.  She'd just have
to trust that he wouldn't try to murder the doctor.  Making a quick exit, she
headed for the kitchen and alltomatically filled the kettle.  But when the
water boiled, she turned it off again, knowing she was too jittery to drink
anything.  Pacing back and forth, she kept watching the clock.  After twenty
minutes, she tiptoed down the hall and found Katie had pulled a chair close
to the side of the bed.  She and Miguel were talking peacefully in low
voices.  Katie looked up.

"I've taken a blood sample to find out what malaria strain we're dealing
with, and I've given him an injection that will take effect very quickly.
But he needs to continue with a course of treatment over the next few days."
She picked up a bottle of tablets from the bedside table.  "He should have
one of these every six hours until the bottle's empty."  Jessie nodded.
"He'll feel a lot better very quickly," Katie continued, "but the effects
don't last unless the course of medication is completed.  I've explained to
him that he's going to have intermittent good and bad periods, but he should
stay in bed for the next three or four days.  His fever may spike again and
alternate with chills," Jessie nodded.  "He's already had those."

"It's important not to overdo when he's feeling better.   You can be the bad
guy and enforce the bed rest."   "Thanks."   Katie turned back to Miguel.
"Do you have any more questions?"   He shook his head.   "I'll be back in a
minute,"

Jessie said, as she and Katie stepped into the hall.  "How is he?"  she asked
tensely when she judged they were out of earshot.  "It's a good thing you
called me tonight," Katie replied.  "He's in pretty bad shape."

 "But he'll get better?"

 "I can't give you a guarantee, but I think so."  Jessie let out a little
breath.  "He's worried about you," Katie added.  "About your being found with
him."

 "Something happened to him back in San Marcos.

He won't tell me much," Jessie hedged.  " Well, he's trying to protect you.
If he hadn't been so sick, he never would have let you bring him here.  " " I
know.  " They walked down the hall to the front door.  " Phone me tomorrow
morning and let me know how he's doing," Katie said.

"Here's my private number at Medizone."  Reaching into her purse, she took
out a card and handed it to Jessie.  "Thanks.  And I really appreciate your
coming over so late."

 "That's what friends are for,"

Katie answered, giving Jesshe a quick clasp on the arm.  Then she drew back
and searched Jessie's face.  "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"
Jessie hesitated.  "I don't know much."

"But you trust him?"   "Yes."   "Call if you need anything."   "I will,"
Jessie promised, anxious for her friend to leave.   "One more thing.   He may
not remember the conversation he had with me.   You'll have to make sure he
follows doctor's orders."   "Understood."   Miguel was sleeping fitfully when
Jessie returned to the bedroom.   She stood with her arms crossed, looking
down at him before flopping into the chair Katie had pulled next to the bed.
For a while, simply sitting with her eyes closed was a profound luxury.
Soon she realized it wasn't enough, particularly since she didn't know what
she would be facing in the morning.   She needed to sleep, and she needed to
stay in this room.

 And the only way she was going to do both was to occupy part of the bed.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, she donned a T-shirt and sweatpants, then
set out the medicine and a glass of water on the nightstand.  Finally, she
climbed under the covers and lay on the far edge of the bed.  Right before
she fell asleep she had a fleeting worry that she was doing something
improper.  miguel moaned as the nightmare assaulted him again.  It always
started the same way, when he entered the clinic waiting room and saw the
pool of blood flowing from behind the reception desk.  Rushing around the
desk, he found Margarita on the floor, bullets riddling the front of her
plump body.  He didn't have to search for a pulse in her neck to know she was
dead.  But he did that anyway, stooping to touch her smooth skin skin that
was still warm.  Good God, he had been gone less than an hour to the airport
to pick up some medical supplies that he'd been waiting for.  He bolted
toward the back of the building, praying that the others were all right.  But
it was already too late.  He found Tony in the hall.  Then Anna in the lab.
And Paco in the lunchroom.  They were all shot, all dead.  And so were the
patients.  All except the V.  I.  P patient who had come to the clinic three
days ago.  He was missing.  Miguel was staring at the empty bed when he heard
stealthy footsteps coming down the path that led from his private residence.
"His car is back," a harsh male voice hissed.  "Get him.  One of you go in
the front.  The other take the back."  The speaker was his well-heeled
patient.  For several heartbeats, Miguel stood in the middle of the room,
paralyzed.  When he heard the front door open, he knew he had only seconds to
react.

Climbing onto one of  the beds, he dived through the window into a flowering
jasmine bush.  He picked himself up and ran, skirting the guest cottages
where rich patients came to vacation while they were recuperating.  His luck
ran out when he rounded a corner of his own luxury villa and almost slammed
into a man directly ahead of him--a man holding a machine gun, his back to
the path, his eyes trained on the thick trees that marked the edge of the
lawn.  The assassin must have heard a noise behind him, because he started to
raise the weapon and turn.  There was only one option as the weapon came into
firing position.  Miguel leaped forward, under the muzzle, his head butting
hard against the man's chest, knocking him to the ground, pummeling him with
his fists even as they went down.  A burst of automatic fire shot into the
air.  No!  The noise would bring the others.  Wresting the gun away with
strength fueled by fury and fear, Miguel slammed the stock into the man's
face.

Blood spurted, punctuated by a scream of agony.  Miguel leaped up and
sprinted for the woods, breathing hard, clutching the gun against his chest.
jessie awoke to the sound of ragged breathing.  In the light from the hall,
she looked around her room, then remembered why she was sleeping on the wrong
side of the bed.  Miguel was on the side near the door, his body shaking the
mattress as he muttered something about guns and bodies.  Chills racked him,
and at the same time his arm lashed out, catching her in the ribs.  Gasping,
she wrapped her arms around him, using her grip and the weight of her body to
keep his still.  Her breasts flattened uncomfortably against the hard wall of
his chest, and her hips wedged intimately against his so that she could feel
every male contour as he struggled with her.  "Don't.  It's okay," she gasped
out several times while  she tried to defend herself from his flailing arms
without hurting him.  Gently she told him again and again that he was with
her, that he was safe.  Finally his eyelids fluttered open, and he stared at
her, surprise registering on his face.  "Where am I?"  he grated, his teeth
beginning to chatter.  "With me.  With Jessie.  You have malaria.  I brought
you to my house.  And Dr. McQuade gave you some medicine."  He listened,
taking it all in.  "Jessie," he repeated, some of the anxiety seeping out of
his voice.  Yet his body was still shaking.  "I'm cold."  She pulled a
blanket around him.  "You need to take more medicine."  She got the pills
from the bedside table and handed him a tablet and a glass of water.  This
time, even though his hands were trembling, he managed to drink by himself.
When he was finished, she folded him close against her.  "It's all right,"
she murmured, stroking him gently, feeling his tremors lessen.  Finally, he
relaxed against her, his arms moving up to clasp her.  from the first time he
had seen her, he had wanted to hold her.  He had wanted to lie in bed with
her, although this was not exactly what he'd pictured, he thought with a
harsh inward laugh.  He'd cast himself in the role of a lover who could turn
her beautiful green eyes into shimmering pools of passion.  He'd imagined
drawing little gasps of gratification from her lips as his hands and mouth
caressed her, learning what gave her pleasure; then he had imagined himself
inside her, moving with urgent hunger above her, driving her higher and
higher into a world where only the two of them existed.  But simply making
love with her wouldn't be enough.  In the dark hours of the night, when he
felt more alone than any other man on earth, he'd dared to dream of a safe
haven in her arms, an end to his wanderings.  Now that he was in  her bed,
he was caught by the power of that ultimate fantasy.  The safety of her
embrace felt more true and more real than anything else since he'd been on
the run.  "Everything's all right," she murmured.

"Yes."  At least for now.  For this moment.  In this bed.  Too weak to resist
his need for her, he let his trembling hands glide over her narrow shoulders,
along her slender arms, feeling her skin tingle under his fingertips.  One
hand moved to her silky hair, shifting the strands between his fingers like
spun gold.  She made a little sound in her throat, but she didn't pull away.
He touched his lips to the tender place where her hair met her cheek.  There
was no way he could make love to her now.  But even in his weakness, he
wanted her more than he had ever wanted any other woman.  Or had it become
impossible to separate sexual desire from the need for comfort?  They held
each other in the darkness, his face against her shoulder, her hand cupping
the back of his head, and after a while his shivering subsided.  He was warm
again, warm from the inside out.  "Better?"  she asked, her lips close to his
ear.  "Yes.  I think Dr. McQuade's medicine is starting to work."

"She said you'd feel better quickly.   But you have to stay in bed for a few
days and keep taking the medicine."   "Um," he answered, noncommittally.   It
didn't matter what the doctor had said.

He must leave as soon as he had the strength.  Perhaps Jessie knew what he
was thinking, because she drew back so that she could study his face.  He was
glad that the sliver of light coming from the hall hid his expression.  Not a
muscle in his body or his face twitched as he held himself very still.  "You
have to take care of yourself."

"Of course," he agreed, but he couldn't let her start asking questions about
his motives or his fears so he made  a quick change of subject one that he
knew would throw her off balance.   "Is this your bed?"   he asked.   He
watched her swallow before answering.   "Yes."   "Dr.   McQuade will think we
are lovers," he heard himself say.   She drew in a quick breath, and he
knew he'd succeeded in distracting her.   "Lucky for you I'm harmless at the
moment."   Well, relatively harmless, he thought, as his hand moved to the
front of her and cupped the fullness of her breast.   Somewhere in his mind
he was astonished and horrified that he was taking such liberties with her.
It was as if the combination of being sick and waking up in her arms had made
him drunk, and he was no longer in control of his actions.   "What are you
doing?"   she asked in a strangled voice.   "Something I've wanted to do for
a long time," he admitted, holding his breath, waiting for her to pull away.
Instead she closed her eyes and lowered her forehead to his shoulder.
Her breast quivered in his hand like a soft, frightened bird.   Gently, his
fingers stroked her, feeling her nipple harden at his touch, hearing her
breath quicken.   "You shouldn't do that," she whispered in a voice so low he
could barely hear.   "Yes," he agreed huskily, turning his head to nibble
along her cheek, amazed to find that his body could respond more fully than
he'd expected.   "Querida," he murmured, his free hand sliding downward to
cup her softly rounded bottom and pull her closer.   "What did you say about
being harmless?"   she asked in a low, inquiring voice.   "You must have
magic powers."   "I hope so," she replied, sounding half teasing, half
serious With a little sigh of regret, he forced his hand away from her.   "In
the morning, you should remember this as a dream."   "It's not a dream.
It's real.   If you want it to be real."

 "It cannot be," he answered with a kind of desperation.  "So this is like
the night we had dinner," she challenged.  "We got close, then you acted like
I didn't exist."  The pain of rejection in her voice made his insides clench,
yet he went on relentlessly.  "No, this is different.  Tonight I've been
using my illness as an excuse to touch you."  If he thought he could force
her to drop the subject, he was wrong.  "You want to touch, but you don't
want to get close," she accused.  He longed to tell her she was mistaken.  He
wanted every sweet, tender gift she was willing to bestow on him, but he had
vowed to hide the depth of his need.  Instead, he fell back on male bravado.

"We are very close," he murmured, moving his hips against hers.  But she'd
caught on to what he was doing.  "Stop trying to change the subject.  You
know I don't mean physically.  I mean close in the sense of sharing our
feelings."  He said nothing.  In the darkness, he heard her swallow.
"Miguel, being pushy with men isn't my style.  I'm saying things to you that
it's hard for me to admit."

"I know that."   "Then don't back away from me this time," she pleaded.
"You and I could..

could mean something important to each other.  I think we both know it.  " He
dragged in a breath and let it out, cursing himself for giving in to
temptation.  " I shouldn't have started anything," he said with a weary sigh.
" Why did you?  " / need you more than I have ever needed anyone in my life.
But the words stayed locked in his mind.  Instead he made a dismissive
little noise.  " This discussion is using up my energy.  " Easing away from
her, he flopped onto his back, feeling as if he were the one who had been
abandoned.  In the darkness, he felt her hurt radiating toward him.  Then her
fingers dug into his shoulder.  ' " Be honest with me.

 What are you afraid of, exactly?  That I'll end up like your lover, Anna?
" He turned back toward her.  " What do you think you know about Anna?  " "
Enough.  " He made a sharp sound in his throat.  " Not as much as you
imagine.  " " All right, what do you want to tell me about her?  "

Jessie challenged.  It didn't matter.  He should let her think what she
wanted.  Instead he answered the question.  "She was my sister.  Not my
lover."

 "Oh.   I'm sorry."   "She died because of me," he added hoarsely.

"After my father died I thought I was helping her live a better life.
Instead I got her killed."

 "How?"   Desperation sharpened his tone.

"Jessie, do not ask me about the things that have happened to me.  Do not get
involved " I am involved.  Isn't that obvious?  "

This time he didn't allow himself to answer, hoping against hope that she
would let it alone.  Instead she asked,

"Why don't you tell me about Carlos Jurado?"  His whole body stiffened.  Was
this all some sadistic trick?  Was she like Juanita, the one who had tried to
trade his life for money?  Gripping her by the shoulders, he shook her.

"Miguel, you're hurting me," she gasped.  "Where did you hear that name?"  he
demanded.  "From you.  You said it."

 "I couldn't have."

"You did!"  His mind scrambled, came up with dim memories, and he cursed
richly in Spanish as he eased his grip on her shoulders.  "I'm sorry."  He
snorted.  "And apparently paranoid."

 "Who is he?"  she persisted.  "What did I say about him?"

"Nothing I could make sense of," she replied evenly.   Maybe.   Tonight, all
he could do was hope she spoke the truth.   Before she thought of any more
questions, he turned his back on her and stared at the faint light coming in
around the edges of the window shade, thinking that he should never have let
her bring him here.   But he was too exhausted to do anything about it.
jessie lay stiffly beside Miguel, listening to the harsh sound of his
breathing.   It had been a long time since she had spent the night with a
man.   And despite their fleeting intimacies in the darkness, it was pretty
clear he'd be happier if she found somewhere else to sleep.   She had thought
Well, it really didn't matter.   The bottom line was that nothing had
changed.   He still didn't trust her enough to tell her why he was on the run
although he'd certainly given away more than he'd intended.   It would cut
the tension considerably if she'd simply decamp to the couch, yet she was
too stubborn to flee her own bed.   So she lay there in the dark, trying to
relax as she replayed the events of the evening.   Sometime near morning, she
actually fell asleep.   She awoke with a start to find the bed empty.
Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, she was astonished to see that it
was almost lunchtime.   She should have been at work hours ago.   Luckily,
nobody had called to check on her.

Probably Erin thought she was at the rec center, and the center thought she
was downtown at the office.  When she didn't hear any noise in the house, she
swung her legs over the side of the bed and hurried down the hall, hoping
Miguel was in the bathroom, but it was dark and empty.

And he wasn't lying on the couch in the den, either, He was gone!  And she
should be happy to be rid of him.

 He wasn't worth the agony.  But she didn't really believe it.  Seized by a
feeling of dread, she pulled on a pair of shoes and pounded down the hall to
the front of the house.  "Miguel?"  The living room and kitchen were just as
empty.  Then she saw that the back door was ajar.

Slipping outside, she saw her houseguest standing by the van.  Dressed in the
rumpled sweatpants and T-shirt he'd worn last night, he was inserting the key
in the lock the key that she was pretty sure had been in her pocketbook the
last time she'd looked.  "What the hell do you think you're doing?"  Her
voice rang out as she charged out the door and straight toward him.  His body
went rigid.  Instead of answering he hunched over the lock, and she felt her
anger surge.  She'd brought him home, moved heaven and earth to get him the
right medication, and done everything she could for him.  Now this was the
thanks she got.

Clamping her hands on his shoulders, she tried to shove him away from the
vehicle.  He turned, and she saw his face was beaded with perspiration.
Lord, he shouldn't even be on his feet let alone drive.  "Let me go."

"Are you crazy?"   she gasped, as she struggled to turn him away from the
van.   "You're a physician.   You know damn well you're too sick to get
behind the wheel."   He gave her a long, tense look.   "I will manage," he
replied between gritted teeth, as he tried to free himself from her grasp.
"Don't do this!"   "I have to.   I cannot stay here with you."   He
redoubled his efforts to escape.   In desperation, she drew back her hand to
shove at him.   It was then that she heard the squeal of tires behind her.
She and Miguel both froze.   Slowly she turned to see who was pulling up at
the house.   To her horror she saw a police cruiser planted squarely across
the entrance to her driveway.

Chapter Five With a feeling of unreality, Jessie watched a uniformed officer
climb out and move purposefully up the driveway.  Of all the damn bad luck,
she muttered under her breath.  "What's going on here?"

the cop demanded in a sharp voice.  "Let me handle this," she hissed to
Miguel, hoping he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.  Without waiting
for a reply, she raised her chin and faced the patrolman, noting that the
name tag on his shirt read Waverly.  "What's going on?"

he repeated in a louder voice, as if he thought they were both hard of
hearing.  "Nothing," she answered.  "Your neighbor saw this guy was getting
ready to steal your van.  Now it looks like you're out here trying to stop
him," Waverly observed.  "No!"  she retorted in a strained voice.
Unfortunately, the cop was no dummy.  He had just delivered a pretty good
analysis of the scene.  Behind her, she felt Miguel's whole body tense.  He
would bolt, she thought.  And then he'd be arrested.  She cleared her throat,
wondering what she was going to say.  What came out was,

"My boyfriend and I overslept.  We were just having a little argument about
who gets the transportation this uh this afternoon."

 "Oh?"  Waverly raised questioning eyebrows.  "It's no big deal,"

Jessie added, moving back so that her arm slipped around Miguel's waist.
"Just a little misunderstanding, wasn't it, honey?"  she asked, running her
fingers up and down his ribs.  Miguel's arm came around her in what she hoped
looked like an affectionate embrace.  The cop's eyes moved from her to
Miguel, and she wished her houseguest had stopped to shave or comb his hair
or change out of the clothing he'd slept in.  "You feeling okay?"  Waverly
asked.  "We were up late last night," Jessie replied.  "That's why we're
getting a late start, you know."  Ts that the way it is, buddy, or do you let
your girlfriend do all the talking?  " She watched Miguel draw himself up,
make an attempt to relax the muscles in his jaw and shoulders.  " We were
partying pretty late," he answered carefully, yet he wasn't totally able to
wipe the soft Latin accent from his speech.  Waverly continued to scrutinize
him.  " You don't look so good," he said.  Miguel shrugged.  The cop's next
words cranked up her tension another couple of notches as his gaze stayed
fixed on Miguel.  " Step away from the van.  Why don't we go into the house
while I find out what's happening here?  " Jessie shook her head.  No way was
she inviting this guy into her house.  " We're fine.  Really.  " He gave her
a long look, then focused again on Miguel.

"What's your name?"

"Miguel Diego."   "Let's see your identification."   Jessie held her breath,
wondering what Miguel was going to do now.   Did he even know she'd stuffed
his wallet into the pillowcase last night?   Did he have a driver's license?
To her relief, he reached into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled out
the wallet.   Calmly he extracted a plastic card  similar to her own and
handed it to Waverly, who examined it more carefully than he would have done
hers.   "How long have you been a resident of Baltimore, Mr. Diego?"   he
asked.   "Two years," Miguel answered, and Jessie felt her heart lurch.   She
knew that wasn't true.

' "And your country of origin?"

"I am an American citizen," Miguel said, his voice firm.   "Oh?"   The
syllable held a note of surprise and challenge.   "My mother was an American.
I lived with my father in San Marcos for several years, but I was educated
in the States."   "I see," Waverly answered as if he doubted the account.
"And what's your line of work?"   "At present, janitorial," Miguel said
tersely, sounding as if he'd rather admit that he ate worms for breakfast.
"For whom?"   "I am between jobs."   "What's your address?"   Miguel reeled
off an address not the one she'd visited the night before, she noted.   "How
did you two meet?"   Waverly asked, keeping the questions coming hard and
fast.   "She works at a recreation center in my neighborhood."

"Your girlfriend supporting you?"

"I have money saved," Miguel retorted.   "So why did you need the van this
morning?"   "I was going to check in at an employment agency."   "Which one?"
"United Employment."

"You stay here often?"  Waverly asked, keeping up the rapid-fire
interrogation that he'd established.  "No."

"Why did you need the van?"   he asked again.   "I told you, I'm looking for
a job!"   Hearing the note of exasperation in Miguel's voice, Jessie 
interrupted,

"I think you've established that everything's okay here," she told the
officer.  He gave her a long look.  "You're sure?"

"Yes."  After several seconds of silence, Waverly reached into his pocket and
brought out a card, which he handed to Jessie.  "Here's my number.  If you
need any help, call me."

"I will," she said, clenching the card in her palm.   As the officer made
his way down the driveway, Jessie gave Miguel a cautioning look.   "Are you
okay?"   she whispered.   "Yes," he replied, but the edge in his voice was
like a knife that had just been sharpened.   "Let's go in."   He followed her
inside.

The moment the door was closed, she hurried down the hall to the living room
and looked out the window.  Waverly was sitting in his cruiser.

Jessie's fingers dug into the edge of the business card as she waited for the
patrol car to pull away from the curb.  Instead of starting the engine, the
officer sat pondering the house.  Hearing footsteps behind her, Jessie turned
and almost bumped into Miguel.  His expression was grim as he stared through
the window at the cop.  "Why is he sitting there?"

"He thinks you might try to get back at me for all those questions," she
said, then took a breath and added,

"I think we've got to convince him everything is just fine."

"How?"   Jessie turned toward Miguel.   "Act like you're happy he's leaving
us alone, and that you've changed your mind about going anywhere."   He
looked as if he wasn't sure how to accomplish that objective.   "You could
kiss me," she suggested, trying to sound casual yet hearing the thickness in
her voice.   Lifting her face, she looked up at him gravely.   "It won't work
unless you make it look like it's your idea," she whispered.   "If / kiss 
you, he'll think I'm only trying to placate you.   You have to pretend you'd
rather make love than fight," she added in a rush.   He stood without moving,
without bending, and her heart stopped.   Then a sigh swept over her as she
watched his expression melt.   Need flared in his eyes as he gazed down into
her upturned face.   Inch by inch, as if savoring each small movement for its
own sake, he bent toward her, his arms coming up to pull her close.   She
caught the scent of mint toothpaste as his mouth hovered millimeters from
hers.   Then, with infinite gentleness, his lips settled and began to move
over hers.

She'd been daring him to kiss her, daring herself to risk rejection again.
The contact of his mouth with hers was like the completion of an electric
circuit, starting a flow of current between them.

Swamped by her response, she heard a small sound escape from her throat.  He
answered with a growl deep in his chest, as he gathered her closer.  Moving
his lips against hers, he opened her mouth for a more complete invasion.  One
of his large hands slid down to anchor her hips against his, the other
slipped under her T-shirt so that his fingers could splay across her back.
Instantly, her skin heated under his touch not just her skin, but her whole
body.  She forgot that they were standing in front of a window in full view
of her neighbors; forgot that the intimacy had started as improvisational
theater for Officer Waverly.  She forgot about everything except the taste of
Miguel's mouth as it moved urgently over hers, the feel of his hands on her,
and the pressure of his hips against hers.  The kiss deepened, lengthened,
consumed her.  Consumed thought and reason.  She was dimly aware that he had
pulled her away from the window, into the shadows of the hallway where they
had all the privacy they needed.  He leaned back against the wall, taking her
with him and widening his stance so that he could bring her body more
intimately against his.  He moved his hands downward, cupped her bottom, 
rocked her against the rigid flesh concealed by his sweatpants, and she
made a little sobbing sound as she held on to him to keep her knees from
giving way.  She hadn't planned anything like this when she'd issued her
challenge.  One moment she'd been standing on solid ground, the next, she was
spinning out of control.  She would give him anything he wanted, because she
wanted the same thing to get closer to him, and closer still, until there
were no barriers left.  All she could do was cling to him and let him take
her wherever he wanted to go.  His deft hands rolled up her T-shirt,
unsnapped her bra, then angled her body so that he could bring his hot mouth
to her breast.  "Oh!"  She cried out as his tongue circled her rigid nipple.
When he began to draw on her, the exclamation turned into a sob of pleasure.
Still, somewhere in her fogged mind she registered that his hands were
shaking and his breathing had become ragged Not from passion, she realized,
as she forced herself to come back to earth.  Last night when she'd brought
him home, he'd been so sick he could hardly walk.  Perhaps Dr. McQuade's
medicine had worked a miracle, but he was still in no shape for this kind of
activity, and she was crazy to have let things go this far.  "We shouldn't be
doing this," she whispered, dragging her heated flesh away from his.  Miguel
looked dazed, then swayed on his feet when she moved a few inches away.
Lowering her head to hide the abashed expression on her face, she reached to
refasten the catch of her bra, then pulled down her shirt.  When she looked
up again, he had flattened a hand against the wall to steady himself.  "You
should be in bed."

"Yes."

"I mean..."   Her voice trailed off as she silently acknowledged that she
was the one at fault.   She had goaded him  into kissing her and kissing had
quickly gotten out of control

"You should be resting," she managed.  He looked away from her, and she knew
he hated being reminded why she had brought him home.  "Come on."

She took his arm and steered him down the hall.  Really, what had she been
thinking?  When he stood staring at the bed, she tugged on his arm so that he
was forced to fight her or sit down.  He sat, staring with unfocused eyes at
the opposite wall as he kicked off his shoes.  They thunked onto the floor.
When he didn't lie down on his own, she took him by the shoulders and eased
him onto his back against the pillows.

He lay with his eyes closed, breathing heavily, and she started to slip from
the room.  "I should take some more of Dr. McQuade's medicine,"

he said in a low voice.  Her eyes shot to the nightstand, where the bottle
had been.  "In my pocket," he answered the unspoken question.

She pulled out his wallet and set it on the bedside table, reminding herself
that they had things to discuss.  But any discussion would have to wait until
he was in better shape.  Instead she found the bottle of pills that Katie had
given him, shook one into her hand and got water.

Miguel took the glass from her and swallowed the medicine.  Then he lay back
heavily' and closed his eyes again.  A few minutes later, he was asleep.  She
glanced quickly at her watch, knowing she should make an appearance at work.
Yet that would mean leaving him alone in the house.  Now she knew that would
spell disaster.  As soon as he thought he could stagger to the kitchen door,
he'd duck out on her.  After tiptoeing out of the room, she picked up the
phone in the den and called the staffs private line.  The answering machine
picked up, and she thanked Providence that everyone had gone to lunch.
Quickly, she left a short message saying that she was at home taking care of
a sick friend and  wouldn't be in that day.  Tomorrow was Saturday, so she
wouldn't have to make up any excuses for the weekend.  miguel lay in bed with
his eyes closed, breathing slowly and evenly so that Jessie would think he
was sleeping.  He heard her quietly slip from the room, heard her making a
phone call and talking in a voice so low that he couldn't tell what she was
saying.  For a moment, he had to fight a surge of panic.

After that scene with the van and the policeman, she could be calling the
authorities, summoning help.  Yet he was still able to recognize paranoia
when it swept over him.  She had gone to a lot of trouble to get rid of
Officer Waverly.  And afterwards.  His tongue touched his lips, searching for
the taste of her and finding the proof that he hadn't been hallucinating.  He
felt his mouth curve into a little smile as he relived the kiss.  Not just
his lips on hers the whole thing.

Her body moving against his, the wonderful taste of her breast.  Jessie had
stopped him, but he knew things couldn't have gone much further not when a
strong wind would blow him over.  Yet she'd wanted him.  He knew that as well
as he knew his own reactions.  And if things were different.  He allowed
himself to contemplate a kinder, gentler world where he was not a hunted man,
and where he could make choices based on his own needs.  In that world, he
would make slow, perfect love to Jessie Douglas.  Too sick to resist the
comfort of the fantasy, he lay with eyes closed, imagining that luxury.  He
hung on to the delicious daydream as sleep crept over him.  For a while
Jessie guarded his slumber.  But eventually the nightmares came.  The clinic
again.  And then another one from the time when he was on the run.  He was in
Cancun, Mexico, where he'd traveled by bus from Playa del Carmen.  He was
staying at a small tourist hotel where people from many cultures mixed.  The
vacation spot was a good place to get the identification papers he'd need
when he crossed into the U.  S.   There had been a woman named Juanita who
owned a local restaurant where he got into the habit of eating dinner because
he liked the food, and because he was lonely.  In his dream, he was back
there again a man starved for human contact, consumed by the need to prove to
himself that he wasn't doomed to an existence in the shadows.  "You eat alone
every night," she said as she stood beside his table.  "I like my own
company," he answered, hating the way the lie felt in his mouth.

"Where are you from?"  He gave the answer that he'd rehearsed.  He was from
Costa Rica, and he was a lawyer who was tired of the rat race.

He'd taken a few months off and was traveling north, stopping where the
spirit moved him.  He was enjoying the snorkeling here, he told her.

He thought the performance was convincing.  He didn't know he'd picked the
wrong audience.  That night she pulled out a chair at his table and sat with
him, joined him for a cup of strong, dark coffee after his meal.  Soon they
were eating together in the back of the restaurant where they could talk in
low intimate voices.  She told him she'd been poor as a young woman, but
she'd married a man who was much older than she.  When her husband had died,
she'd moved away and used the money from his insurance to buy the restaurant.
Now she was financially secure and selective about her lovers.  But it
seemed that she was taken with the man who was calling himself Diego Marcos.
Drawing him into the shadows of the arbor behind her house, she kissed him,
inviting intimacies that he was hardly able to resist.  The next night they
moved from the arbor to her bed.  After that, he was there every night.
Perhaps he should have thought more about her background and her motives.
But he was attracted to her, and she made him feel comfortable too
comfortable.

 One night after they'd made love, she gently began asking him questions.
"Where are you really from?  Why are you on the run?  What can I do to help?"
Her soft voice, the touch of her hands, and the warmth of her bed made him
let down his guard.  Slowly, giving away more and more, he answered her
questions.  Forgetting caution, he ended up telling her too much about his
background.  Not until later did he realize that men had been looking for him
in cities like Cancun and putting out the word that they would pay a fat fee
to anyone who turned him in.  Juanita had heard about the offer and wanted
the money.  So she'd kept him near her while the net closed around him.

They were eating dinner at her house one evening, when he heard a noise in
the front hall.  The evasive look in her eye told him something bad was
happening.  He bolted from the table seconds before two men with guns burst
into the dining room.  As he fled into the night, he heard the shots and
heard her scream and knew that she had taken the bullet intended for him.  He
abandoned his clothing and few possessions at his hotel, then hitched a
ride on a hay wagon, thankful that most of his funds were in the money belt
he was wearing.  And as he rode out of town, he vowed never to give in to
soft words and seduction again.

Chapter Six Voices woke him women's voices, low and quiet, penetrating the
vulnerability of sleep.  They dovetailed with the dream, and he was halfway
out of bed when he saw that the speakers were Jessie and her friend, the
doctor.  They were standing just inside the door to the bedroom, their faces
registering shock as they saw his frantic reaction to their presence "It's
all right."  Jessie moved rapidly toward him, put a reassuring hand on his
shoulder, though her expression was still worried.  Dr. McQuade hung back.
He stopped himself in midnight and eased back against the pillows.  "Were you
dreaming again?"  Jessie asked.  He answered with a tight nod, then asked,

"How long was I asleep?"

"Almost two days."   He shook his head in disbelief.   "What day is it?"
"Sunday morning."   He must have been in worse shape than he'd imagined.
"Well, I woke you up to take your medicine.   And you got up to go to the
bathroom.   But you went right back to sleep."   He had vague memories of her
coming to him very  vague memories.   Had she slept in the bed with him
again?   He thought not.   "Your body knew you needed rest," she said softly.
"Even if you were too stubborn to admit it."   That was Dr. McQuade's cue
to come briskly forward, her medical bag in her hand.   "How are you doing?"
she asked as she pulled the chair up to the side of the bed.   He took a
quick inventory.   His fever was down.   His headache was gone along with
the terrible thirst.   And he felt as if he could get out of bed without
falling on his face.   "Much better," he answered.   "Your medicine is very
effective."   "I think you have the constitution of a bull elephant."   He
laughed.   "Maybe."   "Jessie told me you were up and around the morning
after you arrived," the doctor added conversationally.   His nod of agreement
was cautious.   Had Jessie reported that he'd been planning to leave?   Or
that he'd been going to steal the van?   Neither woman's expression gave
anything away.   "I want you to take it easy for at least another couple of
days," Dr. McQuade said with a note of mild reproach.   He didn't answer,
unwilling to commit himself to anything.   The doctor opened her bag and
pulled out a stethoscope.   As she warmed the business end in her hand, he
eyed Jessie.   She stayed where she was in the doorway, watching as Dr.
McQuade deftly rolled up his shirt and listened to his chest.   "Well?"

he asked when she had finished.  "Heart and lungs sound normal."  She prodded
his abdomen, looked down his throat, checked his ears, pronounced him in
surprisingly good shape.  He nodded in gratitude, knowing that if it hadn't
been for her and Jessie, he might have died.

Jessie walked the doctor to the door.  When she came back, she had a tray
with food.

 "Are you hungry?"  Chicken soup.  The rich aroma made his stomach growl.
"I see the answer is yes."  She tried for a little grin, and he knew she was
feeling uncertain about how to act.  He was just as uncertain.  He was lying
in her bed.  For one night, at least, she had shared that bed with him.  Then
they'd kissed, and his last pretenses had disintegrated.  Now he needed to
convince both of them that it had been a temporary aberration.  Twisting
away from her, he plumped up the pillows.  When he leaned back again, she set
the tray on his lap.

He wanted to thank her for everything she'd done, but he knew the words would
come out wrong.  If he sounded too impersonal she would be hurt.  If he said
the things he longed to say, she would think he was going to share his burden
with her--and that was impossible.  She had brought a mug of soup for
herself, and she sat in an overstuffed chair across the room, sipping it
while he ate.  "You're a good cook," he complimented her, enjoying the food
and the simple fact of being with her, storing up memories for when he would
be alone again.  "Thanks.  I love being creative in the kitchen," she
answered self-consciously.

He longed to talk about things that were important.  Instead, he asked
about the weather and the news he'd missed.  When he finished the meal, he
ran his hand over the stubble on his jaw.  I must look like Robinson Crusoe.
Can I borrow a razor?  " " Yes.  " " And your shower.  " " If you're quick.
Then you need to rest again.  " He gave a little nod.  When she took the tray
away and set it on the dresser, he walked down the hall, through the living
room and into the kitchen, testing his strength.  For a man who had been at
death's door, he was doing amazingly well, he decided, as  he opened the
refrigerator and took out a carton of milk.  He downed a glass and was still
hungry, but he knew it would be imprudent to eat too much.  Domestic sounds
from the bedroom drew him back.  Jessie was changing the sheets.  Leaning
against the doorframe, he watched her work, taking pleasure from simply
observing the grace and efficiency of her movements.  Infinitesimally his
body swayed toward hers until he caught himself, his feet scuffling slightly
as he shifted his position.

She stopped, looked up at him, then quickly turned to slip a pillow into its
case, avoiding further eye contact.  It looked like he'd let her know where
they stood.  He should be pleased.  Instead he felt his throat tighten.
Grabbing a change of clothes, he headed for the bathroom and started to lock
the door behind him, then thought better of it.  What if he suddenly passed
out, he wondered as he studied his gaunt face in the glass.  Honesty made him
admit that he looked a lot worse than Robinson Crusoe.  More like a refugee
from hell.  But a hot shower and a shave would go a long way toward
restoration.  Stepping under the hot spray was delicious.  Once he had taken
such simple pleasures for granted.  Now he deeply appreciated every luxury of
modern life.  If he was ever allowed to settle down again he would Ruthlessly,
he cut off the thought, lifting his face and concentrating on how good the
pounding water felt.  Then he grabbed the bar of soap.

It was already wet.  Jessie had been in here not long ago.  As he began to
lather his body, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about her doing the
same thing with the same bar of soap, and he felt himself getting hard.  It
was definitely time to leave, he told himself with a low curse.  carlos
jura do sat back in the leather chair, alternately staring with narrowed eyes
at the phone on his broad mahogany desk and at the antique clock that hung on
the wall  between the windows.  Impatiently, he drummed his stubby fingers
on the polished surface of the desk.  When the phone failed to ring, he
reached into the middle drawer and pulled out a thick manila folder.

Once the cover had been crisp, though now it was bent and smudged from
frequent handling.  Eyes narrowed, he thumbed through the pages of the
exhaustive report, hitting highlights that he had perused many times.
Really, he no longer needed to read the words.  He had long ago memorized the
report, absorbed the clues that would lead him to Miguel Valero.  The man had
traveled north.  He was in the U.  S.  near his old hometown.  He had to be.
Jurado was on the fifth page when the phone rang.  Snatching it up, he
snapped,

"You are late."  "Sorry, senor."

"What do you have for me?"  he demanded.  There was a slight hesitation on
the other end of the line, telegraphing bad news.  "Valero is not in
Washington, D.C."

"Are you sure?"   "Yes.   I have been waiting for a report from the
detectives I hired.   They have checked out everyone from his past who might
have given him shelter.   No one has been in contact with him."   Jurado's
fingers dug into.   the edge of the manila folder.   He'd been playing a
hunch more than a hunch.   And he'd thought he was right.   Now he reiterated
his reasoning.   "But his mother is from the suburb of Bethesda," he growled.
"She went back there after the divorce.   His father was with the San
Marcos embassy for over five years.   Valero has strong ties to the city.
He knows many people there."   "Yes.   I checked the relatives on his
mother's side.   I even checked old friends of her family, people who might
have known him before he went back to San Marcos.   Nobody has heard from him
since before " The speaker cleared his throat and ended the sentence
differently.   "Since last winter."

 Jurado held back the curse that hovered at the edges of his lips.  His
operative in Washington knew too much.  He needed to be replaced with someone
more manageable.  "I can cast the net wider," the man on the other end of the
line said quickly.  "I can investigate in a larger circle around the city."
Jurado hesitated.  Really, the bastard could be anywhere in the States.  Yet,
when he read between the lines, the report told him that Dr. Valero was on
the East Coast--probably near the city where he was born.  "All right," he
growled.  "Widen the search."

"It's going to be expensive," the voice on the other end of the line warned.
"I don't care about the expense.   I want him dead."

And you, too, Jurado added silently.  jessie stacked the dishes in the
dishwasher, then wiped her hands on the sides of her jeans.  Two days ago a
barrier between herself and Miguel had shattered.  They'd kissed, and she'd
discovered how much he needed her.  And not just physically, although passion
had flared between them like lighter fluid on hot coals.  It was more than
that.  She knew it, and he knew it too, damn him.  But nothing had been the
same since he'd awakened this morning.

She could feel him detaching himself the way he had before; could feel him
getting ready to leave.  And there was nothing she could do about it.  The
realization brought a mixture of anger, sadness, frustration--and
determination Two months ago, she'd been hurt, and finally she'd begun to
doubt her own perceptions.  This time, she understood him better.  She knew
what game he was playing.  And she wasn't going to let him win it.  This
time, she wanted to hold on to what they were creating together and build on
it.  Yet all she'd done was be a good little girl.  She'd brought the man a
bowl of chicken soup and changed his sheets-- then let him take control of
the conversation.

 He'd gotten them chatting about the weather, for heaven's sake.  And she'd
let him get away with it.  Viciously she swiped at the kitchen counters with
a sponge, then furiously dried them with a paper towel.

With a grimace, she tossed the paper towel in the trash and turned toward the
back of the house where Miguel was lurking.  Really, what did she have to
lose by confronting him?  He couldn't make things worse than they already
were.  Purposefully, she marched down the hall to the bedroom, then stopped
short, her heart lurching inside her chest when she saw that the bed was
empty.  Panic swept over her.  He was gone!

Damn him.  She had been waiting for it to happen, and now her worst fears
were confirmed.  Then she caught the scent of soap and steam coming from the
bathroom.  He was taking his sweet time in there.  He should be back in bed.
Damn the man.  Didn't he have any sense?  What a question.  She knew he
didn't!  All the anxiety of the past few days gathered into a knot inside her
chest then burst with the force of a grenade.  Rushing headlong to the end of
the hall, she pounded on the bathroom door.  "Miguel!"

"In a minute."   "Now!"   She threw open the door with a ferocity that
shocked her.   "What the hell do you think you're doing?"   she shouted, then
stopped short as her eyes focused on the man.   "I'm shaving," he said,
calmly half turning his head as he spoke.   He was standing naked, his back
to her, his dark hair tousled from a towel drying and his face partially
covered with lamer as he raised his hand to scrape dark stubble from his left
cheek.   "You're supposed to be back in bed."   "I am almost finished."   He
dipped the razor in the water- filled sink before starting on the other side
of his face.   "Are  you planning to stand there watching?"   he asked, a
quizzical note in his voice.   She didn't answer, didn't move as the razor
took away the lather and the dark stubble from his face.   He looked better.

Healthier.  The air inside the little room was thick with steam from the
shower.  It held her fast, enveloped her in a palpable intimacy as if the
world had shrunk in size, trapping the two of them in an enchanted mist.  He
finished shaving, then bent to rinse his face, drawing her gaze to the olive
skin of his waist and lean hips.

Straightening he sought her eyes in the mirror.  For an endless time, neither
of them moved or spoke while the steamy air around them thickened with
tension.

"I think there is an American saying about 'getting out while the getting is
good."  You should take that advice,"

he said, the warning in his voice abrading her nerve endings.  Was it only a
warning?  Or did she hear a note of challenge, too?  She moistened her
suddenly dry lips with her tongue, noticing him watch the tiny movement.
Unconsciously she rolled her shoulder to ease some of the tension knotting
her muscles.  When she saw his gaze drop to the front of her T-shirt, she
realized the action had thrust her breasts toward him.  All at once, she
remembered the wet heat of his mouth on her.  Judging by the look on his
face, she knew he was remembering, too.  An arrow of hot sensation shot
through her body, lodging at her center.  F.  was right; she shouldn't have
invaded his privacy.  Certainly she should turn and leave.  Yet her brain
wasn't telling her feet to back away.  She dared a glance into his eyes and
saw a fierce, aching hunger that stole the breath from her lungs.  "I am
going to turn around in a few seconds," he cautioned.  "And if you are not
out of here when I do, then we'll both be in trouble."

 She had been warned, but she stood her ground, swallowing hard as he slowly
turned to face her.  She had known from the look in his eyes what she would
see.  Still, she wasn't quite prepared for the wave of masculine potency
emanating from him.  His eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire, and his body
was gloriously, fully aroused.  Yet he made no move to close the distance
between them.  As she watched his fingers clench and unclench, she knew that
he would not reach for her unless she made the first move.  Quickly, before
she could tell herself she was doing the wrong thing, she found the hem of
her T-shirt, pulled it over her head, and tossed it onto the floor.  With
shaking fingers she unhooked the clasp of her bra and sent it to join the
shirt.  Then, in one smooth motion, she slid her jeans and panties down her
legs and kicked them away so that she was as naked as he.  He stared at her,
unmoving, and for a terrible moment she thought that she had made a mistake.
God, what was she thinking?  Then she saw the fire in his eyes flare.  "I
knew you would be beautiful," he said in Spanish, ending with a low sound of
need as he closed the distance between them and swept her into his embrace.
The shock of his naked body against hers was almost too much to bear.  A low
sob welled in her throat, as her hands caressed his back, his shoulders, slid
down to his narrow waist and over his firm buttocks.  His hands moved over
her in the same frantic rhythm.  Then the two of them were rocking together,
clinging, finding each other's mouths in a kiss that was more desperate than
erotic more savage than civilized.  He kissed her with a driving need that
made her heart stop, then start again, beating in frantic time to the blood
pounding through her veins.  When his mouth lifted, his breathing was ragged,
and the skin of his face was stretched taut.

"Tell me to stop," he growled.  "I can still stop if I hear you say no."

 Wordlessly, she shook her head, then lifted her hand to stroke the harsh
planes of his cheeks.  For heartbeats they stared into each other's eyes.
Then his hand moved between them, cupping her breast, his fingers stroking
back and forth across the hardened tip.  There were no coherent words to
express what was happening between them, only the low sounds and breathy
exclamations of two people caught in a spiral of hunger for each other.  She
forgot where they were.  Forgot any sense of caution.  Forgot everything but
the taste of him, the feel of his hands and mouth on her hot flesh, the joy
of being with him like this.  "Please, I need you," she gasped.  "Please."
She heard him draw in a shaky breath.  Lifting his head, he looked around as
if he were coming out of a dream.  "Not here.  Not like this."  She was too
dazed to understand what he was saying.  "Come to bed, my angel," he
whispered, taking her hand and tugging her toward the door.  He led her down
the hall to the bedroom, to the newly made bed, and held the covers aside so
that she could slip between the sheets.  Then he joined her, folding her
close and dropping tiny kisses over her face and neck and shoulders before
returning to her mouth for a long, lingering kiss as his hands stroked her
breasts.  When he looked at her, his eyes were dark and smoldering.  When she
tried to speak, he pressed his thumb gently against her lips.  "I have
dreamed of all the ways I wanted to touch you and kiss you," he said in a
thick voice, then lowered his head to one distended nipple.  Her breath
hitched as he began to draw on her, while his hand sought the other peak,
mirroring the action.

She couldn't speak; she could only lie against the pillows, her hand
caressing the back of his head as he sent a wave of heat shimmering though
her.  When his mouth returned to hers, it was infinitely gentle and tender as
he alternated kisses with passionate Spanish  endearments while his hands
moved down her body, stroking and caressing their way to the center of her
desire.  The surge of sensation as he touched her there was so intense that a
low whimper welled in her throat.  "Yes," he whispered.  "Let me hear your
pleasure.  Let me know how much you like my touch."  She did as he asked,
because she had no choice.  He was a man who knew how to please a woman, how
to draw out each measure of gratification almost beyond endurance.  Sensation
built on top of sensation until she was clinging to him, calling his name,
begging him to fill the empty ache inside her.  Then, finally, he levered his
body over hers, and she guided him into her.  He made a hoarse sound deep in
his chest, telling her that he felt what she did the stunning intensity of
joining.

"Miguel," she whispered.  "My angel," he answered, his eyes burning into
hers.  Her hand moved, gliding over the planes of his face and his lips as if
touch could help her remember this moment a moment more vivid than any other
in her life.  Then he began to move, and she was lost to anything but the
power of this man in her, over her, surrounding her.  He set the rhythm,
taking her with him on a journey that she knew was too intense to last for
long.  The tempo quickened, lifting her to a higher place where the air
burned in her lungs.  She clung to him, feeling tears gather in her eyes as
she approached a summit of fulfillment beyond any previous imaginings.  She
felt her whole body contract, then break apart in a shattering climax that
seemed to send her hurtling through the universe.  She heard his shout of
satisfaction as he followed her, pursued her, claimed her as his own, then
brought her back to earth with him.  The glow slowly faded from her body as
her breathing returned to almost normal.  Shifting his weight off her, he 
gathered her close, skimming his lips over her hair, her damp face, her
mouth.  She wanted to tell him how wonderful it had been for her, but she was
afraid that she would burst into tears, so she simply held on to him, her
lips moving against his neck and shoulder.  When the cool air on her damp
skin made her shiver, he reached to pull the covers over them and settled
beside her.  As the silence stretched, she understood that neither of them
was sure what to say.  Everything had changed.  And yet, at the same time,
nothing had changed.  jessie lay beside Miguel, dozing off and on, glad to
keep him close to her.  Some time later, she knew he was awake again.  "How
are you?"  she asked.

His hand found hers.  "Good.  But " She didn't let him finish, cutting him
off with a quick shake of her head.  "Don't tell me you've put me in danger
by making love to me.  And don't tell me you're going to leave as soon as you
feel strong enough to walk around the house a couple of times," she ordered
in a strained voice.  "I have put you in danger," he growled.  "I should have
left before I gave in to my baser instincts."

"Is that how it was for you base?"   His face contorted as she threw the
word back at him.   "No.   It was..."   He cleared his throat, then continued
more strongly,

"It was the best thing that has happened in my life in a long, long time."
"It was that way for me, too."  His hands tightened on her.  "That changes
nothing."

"Yes, it does!   Nothing's going to happen to me because we finally showed
each other how we feel."   His expression didn't alter.   "Something already
happened A police officer saw me trying to steal your van.   What if he comes
back to see if I try any more tricks?"

 "You were borrowing the van!"  she exclaimed, ignoring his question.

"Yes, I was going to call and tell you where to pick it up.  But Officer
Waverly would not believe it.  To him, I'm just another guy from the barrio
who shouldn't be sleeping with a nice woman like you."

Her fingers opened and closed over his.  "Don't.  We know that's not true."
When he didn't reply, she laid her head against his shoulder.

She wanted to be close to him.  Getting into an argument about Officer
Waverly and the van wasn't what she had in mind.  After a few moments, she
sat up and managed a little smile.  "What we both need is some dinner."  The
relieved look he gave her made her chest tighten.

Sliding out of bed, she reached for the robe on the back of the closet door.
In the kitchen she opened the refrigerator and inspected the casseroles she'd
stowed there like a squirrel storing nuts for a cold spell, working off her
anxiety while Miguel slept.  Deciding on the beef stew with red wine, she set
the Dutch oven on the burner and toasted some of the soda bread she'd taken
from the freezer.  She was stirring the pot when she heard a noise behind
her.  Turning, she saw Miguel standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of
jeans.  His eyes lit up as he inhaled the aroma coming from the bubbling
liquid.  "That smells wonderful.  What is it?"

"Just beef stew," she answered, ladling some into two bowls.   "You made
it?"   He reached eagerly for a bowl and took a spoonful while he was still
standing at the counter.   "This is the best thing I've eaten in years."
"You're hungry!"   "And I know good food when I taste it," he replied,
carrying the bowl to the table and spooning up several more bites.   "You are
a wonderful cook.   Did your mother teach you?"   She laughed as she sat down
across from him.

"Mom  didn't come into the kitchen much except to confer with the cook.  I
started teaching myself after I got married," she answered.  "Yes.  You said
you were married.  For two years."  So he remembered that detail!

She took a deep breath.  "I told you I was divorced and that I'd gotten a
degree in social work before coming to Baltimore.  I didn't tell you about my
family.  I guess I come from what most people would call a privileged
background.  I lived in Grosse Point, the high-rent suburb of Detroit.  I
went to private schools.  Dartmouth University I majored in Spanish just
because I enjoyed it.  I knew I wouldn't need to support myself especially
after I met Jack."  She gave Miguel a quick look, then continued in a rush.
"He was everything my parents wanted for me.  Everything I was taught I
wanted a solid upper-crust citizen who jumped right into the fast lane at his
father's bank.

Things started falling apart after about a year, when I realized that I was
utterly bored by my new life.  "But my husband didn't want me to work.  He
wanted me to stay home and decorate the house, take tennis lessons at the
country club and dazzle his business friends with my beauty and charm.  I
tried to be the wife he wanted, but I felt as if my life didn't mean
anything.  I felt trapped, and I didn't know what to do about it."

"You could have had children."   "That's what my mother said.   That's what
she did.   It's not that I didn't want a family.   But maybe I sensed that
Jack was the wrong father for my children.   Or maybe I was afraid that I'd
end up reliving my mother's frustrations."   She saw Miguel watching her
intently and found herself clutching the mug of tea in her hands.   She
didn't usually talk much about what had led to her divorce.   Now she wanted
him to understand.

"We started having arguments.  We had one just before he left for a business
trip to St.  Louis.  I wanted to patch things up, so I decided to surprise
him by flying out there  and meeting him at his hotel.  I walked in on him "
she gulped " in bed with another woman."  Miguel made a low exclamation.
"It's okay.

It made me understand that I was trying to hang on to a marriage that wasn't
worth saving.  " " It must have hurt," he said, reaching across the table to
press his fingers over hers.  " It did, but it set me free to think about
what I really wanted out of life.  I went for counseling.  And career
counseling, too.  I have a trust fund from my grandmother, so I could afford
to go back to school and get my master's degree Then I found this great job
with the Light Street Foundation.  I mostly live on my salary, although I do
cheat a little.

Like I used my trust-fund money for a down payment on this house.  " He gave
her fingers a squeeze, then withdrew his hand.  " It sounds as if you turned
your life around.  " " I think I made the right choices for myself.  I'm
happy with my job and how I live.  Happier than I ever was growing up.  Or in
my marriage.  I like being able to make a difference in people's lives.  " "
Good," he said, but his expression was indrawn.

"What are you thinking?"  "Now I know how you got mixed up with me.

You have strong instincts to help people.  " " Yes," she agreed.  " But, in
your case, it was a lot more than that.  You know as well as I do that there
was something simmering between us from the first moment we saw each other.
" " Yes.  " She appreciated the honesty, but she didn't like the look on his
face.  Suddenly defensive, she blurted out,

"Maybe you think I do this all the time.  Actually, my marriage made me
pretty cautious about men."

"Querida, you don't have to explain anything to me."   Too wound up for
prudence, she plunged ahead.   "Maybe  it will boost your Latin ego to know
that I haven't been with anyone else since my divorce."   Her vision blurred
as she jumped up from the table and began rinsing out her bowl.   He came up
behind her, turned her, and gathered her into his arms.   "My angel," he said
in a broken voice.   "My angel."   Pulling her close, he rocked her against
him, his hand stroking over her hair and across her back.   Softly, he spoke
endearments in Spanish, then moved his lips against her cheek.   "I've been
alone too long.   It seems I've forgotten how to communicate."

"What do you want to communicate?"  she whispered, knowing that if she spoke
more loudly, her voice would crack.  "I want you to know that I cherish this
time with you.  I want you to know that making love with you was...
everything I imagined it would be and more."

 "Oh, yes."

She nodded her agreement, moving her cheek against his.  "But I am not a free
man not in the way you think of freedom.  No matter how much I want to stay
with you, I can't do it."  She lifted her face to his.

"Miguel, everybody has choices.  Let me help you."

"You have.   I was very sick.   I think you saved my life."   "I don't want
to just patch you up and send you back into battle whatever that battle is.
Let me help you get out of trouble."   "It's not simple.   A powerful man a
ruthless man wants me out of the way."   "Why?"   "I know his face," he said
with a harsh growl.   "Carlos Jurado."   He cursed aloud in Spanish.

' "I should never have spoken that name.  I told you to forget it."

 He gripped her shoulders.  "What else did I say when I was delirious?"  She
swallowed, wanting to minimize his anxiety.  Yet she knew she couldn't expect
him to be open with her unless she set the precedent.  "Well... the part
about your sister Anna getting killed.

And I know you've been on the run since the fall.  " He nodded tightly.

"And you didn't do anything criminal in San Marcos."  He hadn't exactly said
that, she thought as she held her breath.  "No.  I did not."  His gaze was
steady, his words firm, and she knew for certain that he was telling the
truth.  "I have friends who can help you."

 "I doubt it."

"At least tell me you'll think about it."  He sighed.  "Okay."

"Was Luis right?   Are you in the country illegally?"   she asked.   "Or did
you tell Officer Waverly the truth?"   "Yes and no."   "What does that mean?"
He gave her a fierce look.   "Jessie, I will not go into long
explanations."   She clasped his upper arms, wanting to demand more
information and wanting to push for assurances that he'd let her help him get
out of trouble.   She sensed, though, that if she leaned any harder, he'd
leave.   "You need to rest," she whispered.   "We both do."   "Yes,"

he agreed, his face relaxing.  "Promise me I won't wake up and find you've
run out on me."  He hesitated, then nodded tightly.  She felt some of the
tension ease out of her chest.  Instead of heading for the bedroom, he
started clearing the table.  "You don't have to do that,"

she objected.  He shrugged.  "I wanted to."

 She gave a little nod, glad that he was feeling better, yet sensing that he
was hiding behind the domestic activity.  "Is there anything I can do for
you?"  she asked quietly as he turned away from the sink.

"Yes."  She saw his nostrils flare.  "You have been sleeping in T-shirts and
sweatpants.  I want to see you in a nightgown."

"Miguel.  We shouldn't.  I mean, you're supposed to be taking it easy...."
"I know.  I promise to be good.  But I want the pleasure of seeing you in
something sexy."  Unable to deny him anything, she gave a little nod.  Then,
turning, she went down the hall, opened a dresser drawer, and pulled out an
ecru silk gown with spaghetti straps that she'd bought on impulse when she'd
been shopping for underwear

Quickly she changed in the bathroom, then brushed her hair and put on a
little makeup.  When she returned to the bedroom, he had straightened the
covers.  The look in his eyes when he turned and saw her stole the breath
from her lungs.

"You are so beautiful."  "Am I?"  "Oh, yes."

When he held out his arms, she came into them, cleaved to him as he embraced
her.  She wanted this, and not just for tonight but for the rest of their
lives.  He wanted the same thing.  She was certain by the way he held her,
moved his lips against her cheek, her neck.  But she knew he wouldn't admit
it yet.  They would have to take things one step at a time.  So she settled
into his arms and closed her eyes, telling herself that all she needed was
enough time.  When she awoke, it was still dark.  But she was alone in bed.
She lay rigid under the covers, listening to the stealthy sound of someone
moving about the room.

Miguel?  What was he doing in the dark?  Then the mattress shifted and he
slipped into the warmth  of the bed covers, his body chilled from his
early-morning excursion.

She lay quietly, trying to keep her breathing steady, trying to make him
think that she didn't know he'd been sneaking around.  Then one of his hands
settled on the bodice of her gown to caress her breasts through the thin
fabric, and she couldn't hold back a little sound in her throat.  "You are
awake," he said in a thick voice.  "Um."  His hand was cold, and she
shivered.  "I should let you sleep.  But I can't keep my hands off you."
"I'm glad you can't."  In a quick motion, she pulled the gown over her head
and turned back to him, her mouth finding his in the darkness while her body
rocked against him.  In the sleep-warmed bed they kissed and caressed each
other, building to a slow, delicious coupling that left her limp and sated.
Snuggling close, she dozed again in the circle of his arms.  When she awoke a
second time, it was to the sound of pounding on the front door.  Miguel was
out of bed before she realized what was happening In the dim light, she saw
him reaching into the pillowcase for his spare clothing and pull on a pair of
jeans.  Then he pulled a black T-shirt over his head.  The pounding grew
louder, more insistent.  "Ms.  Douglas?"  a man's voice called.  "Ms.
Douglas, open the door."

Chapter Seven

"Go!"  Miguel ordered.  "Go to the door.  But make them wait until I can get
out of here."  In the early-morning light, she saw him pull on his tennis
shoes and tie them with deft movements as the knocking sounded again.  "I'm
not dressed!"  she called, trying to keep her voice steady.  Her gown had
disappeared.  Crossing to the dresser, she pulled on a pair of panties before
grabbing her robe and shoving her arms through the sleeves with jerky
movements.  As she fumbled to tie the belt, she saw Miguel looking at her
with an expression that made her heart melt.  She should go to the door, she
knew.  Instead, she crossed the few feet of space between them and pulled him
close.  He hugged her to him, and she closed her eyes.  For a timeless moment
she convinced herself that if they simply stood locked in a tight embrace,
the world would leave them alone.  Maybe he thought the same thing, because
he held her with a fierceness that squeezed the breath from her lungs.
"Jessie," he breathed, his lips moving over her face, across her forehead,
into her hair.  But nothing and no one could shut out reality.  The knocking
came again louder, sharper.  Miguel turned her loose, and she hurried down
the hall in her bare feet.  "Who is it?"

she called.

"INS."

 "Who?  Say it again."  "The Immigration and Naturalization Service.

Open the door, ma'am.  " " I " She pulled her robe tightly closed, wishing
she'd put on her gown again after making love.  " Ms.

Douglas, we have a search warrant.  Quit stalling, or we'll break down the
door.  " " Please, don't do that.  " With shaky fingers, she unbolted the
lock.  Two large men pushed their way into the house, forcing her to step
back quickly or get mowed over.  One was tall with thinning blond hair, the
other was shorter and dark, with a military haircut and Latin features.  They
wore business suits, yet it was obvious they didn't belong in a corporate
boardroom.  Their eyes were hard and their faces were set in grim lines.
Arms folded across her chest, she faced them.

"What's the meaning of of getting me out of bed at this hour in the morning?"
"We have reason to believe you are harboring an illegal alien at this
address," the blond one answered.  "What reason?"  she demanded.  "A report
from the local police with regard to an attempted theft of a van belonging to
the Light Street Foundation," his partner retorted.  Jessie swallowed as
understanding dawned.  She had Officer Waverly to thank for this!  After the
scene in the driveway, he'd checked out the vehicle registration and found
out it wasn't hers.  Then he'd alerted the INS.  Feigning a calm she didn't
feel, she raised her chin and asked,

"Can I see some identification?"

"Of course."   The blond one reached into his pocket and pulled out a
leather case, which he nipped open.   Inside was a plastic-laminated card
with his picture and name Daniel Fader.   The other one also produced his
identification.   He was Ramon Martinez.   Undoubtedly his Spanish came in
handy for interrogating suspects from south of the border.   "And here's our
warrant," he added, unfolding an official looking piece of paper.

 Switching on the light, she scanned the sheet, her pulse pounding as she
tried to focus on the words.  She was saved from her pretense at reading when
she caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye.  Turning, she
found that Fader had already started down the hall to the back of the house.
"Wait, you can't" -- "I'm afraid we can,"

Martinez contradicted.  Without bothering to argue, she hurried to catch up
with the agent, who was already poking his head into the den.

When he found nothing, he continued down the hall to the bedroom where she
and Miguel had been sleeping.  Worrying her lower lip, Jessie followed him
into the room--and found that it was empty.  The covers on the bed were
pulled up, and the basket of laundry that she'd left to be sorted was dumped
in a pile on the far side of the bed.  Only one pillow--hers--showed the
indentation of a head.  When Fader lifted the spread and got down on his
knees to look under the bed, she cringed, remembering the gun.  Apparently it
was now gone, because the agent straightened and turned before trotting over
to the closet and flinging open the door.  Stepping inside, he roughly shoved
her clothes out of the way and felt along the back wall.  Then he exited the
room and joined his partner, who was inspecting the bathroom.  The sink was
clean.  And only Jessie's toilet articles were in evidence.  Even the towel
Miguel had used the night before appeared to be missing.  With a shiver, she
realized what he'd been doing while she slept--clearing all evidence of his
presence, just in case.  Had he been planning to leave all along, or had the
agents made the decision for him?  The men exchanged glances, then moved back
toward the front of the house.

Martinez poked into closets, then opened the basement door and went
downstairs to see if Miguel might be hiding behind the furnace.  Still on
edge but feeling more confident, Jessie followed  Fader into the kitchen.
The room was neat and orderly, with only one glass on the drain board
Martinez came back and held out his hands, palms up, indicating he hadn't
found what he was looking for.  "When did he leave?"  his partner growled.
"Who?"

"Your boyfriend, Miguel Diego."   Silently she cursed Officer Waverly and
his damn report.

"Miguel left a couple of days ago," she said, investing the lie with as much
conviction as she could.  "To go home?"  She shrugged and leaned back against
the wall for support.  "When are you getting together again?"  She gave
another shrug.  "Let's have his address."

"I believe he gave it to Officer Waverly.   I don't have the house number
memorized," she retorted.   "According to Waverly, the two of you looked
pretty friendly.   Are you saying you hardly know him?"   "I don't have to
answer questions like that," she replied evenly, wondering if it was true,
wondering if these men had the power to arrest her.   But for what?   Both
agents gave her a long look during which she stood without moving.   "You're
not exactly being cooperative," Pader said.   "Are you trying to make us
believe you have an intimate relationship with a man you hardly know?"   She
stiffened, pretty sure that Waverly had described the passionate kiss in
front of the window.   "Maybe I should call a lawyer before we continue this
discussion," she answered, careful not to let her anger show.   The agent
regarded her consideringly, probably trying to decide whether she was
bluffing.

Finally, he straightened.  "Okay.  That's all for now, but we may be back
with some more questions."  Not trusting herself to answer, she simply
nodded.  The two men wheeled, and she followed them down the  hall.  When
they'd left, she shot the bolt, then stood leaning heavily against the door,
her body trembling in reaction.  Several minutes passed before she felt able
to push herself away from the door.

First she looked out the window to make sure the agents were gone.  No one
was out front, but they could be waiting around the corner to follow her when
she left, she thought as she made her way back to the bedroom.  "Miguel?"
she called softly.  No one answered.  Still, she went methodically back
through the house anyway, looking for--praying for--signs of his presence.
Her heart squeezed when she saw a strand of dark hair on the floor beside the
sink.  Stooping, she gently picked it up and wound it around her finger as
she wandered slowly back to the bedroom.  Everything of Miguel had vanished
But as she looked around, she saw now that the bedroom window was not quite
closed.

When she peered outside, she spotted a pair of footprints in the dark soil
of the flower bed.  Luckily, Fader hadn't thought to make an inspection of
the grounds.  With a little catch in her breath, she sank to the surface of
the bed, rolled onto her side, and hugged her arms around her knees.  Over
the past few days, Miguel had been a constant presence here.  Now there was a
great cavity at the center of her world.  Turning her face into the sheet,
she breathed in his scent.

They'd slept here together.  Made love here.  And it had been so good--so
incredibly good that she'd dared to hope that it was the beginning of
something important.  But what had it really meant to him?

Would he even call and let her know he was all right?  she wondered.  Or was
this the end?  The very abrupt end.  Like last time--only worse.

With a broken breath, she pressed her cheek against the pillow and wrapped
her arms around her shoulders because he wasn't there to hold her.  The
silence of the house seemed to press in upon her.

 Chilled to the bone, she pulled the covers over herself and stayed there
for a long time, trying to get warm.  But she couldn't hide forever.  And
anyway, she was making too many assumptions, she told herself with a kind of
forced optimism.  She didn't know what Miguel intended.  Maybe he would
contact her when he thought it was safe.

Clinging to that thought for dear life, she got up and began to get dressed.
But whether she heard from Miguel today or not, it was Monday morning.  This
was one of the days she worked at the rec center, and she was better off
going through her caseload than hanging around the house, brooding.  On the
way downtown, she found herself thinking about detouring from her regular
route and heading toward Miguel's apartment.  Swerving onto a side street,
she looked in the rearview mirror to make sure the INS agents weren't behind
her.  That thought was pretty paranoid.  But if they wanted Miguel badly
enough, they might follow her.  She didn't see any sign of them, but she
wasn't going to take a chance on doing something stupid--this morning of all
mornings.  So, after driving around the block, she pulled into a gas station
and filled her tank, then headed straight to work.  The blacktop parking lot
was deserted as she pulled into her assigned space at the corner of the
redbrick building that had once been a school.  For a moment she couldn't
figure out why no one else was around.  Then it hit her.  The men from the
INS had barged into her house at dawn, and it was still pretty early in the
morning.  Glancing at her watch, she saw that nobody would be in the office
for at least half an hour.  Well, that meant she could get more done, she
decided as she cut the engine and climbed out of the car.  Pulling her keys
from her purse, she unlocked the padlock that secured the entrance.  The
heavy door creaked on metal hinges as she pulled it open.  Over the rasping
sound, she thought for a moment that she heard someone call her name.  Miguel?

 Pivoting, she stared around the parking lot but saw no one.  With a sigh,
she told herself to stop looking for him around every corner as she turned
back into the building.  The interior was dark and silent, the hallway lit
only by early-morning sunlight filtering through the dirty windows on either
side of the door.  To her right was the gym--a shadowy, forbidding cavern
where an ax murderer might be hiding.  When she realized she was standing
with her back pressed against the door, she sighed.  She was in a pretty
fragile emotional state if going to her own office made her feel like the
victim in a slasher movie.  To prove to herself that she wasn't spooked, she
took a couple of deliberate steps forward and was relieved when nobody leaped
out of the shadows.  This wasn't a slasher film, she told herself firmly as
she marched down the hall toward the office complex at the back.  Even so,
she found herself hurrying past the darkened doorways that loomed on either
side of the corridor.  And the sound of her high-heeled shoes clicking on the
tile floor of the empty building created an eerie echo that made her feel as
if she were being followed.  But she knew there was nobody here.  For gosh
sakes, the door had been locked when she'd arrived, she reminded herself.
It was just that she was alone in the early-morning silence--and feeling
vulnerable.  Yet all the logical reassurances in the world couldn't stop the
hairs on the back of her neck from tingling.  By the time she reached her
office door, she was practically tiptoeing.  Just as she was about to grasp
the knob, a noise from inside made every muscle in her body go rigid.  My
God, someone was here.  Somehow, on an instinctual level, she'd known it all
along, and she should have trusted her instincts.  Who was in there waiting
for her?  For one joyful moment, she decided it was Miguel.

Then a harsh voice speaking in Spanish brought her back to reality

 "Shut up!"  The exclamation was followed by an epithet that made her blush.
"There's nobody here yet," another voice objected.  "They will be!  She will
be.  She works here on Mondays and she gets here early."

Jessie's heart clunked in her chest, then started to beat in double time.
She knew that voice.  It belonged to Georgie, the leader of Los Tigres, the
gang that had threatened her outside Miguel's.  She'd seen the hatred in the
kid's eyes when she'd made him back down.  So much had happened since then,
she'd forgotten all about him.  Her mistake.

With a silent prayer, she took a cautious step back then another, moving inch
by inch away from the door until she was six feet down the hallway.  Eight
feet.  Afraid to run and give herself away, she kept up the slow, steady
pace, until she was more than a dozen feet from the office door.  But she
didn't realize she was angled toward the wall, and didn't know she was
backing into a fire extinguisher until cold metal clunked into the hollow
between her shoulder blades.  An involuntary gasp welled in her throat as she
whirled around.  The canister was supposed to be tightly fixed to a wall
bracket, but somehow, the whole assembly was loosening from its moorings.

Frantically she grabbed at the cylinder before it could clatter to' the floor
and give her away.  But it was already too late for stealth.

When she turned with the fire extinguisher in her arms, she saw her office
door ease open the tiniest crack as someone furtively peeked out.  In the
next moment, the door flew open, and two youths wearing black and orange
jackets barreled into the hallway Georgie and one of the other gang members.
"It's her!"  Georgie shouted as he hurtled toward her, his hands stretched in
front of him like claws.  Whirling, Jessie ran.  Her heart was in her throat,
yet strangely her mind kept working.  For a split second, she  thought about
turning and hurling the fire extinguisher at her pursuers.  Then a better
idea came to her as she remembered using the device in several practice
drills.  Clutching the cylinder against her chest, she fumbled frantically
with the seal on the top of the trigger as her feet pounded against the tile
floor.  She'd had a few yards' head start.  But she was never going to win
this race especially in high-heeled shoes and carrying fifteen extra pounds
in her arms.

Behind her, she heard the gang leader gaining.  When she felt his hand on her
shoulder, a scream tore from her mouth.  "Gotcha!"  Georgie crowed.  "Let me
go," she sobbed, her fear almost driving the remnants of rational thought
from her mind.  "Not this time, caramelo."  Georgie spun her around, his face
a frightening mixture of anger and triumph.

The other boy hung back, giving his leader first dibs.  "You're going to find
out what happens when you mess with me," Georgie growled in a low, dangerous
voice.  One of his large hands dug into her shoulder while the other reached
up to tangle in her hair.  He jerked her hair back sharply, bringing a scream
to her lips and a smile of satisfaction to his.  She didn't have to pretend
utter and complete fear.

For long moments she couldn't move, her fingers frozen on the canister's
trigger mechanism.  "Look at me," he growled.  "I want you to know who's
playing with you."  Yanking at her hair again, he pulled her chin up and
lifted her face toward his.  The look of pleasure in his eyes made her
stomach cramp.  It also banished the paralysis from her fingers.  Blindly she
fumbled with the catch.  A hissing noise filled her ears, and foam began to
shoot from the nozzle in a cold cloud of white.  "Wha " Georgie managed as
she aimed the spraying hose at his face.

 A fog of the white chemical hit him in the mouth.  He grabbed for the
canister, but she held tight, knowing she was fighting for her life as she
raised the nozzle higher.  The spray hit his eyes, and he screamed, clawing
at his face.  The moment his hands left her body, she jerked away.  When she
realized she was still holding the canister, she threw it at his chest.  It
bounced off his body and hit the floor, the clatter echoing in the darkened
hallway.  As quickly as she could, she began to totter down the corridor.
Behind her, Georgie was cursing loudly in Spanish.  "Get her!  Get the
bitch!"  he ordered his companion.  Instead, the boy ran in the opposite
direction.  Somehow Jessie made it back to the entrance, pulled the door
open, and staggered outside, blinking in the sunlight.  She was halfway
across the parking lot when she felt a hand tug at her arm.  Georgie again!

God, she'd sprayed his eyes, and now he was crazed with anger.  On a sob, she
wrenched herself away and tried to run.  Feet kept up with her.

"Senorita Douglas.  Are you all right?"  a high voice near her right shoulder
questioned.  She didn't stop long enough to find out who it was.  "Senorita
Douglas!"  The voice penetrated the fear that swamped her mind.  Not Georgie.
Looking down in confusion, she saw a small figure at her side.  It was Luis.
"Are you all right?"  he asked again as his fingers dug into her arm.
"Wh-what are you doing here?"

she stammered.  His face contorted, and he hesitated for a moment before
blurting,

"I would have stopped you.  But I didn't want anyone to see me.  I can't
get in trouble or he's going to beat me again."  She nodded, remembering what
he'd said about his stepfather.

 "Are you all right?"  he asked once more, his voice high and urgent.
"Yes," she managed.  The sirens grew louder.  Then she heard the squeal of
tires as a police car came to a halt a few feet from her.

Two uniformed officers jumped out.  "We got a call about some trouble at the
recreation center," one of them said, addressing Jessie.  She struggled to
pull herself together.  "Inside.  A guy named Georgie.  The leader of Los
Tigres.  When I came to work, he attacked me."

"Okay.   Clear the area," the one who had addressed her shouted, then spoke
into the microphone near his collar.   The transmission completed, he and his
partner disappeared into the building, guns drawn.   All she could do was
stand transfixed, staring at the door as it banged heavily on its hinges.
Luis pulled on her arm.   "Senorita, por favor," She took a step back just as
another car pulled up, and out stepped Jim Alvarez, the recreation-center
director.   Slim, dark-haired and in his early thirties, Jim had grown up in
the neighborhood and won a scholarship to the University of Maryland, where
he'd gotten a master's in social work.   He'd wanted to stay in the barrio,
and the job with the Light Street Foundation had been perfect for him.
Jessie admired his work, yet sometimes she found him a little hard to take.

He was a stickler for rules and a traditionalist who could be hard on people
when he thought they weren't living up to what he considered essential moral
standards.  "What's going on?"  he asked as he trotted toward her, his face
contorted with alarm.  "What are you doing here?"

she asked stupidly.  "I work here."

"Right," she replied with a little shake of her head.   Probably it was
late enough now that the rest of the staff would also be arriving.

 Another police car came to a halt in the parking area, and two more
officers dashed into the building.  miguel watched from the shadows of the
passageway across the street, his hands clenched into fists as he studied
Jessie's pale, pinched face.  Coward!  he silently accused himself.  Yet,
after this morning, he knew very well what would happen if he showed himself.
The police or the INS would grab him.  Without considering the consequences,
he'd come to the center to see Jessie.

But when he'd gotten here, he'd found Luis lurking in the passageway, pacing
back and forth, looking scared.  Luis had said that Jessie was in the
building and in trouble but he couldn't go inside.  His stepfather was back
from the city jail again, and he'd already beaten the boy for not keeping his
head down.  So Luis had called 911, but the police hadn't come yet.  Miguel
had started across the street to rescue Jessie when she'd staggered outside
looking dazed but unhurt.  Then the police cars had started arriving.  His
hand stretched toward her, then fell back.  He ached to comfort her, ached to
assure himself that she was all right.  But even that was denied him.  He
cursed under his breath.  She had saved his life, and all he could do was
lurk in the shadows and watch the action when she needed to feel his arms
around her.  But if he went to her now, he would only make things worse for
both of them.  He closed his eyes, fighting a choking feeling of rage.

Over the past few days, she had made him want to believe that he could live
like a normal human being again.  Even after the INS had barged in this
morning, he had come back here to be with her, hoping, praying that she might
offer him salvation.  Now he silently admitted that he'd only been fooling
himself.

 "what's happening?"  Jim demanded.  "Gang members broke into the building,"
Jessie answered.  "Thank the Lord someone called the police," she added, then
stopped short as she realized it must have been Luis.  When she looked around
for him, he had vanished again.  The boy made a habit of stepping in, then
disappearing when it was convenient.  A flicker of movement caught her eye,
and she glanced up to see a uniformed policeman staring through the glass,
looking directly at her.  As she watched, he turned to speak to someone
inside, then disappeared from view again.  Endless minutes passed during
which she felt her stomach twist into painful knots.  Then the policeman came
to the door again.  This time, he motioned for Jim to approach.  "I'm going
with you," she said in a shaky voice.  "No.  Wait here."  He left Jessie
standing in the parking lot and strode toward the door where he and the
officer conferred She saw them both looking at her and knew she couldn't
simply wait to find out what they were discussing.  Moving toward them, she
glanced questioningly at the policeman; Officer Haroldson, his name tag read.
"What's going on?"

"The gang leader Georgie Cota says he broke into the rec center because he
was looking for you," the cop said in a grim voice, his narrowed gaze giving
the impression that she was the one at fault.   Her mouth went dry.   "Why?"
Haroldson demanded.   When she didn't answer immediately, he persisted,

"He's plenty angry with you.  What's going on between you two?"

"I I had a run-in with him a few nights ago when I came down here," she said
in a halting voice.   "Here?"   "In the neighborhood."

"And you didn't say anything to me about it?"  Jim interjected

 "I haven't been back to work since," she explained, remembering that Jim
didn't like being out of the loop.  "Maybe you'd better tell us what's going
on," the cop added.  "I " She stopped, feeling trapped.  If she revealed what
had happened on her first meeting with Georgie, then she'd have to explain
what she'd been doing in front of Miguel's apartment.  "He claims you had a
gun."  Jim's head snapped toward her.

"Can you explain that?"  Haroldson demanded.  She sucked in a sharp breath
and let it out slowly.  "Maybe I need to get some advice from a lawyer before
we continue this discussion," she said, using the same line that she'd used a
few hours ago with the INS agents.  "You have that right," the cop replied,
his voice conveying disapproval.  Jessie had seen enough police dramas to
know that the cops tried to get suspects to talk before they "lawyered up,"
as the phrase went.  But she wasn't a suspect, she told herself.  She hadn't
done anything except help Miguel and get herself assaulted.  Before the
conversation could progress, the door opened again and two more officers came
out, escorting Georgie Cota between them.  The look he gave her made the
blood in her veins freeze.  She had bested him twice, humiliated him twice
first, in front of his gang members; and now, when he was in the hands of the
police.  The look in his eyes told her very clearly that if he ever walked
the streets again, he'd kill her.

Chapter Eight You thought you had your life all figured out.  Then one day
you woke up and realized that nothing would be the same again, Jessie mused
as she stood in the lavishly appointed garden behind Cameron Randolph and Jo
O'Malley's mansion.  Spring had given way to summer.  Around her, flower beds
overflowed with bright annuals, a string quartet played in the shade of a
dogwood tree, and wedding guests chatted as they waited for the ceremony to
begin.  Jessie smiled at the other guests and made the right responses in the
flow of conversation.  But it was hard to keep herself from tugging at the
bodice of the pale peach dress that felt as if it were crushing her breasts
into her chest.  Probably she should have bought something new for Kathryn
and Hunter's wedding, but generating the enthusiasm to go shopping was simply
beyond her.  Showing up at work every morning and dragging herself through
the day was about all she'd been able to manage recently.  And it had only
gotten worse since she'd confirmed her growing suspicions by taking a home
pregnancy test.  She was carrying Miguel's child.  From the other side of the
crowded lawn, Erin Stone caught her eye, and Jessie tipped her chin up,
manufacturing a fleeting smile to prove that she was holding up okay on this
festive occasion.  Erin was her boss at the Light Street  Foundation and one
of the few people who knew what she was going through.  She might be pregnant
by Miguel, but she hadn't heard from him since the morning two months ago
when he'd fled her bedroom through the back window.  Out of necessity, her
other confidante had been Laura Roswell.  Laura was a lawyer with an office
at 43 Light Street.  Jessie had gone to her immediately after the break-in at
the recreation center.  She'd needed legal advice, and she'd just plain
needed someone to talk to.  So she'd poured out the whole story of what had
happened with Georgie and then found herself confiding about her relationship
with Miguel.  To her relief, Laura had advised her that she wasn't obliged to
talk to the police about Georgie, although she'd pointed out that her failure
to admit what he'd done to her might not be in her own best interests.
Jessie had kept silent in order to protect Miguel.

Lucidly, the police hadn't needed her to file a complaint to hang on to
Georgie.  He was being held without bail because he was already in trouble
for several other offenses.  But what if he came to trial and her testimony
was crucial to keeping him locked up?  The prospect of his being back on the
streets terrified her.  He would come after her again.  "Wow, this wedding is
really something," her friend Noel Zacharias murmured, breaking into Jessie's
churning thoughts.  She nodded in agreement, hoping her face didn't reflect
the pain and confusion she had been living with for weeks.  She'd almost
stayed home today.  A wedding wasn't the best place to contemplate single
motherhood.  Yet she'd wanted to be here for Kathryn and Hunter because they
were two of the Light Street gang, and they meant a lot to her.

The music changed, and Cam Randolph and some of the other men moved through
the crowd, asking everyone to take their seats.  Jessica chose a chair at the
back praying that an attack of morning sickness wouldn't hit her in the
middle of the ceremony.  Why did they call it "morning"  sickness, anyway,
she wondered, when it could strike at any time of the day or night?  When
everyone was seated, the minister, Hunter, and Cam, who was the best man,
stepped toward the stunning bower of white roses that had been set up facing
the assembly.  Then the music changed to the

"Wedding March," and Kathryn began to walk down the grassy aisle between the
seats, holding tightly to her father's arm.

Her steps were sure, and her eyes were fixed on Hunter as his were on her.
They were so fortunate!  Their love for each other had helped them survive a
terrible ordeal a year ago, and now they were standing up in front of God and
their friends, pledging to share their lives.

Jessie's eyes misted as she watched the bride and groom and listened to the
service, the familiar words taking on new meaning as she found herself
wishing she and Miguel were standing in the sunshine making a commitment.
Commitment.  The word sent a shiver through her.  She knew she had no right
to think in those terms.  She had no claims on Miguel.

They'd only spent a few nights together.  Yet she'd sensed that what they
felt for each other could have grown into something rich and lasting if
they'd given it a chance.  The minister pronounced Hunter and Kathryn man and
wife, and Jessie saw the joy on the groom's countenance as he faced his
bride, his love for her shining out for all to see.  Then his expression
changed to a broad grin just before he lowered his lips to hers.  The
spirited kiss drew clapping and lusty comments from the crowd, and when the
groom finally lifted his head and looked around, Jessie had the feeling he'd
forgotten that he and his new wife weren't alone.  "I think I was a little
too enthusiastic," he whispered, his cheeks endearingly flushed.  His bride's
face was radiant as she smiled into his eyes.  "It's okay.  We're among
friends."  The observation drew a laugh from the audience, and Jes she found
herself smiling, despite her own inner turmoil.  Hunter had lived a lonely
existence until he'd met Kathryn.  But he'd been welcomed by the Light Street
group, and now he was truly among friends who could make up for the child-
hood he'd missed.  As people began to head for the terrace where bars and
buffet tables had been set up, Jessie hung back, letting the flow of the
crowd pass by.  The ceremony had made her feel happy for her friends, but now
that people were getting into a party mood, she felt very much alone.  She
wasn't sure she could get through lunch and socializing when she wanted to be
with Miguel so badly that her throat was starting to ache with the effort to
keep from crying.  As she was slipping away onto a brick side-path, Katie
joined her.  "How's everything?"  Katie asked.  To Jessie's utter
mortification the simple question triggered a spasm of misery.  The tears
she'd been struggling to hold back began to slide down her cheeks.  Quickly
she stepped around a boxwood hedge so that no one could see her.  Katie
followed.  "Oh, honey."  Katie took a step forward and held out her arms.
Jessie went into them, letting her head sink to her friend's shoulder as
Katie patted her back.  "It's okay,"

she murmured.  "It's okay."  It wasn't.  But the words and the comforting
gesture had a soothing effect as Jessie struggled to get herself under
control.  When Katie handed her a tissue, she wiped her eyes and blew her
nose.  "Want to tell me about it?"  Katie murmured as she led Jessie to a
stone bench enclosed on three sides by boxwoods.

Jessie sat down, giving herself some time to decide what she wanted to say.
Before she could speak, Katie answered her own question.  "You're pregnant,
aren't you?"

 "How--how do you know?"   "I'm making an educated guess."

 Unable to meet her friend's eye, Jessie nodded.  "You've been to a doctor?
You're okay?"  Jessie managed another nod.  She'd had her first prenatal
appointment, and everything was progressing normally at least with regard to
the pregnancy.  Katie waited a beat, then asked, "So what's Miguel going to
do about it?"  Jessie kicked at the brick below her right foot.  "I don't
know."

"My God, Jessie, you probably saved his life, and he's treating you like
this?"   "My getting pregnant wasn't his fault."   "An angel of the Lord
visited you after he left?"   Katie asked in an acerbic voice.   Jessie
flushed.   "No.   I mean, he would have walked jaway without letting things
go that far.   I forced the issue."   Katie's lips quirked.   "You're saying
you dragged him kicking and screaming to bed?"   "No," she replied in a small
voice, her color deepening again as she remembered how it had been that night.

"And now he doesn't want to acknowledge his child?"  her friend asked.

"He doesn't know about the baby."

"Why not?"   "Because he hasn't called me!   He hasn't made any attempt to
communicate," Jessie flung at her friend, venting her hurt and grief on the
only person available.

She'd kept her feelings bottled up for so long that she felt like a dam
bursting.  More anguished words kept tumbling out.  "I waited a couple of
days and went to his apartment, but the place was empty.

He'd moved out without letting me know he was leaving.  And nobody will tell
me where he's gone.  I guess I've got two choices.  I can put an ad in the
Baltimore Sun advising him that he's going to be a father.

Or I just go ahead with my life like he and I never made love," she ended
with a little gulp that held as much misery as bitterness.

 Katie absorbed the verbal blows without comment, then reached to lay her
hand gently on Jessie's arm.  "I know you're hurting," she said in a voice
that made Jessie's vision cloud again.  "But maybe you're not, uh, giving him
the benefit of the doubt.  He and I had a chance to talk when I was examining
him.  There were things he wanted me to understand about his being at your
house.  He was worried about you worried that your association with him would
get you into trouble.  From his point of view, he turned out to be right.
You got harassed by the police, a couple of agents from the INS and that
creep Georgie."

"He's in jail now."   "Lucky for you."   The quiet observation hung in the
air between them.   "Let's get back to Miguel," Katie said, her voice taking
on a pragmatic note.   "He has a right to know that you're carrying his
child.   If you don't give him that information, then he doesn't have a
chance to respond."   Not trusting herself to speak, Jessie nodded again.

"Tell him," she urged.  "Promise me you'll do him that favor."

"He might not think it's a favor."  "You won't know unless you try."

"Okay," Jessie managed in a small voice.  Katie squeezed her arm again.

"Good."  She hesitated for a moment, then asked another question.  "Are you
in love with him?"  For weeks, Jessie had considered that the most important
question in the world.  Now she tried to answer honestly.  ' "I don't know
whether I fell in love with him or with an image of him I made up.  It would
be easier to give you an honest answer if I could spend some more time with
him."

"I shouldn't have pried."   "No.   You were a big help."   "Then let's get
back to the reception before they send out a search party."

 "You go ahead," Jessie murmured.  "I need a few more minutes."

carlos jura do had always appreciated the finer things in life and the simple
pleasures, he thought with a selfsatisfied smile as he stood beside the
Vulcan stove, the showpiece of his country kitchen.  Soon he would have to
leave this cozy estate and fade into the jungle, where he would emerge as
another person.  All the plans were in place had been in place for almost a
year.  And by the time he was ready to make his move, the last little
impediment would be out of the way.  But for now, he could still enjoy the
luxury of his palatial hideaway.  With the practiced gesture of a master
chef, he hefted the weight of a cast-iron skillet in his hand.  Cast iron was
the only kind of pan for searing fish properly, he mused as he added a
generous dollop of butter and watched it melt into a pool of golden yellow.
Then he added shredded leeks, carrots, garlic, serra no peppers, salt, and
pepper.

Humming under his breath, he adjusted the gas flame.  He had a houseful of
servants and an army of bodyguards on the grounds of his estate.

But there was nothing like the epicurean pleasure of cooking a simple but
delicious meal for himself.  A man who didn't stay in touch with his domestic
side was missing a great deal of life, he mused.  When the vegetables had
cooked down into a flavorful medley, he pushed them to the sides of the
skillet and added a tender salmon fillet.  He was going to enjoy it the way
he'd had 't in Madrid, seared on the outside and naturally pink in the
middle.  "Sir?"  He deliberately waited several beats before looking up at
Eduardo Sombra, one of his senior security men.  "I told you not to disturb
me while I am in the kitchen," he said in a deceptively mild voice as he
reached to turn down the heat under the salmon.  His people had learned to 
fear that voice, and it gave him a glow of satisfaction to see the man cringe
ever so slightly.  "You also asked to be informed if we had any more in-
formation on Miguel Valero.  We have a dispatch from the States on him."  The
announcement made Carlos turn from the stove.

"You've found him?"  "A man using the name

"Miguel Diego' was spotted in Baltimore a few weeks ago," Sombra related with
some satisfaction.

"A few weeks.  And you're just telling me now?"  Sombra coughed delicately.

"Well, there was your change in staff."

"Our new operative came highly recommended."   "There was also some
ambiguity about Valero.   I wanted to be accurate before I came to you."
Carlos waited with narrowed eyes.

"We have reason to believe that the individual in the report is Valero.  He's
working with the poor in the Spanishspeaking section of the city giving
medical advice without a license."

Carlos snorted.  "He always had a soft spot for the lower classes."

Sombra nodded.  "The man's size and build fit the description we have for
Valero."

 "Does he look like Valero yes or no?"   "Not exactly.

That was part of the confusion.  " So the man was using a disguise.

Apparently it had been effective.  "Well, if he was spotted, what happened to
him?"  he snapped.  "He disappeared went underground again.  But I have a man
on our payroll looking for him there."

"What man?"   "Someone with excellent connections."   Sombra spread his
hands as though offering a gift.   "If anyone can find Valero, he can."   The
sudden sharp smell of burning fish reached Carlos's  nose.   Swearing, he
whirled and snatched the pan from the burner and slammed it onto the
stove top   His lunch was ruined.   Valero had ruined his lunch.   But at
least there was progress.   He was closing in on the only man who had the
power to wreck his carefully constructed plans.

"I want him brought to me."  "Brought here?"  Sombra asked in surprise.

"I thought you wanted him dead."

"I do.   But he has been on the run for a long time.   He might have talked
about me to someone.   I want to eliminate any possibility of detection.   Do
you get my meaning?"

"Perfectly," Sombra answered.  jessie picked her moment carefully.  In about
a half hour, the evening staff would be taking over the rec center.  " For
the past week she'd been keeping track of Luis.  He was often here in the
late afternoon and still at the center when she left work.  She had asked
some careful questions about him and found out that he hung around to stay
out of his stepfather's way.  The man was brutal with him which made it
remarkable that Luis had taken the risk of threatening her with a gun.  But
he'd done it for Miguel.  Probably Miguel was like a substitute father to
him.  Today she found Luis standing near the soda machine in the hall behind
the gym.  Casually, she put in sixty cents.  After the can of Coke clattered
into the slot at the bottom, she lifted the door and handed the boy the soft
drink.

He looked at her questioningly.  "I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes,"
she said, keeping her voice steady.  He was just a kid, but an unpredictable
kid.  And he might hold the key to her future.  So far, no one else would
admit to knowing where she could find Miguel.

Apparently there was an elaborate conspiracy of silence in the community
concerning him.  You wouldn't think a whole neighborhood could keep the
secret of his whereabouts, yet they seemed to be doing it.  But perhaps she
could get Luis to give her the information.

 "About what?"  he asked, edging away.  "Nothing bad," she said quickly.
"Why don't you come down the hall to my office."  He hesitated.  "It's okay,"
she said, trying to stay casual.  Reluctantly, he followed her, clutching the
Coke as if it were a shield.  "Am I in trouble?  Did Papa Roberto complain
about anything?"  he asked, his face tense as she closed the door behind
them and sat down in one of the visitors' chairs so that the desk wouldn't be
between them.  She looked down into his worried brown eyes, trying to put as
much reassurance as she could into her own expression.  "No, it's nothing to
do with him.  And you're not in trouble.  But why don't you sit down so we
can talk.  I need a favor from you."  He perched on the edge of the other
chair, his sneakers on the floor, still looking like he might take off at any
minute "What do you want?"

"I need to talk to Miguel."   "He left town," the boy replied without
missing a beat.

Jessie felt her heart sink.  Although she'd assumed the father of her child
was still in the city, the answer made sense.  Miguel's run-in with Officer
Waverly and the visit from the two INS agents were good reasons for him to
have moved on.  Yet, even as she considered the boy's statement, she wondered
if it wasn't a cover.  When he'd said it, Luis hadn't looked her in the eye.
Now he was staring fixedly at the Coke can in his hand and scuffing his foot
against the tile floor.  "I know you're very loyal to Miguel.  I admire that
very much," she said softly.  "But there's something important I need to
discuss with him if it turns out he's still in Baltimore."

"What?"   Luis asked.   She shook her head.   "It's something personal.
Between him and me.

Something that he needs to know.  "

 She tried not to twist her hands together as she waited for the
ten-year-old to make a decision.  She wanted to say something more argue
that he owed her his cooperation since he had started things by threatening
her with a pistol.  But she sensed that she wouldn't help her case by leaning
on him.  Finally he gave a quick nod, and she let out the breath she was
holding.  "If I tell you where he lives, will you promise not to tell anyone
else?"

"I promise not to reveal his whereabouts," she answered very formally.
Still, the boy hesitated.

"He won't like you coming there.  But he doesn't have a phone.  You can't
call him."  She shrugged.  "I'll deal with that."

"What if he's mad at me?"  Luis muttered, and Jessie had to clench her hands
to keep from reaching out and shaking him.  He had said he would give her the
information.  Now it looked like he was changing his mind.

Still, she forced herself to answer calmly.  "I won't tell him.  If he asks,
I'll make sure he understands that I put a lot of pressure on you."  The boy
nodded, though his eyes still reflected hesitation.  "If you go there, you
must be careful.  You must be sure nobody is following you."

"I will."   "The bad man is looking for him.   He has spies around here
asking questions."   Jessie swallowed.   Luis was being very cautious, but it
was only to protect Miguel.   "I promise.   I'll be very careful."   "Okay.
He's on Juniper Street.   Just before the block with the warehouses.   You go
around the back like at his other place."

Her brow wrinkled as she pictured the area.  "Are you sure?  I thought the
houses down there were boarded up."

 "Si.   He's in one of those, where the bad man won't look for him I hope."

 Jessie closed her eyes for a moment.  She'd thought Miguel's former
apartment was pretty bad.  Now Luis was telling her that he was staying
somewhere worse in an abandoned building.  No wonder he didn't want her to
see him there.  "Which one?"  she asked.  "It has blue paint on the bricks."
The boy's eyes sought hers.  "Remember, don't let anyone see you poking
around there."

 "Yes.   I understand.

Thank you for trusting me.  " Still clutching the Coke, he stood and started
to leave the office, then stopped abruptly in the doorway.

When he glanced uncertainly back at her, she rose and followed him to the
door.  Outside in the anteroom, she was startled to discover Jim Alvarez
talking to Ramon Martinez, one of the INS agents who had come to her house
looking for Miguel.  "Miss Douglas," the agent said, glancing up, his gaze
zeroing in on her face.  He looked pleased to have caught her by surprise.
She made an attempt to compose her features as she gave him a curt nod, then
bent toward Luis who was still standing rigidly in front of her.  Thanks for
talking with me.

Go on back to your basketball game.  " " Si.  " He gave her a relieved look
as he made a wide circle around the men, then hurried down the hall toward
the gym.

"Problems?"  Jim asked.  "No.  I thought he might know the name of a girl who
talked to me on the street about some help."

"What girl?"   "That's the problem.   I don't know her name."   Jim looked
as if he didn't quite believe the explanation, and Jessie was instantly sorry
she'd resorted to making up a story.   Lying was so foreign to her.   Yet she
didn't know whether she could trust either one of these men.   The agent was
inspecting her with what appeared to be  detached professional interest.
"Have you seen that fellow who was staying with you--Miguel Diego?"   She
raised her head and looked him straight in the eye.   "Did you come down here
to ask me about him?"

"That's one of my purposes."

"Then I'm sorry you wasted a trip.   I haven't seen him."   "You don't want
to get in trouble for harboring a fugitive the man observed.   The advice
made her angry.   What right did this guy have coming to the place where she
worked asking questions about Miguel or making remarks about her personal
life?   Still, she kept the are in check.   Maybe he'd hoped he could get her
going, and that she'd say exactly the wrong thing.   Instead of rising to the
bait, she gave him a tight nod.   " You're absolutely right," she agreed
icily.

"I wouldn't want to get in any kind of trouble."  He held her gaze for
several more seconds, as if he were an expert in hypnotism and he expected
his beady eyes would force her to speak some vital information.  When she
didn't succumb to his mesmerizing stare, he gave her one last jolt of mental
energy before turning back to Jim.  "I have some other cases to check."  The
staff had had requests like this before, and they had always complied--at
least on the surface.  It was a matter of playing ball with the feds or risk
losing the government funding for some of their programs.  So Jessie wasn't
surprised when Jim led the way to the room where the files were kept.  As
soon as the men were out of sight, Jessie ducked back into her office and
flopped into her chair.  She'd been in here pumping Luis for information
right when Martinez had been in the building.  What if he'd heard?  Panic
rose at the thought.  She forced it down, assuring herself that she was
overreacting.  Still, it was impossible to keep her hands from shaking as she
straightened her desk.  She was heading for the ladies' room, when Jim came
out of the men's.

 He looked at her speculatively.  "I didn't know you, uh, were friends with
that guy Diego."  Jessie gave a little shrug.  "Martinez said he stayed at
your house, that you're lowers."  She felt heat creep into her face.  "That's
a pretty personal revelation."

"He wants information about the guy."   "I'm aware of that."   "Are you in a
position to give it to him?   Because if you are, it would earn us some
brownie points."   Jessie swallowed painfully.   "I haven't seen Diego in
months," she answered truthfully.   "Don't make Martinez mad.   He could
cause a lot of trouble for us.   With our clients.   And with the
government."   "I understand," she replied stiffly, then pushed her way into
the ladies' room so she wouldn't have to answer any more questions.   When
she finally emerged, she was relieved to find that Jim wasn't lurking in the
hall.   Quickly she left the building and headed for her car.   As she pulled
out of the parking lot, she ached to turn right and drive directly to the
block on Juniper Street where the boy had said she'd find Miguel.   Instead
she headed for a little restaurant in Fells Point where she sometimes went
for lunch.   Getting a table where she could watch the boats in the harbor,
she ordered a Caesar salad with grilled shrimp.   Her raw nerves took away
the taste of the food, and she sat there pushing romaine lettuce and shrimp
around her plate as she imagined her reunion with Miguel.   She wanted to
tell him about the baby.   But maybe she wouldn't tell him unless he seemed
glad to see her.   What if she revealed that she was pregnant, and he came
back to her out of guilt?   That would be worse than nothing.   Silently she
clenched her fist under the table and blinked back the tears in her eyes as
she vowed she wouldn't ask him for anything.   She wouldn't put any pressure
on him or  turn this into a confrontation, or act needy.   She would do no
more than give him the information.   Still, her throat was so dry she could
hardly swallow as she drove toward his hideout.   To make sure she wasn't
being followed, she kept glancing in her rearview mirror.   As she made a
right turn onto Juniper, she saw a kid in an orange and-black jacket.   One
of Los Tigres!   Her hands gripped the wheel.

She hadn't even been thinking about the gang.  Since Georgie's arrest,
everything had been quiet on that front.  But she'd also been careful not to
venture into the barrio alone.  Thankful that she was driving her own car
instead of the van, she reached into the glove compartment, pulled out the
floppy sun hat she wore to protect her fair skin and jammed it down onto her
head.  She made a run past the row of boarded-up houses, peering at them
through the side window, finding the one with the blotchy blue paint on the
bricks.  It was the fifth from the right and had plywood nailed across the
front door and the windows.  Somebody had spray-painted obscene messages on
the wood and on the brick walls.  Lord, what a place to live.  Was Luis
right--or was he deliberately misleading her to get off the hook?

Well, there was only one way to find out.  After parking around the corner on
a street where the dwellings were still occupied, she sat in the car for ten
minutes, watching for any further sign of gang members.

When none appeared, she quickly made her way around the corner to the row of
houses.  Unlike the place where Miguel had been living before, there was no
convenient passageway between the buildings.  So she walked to the end of the
block, then up the alley behind.  Glad that she'd worn low-heeled shoes, she
picked her way gingerly along the broken pavement, her eyes darting from side
to side as she scanned the deserted landscape.  The fifth house had a back
fence made of wooden boards that looked like they might blow away in a strong
wind and a gate hanging drunkenly from one hinge.  Slipping through  the
opening, she found herself in a yard filled with refuse.  Old tires, cereal
boxes, discarded clothing and other trash were mounded in piles, making the
place look like an outpost of the city dump.  Great camouflage for a
hideout if Miguel was really living here.  Under more ideal circumstances,
she would have stationed herself just inside the fence and called out his
name.  She knew, though, that it would be a mistake to alert anyone else to
her presence, so she began to make her way cautiously across the area,
heading for a stairwell that was similar to the one outside his former
apartment.  The evening was warm, the air humid.  As she picked her way
across the mess, she felt sweat collect at the base of her neck and trickle
down her back.  Wishing she had a stick to poke through the litter, she
skirted a pile of ashes that might have been the remains of a vagrant's
cooking fire.  Then, reaching a clear area in the middle of the yard, she
climbed over a low concrete wall and started across a stretch of flat ground.
After a few steps, she realized that the dirt hid a layer of old wooden
boards.

They creaked under her, and she caught the smell of dampness wafting up from
below.  Better go back, she thought, stopping short.  This thing wasn't
safe.  But as she took a tentative step to reverse her course, the surface
below her feet gave way with a sickening crack.  In the next moment, she felt
herself plunging through a thin veneer of earth into a dark, yawning cavern
below.

Chapter Nine A scream welled in Jessie's throat, even as her arms flailed.
In the grip of panic, she tried desperately to stop her fall.

When her hand hit the concrete rim, she automatically closed her fingers and
clung.  But with her body already tumbling through the air, she couldn't hold
herself up with only one hand.  All she could do was break her fall.  Her
fingers tore loose from the concrete, scraping her skin, making her scream
again as she slipped downward into a dank, darkened pit that had been
concealed by the boards.  Seconds later, she landed on an uneven dirt
surface, barely managing to stay on her feet.

She flung out her arms to steady herself against the curved wall as she
struggled to collect her wits.  When she could think clearly again, she took
stock of the situation.  Her hand was scraped, but she hadn't fallen far.
Moving her arms and legs, she decided nothing was broken.

But she couldn't stop a surge of maternal fear from shivering through her.
Her hand was trembling as she brought it to the barely rounded swell of her
abdomen.  There was nothing she could really tell by feeling the contours of
her tummy, but she considered it a good sign that she wasn't experiencing any
cramping.  You 're lucky, she thought, then castigated herself for putting
her baby in jeopardy.  Craning her neck, she peered up  at the broken boards
above her.  They'd been covering this.  this.  She didn't know what to call
it.  It was too wide for a well and not nearly deep enough.  And it was too
crude to be one of those bomb shelters that people had dug in their backyards
in the early sixties.

But it was definitely man-made and, unfortunately, too deep for her to climb
out of.  Cautiously she began to explore her prison.  The walls were cement.
Too bad there were no convenient handholds.  Lord, now what?  She had vowed
not to call out to Miguel.  Now she had no choice.

She tried his name in a raspy voice that she could barely hear over the
pounding pulse in her ears, and then louder: "Migue]!"  The sound
reverberated around her, and she realized with a shudder that she should have
stuck with her original resolve.  Shouting from down here was dangerous.
What if one of Los Tigres heard her?  The thought of the gang members
cornering her here brought a wave of nausea roiling through her.  Georgie
might be in jail, but his friends wouldn't let an opportunity like this pass.
That scenario was terrifying.  Others weren't much better.  Like, what if
someone had heard her and called the police and that led to Miguel's hiding
place being discovered?

Tears of fear and frustration welled in her eyes, and she sank to the ground,
her arms hugged tightly across her middle Nobody but Luis would know where to
look for her when she turned up missing.  What if he didn't tell anyone
because he was afraid of getting into trouble?

She wasn't sure how long she sat there.  Finally she realized that the
daylight above her was starting to fade.  If she didn't want to stay here all
night, she had to find a way to get out.  miguel awoke covered with
perspiration.  He had been dreaming again.  Another nightmare.  Only this
time, Jessie  had been there.  At the clinic.  He'd heard her scream, then
call his name, and her voice had jarred him from sleep.  He swiped a hand
across his face, then lay very still in the darkened room, listening.  The
only sound was the drip of water from the old faucet that wouldn't turn off.
He'd been in this place for two weeks.  He didn't know how much more he could
take.  But Bemardo Contrares had told him he and his friends would find him
another dwelling soon.  Something better.  He had saved the life of Bemardo's
wife by diagnosing her bacterial endocarditis.  And Bemardo had been
grateful, like so many of the other people in this little community who
lacked the money for proper medical care.  So Dr. Miguel wasn't cleaning
offices anymore; he was taking care of patients.  It might not be legal, but
it gave him a great deal of satisfaction.  He had bonded with these people,
and they were an important part of his decision to stop running from Jurado.
He'd decided that if he wasn't safe here, he wasn't safe anywhere.  A gun
rested beside him on the sheet.  He tucked it under the pillow and lay in bed
for a while longer, thinking of Jessie, missing her, wondering what she was
doing.  He spent a lot of his free time that way.

Sometimes he pictured himself phoning her.  Or knocking on her door.

The closest he'd come was standing in the shadows of the garage across from
her Light Street office where he could watch her arrive and leave.

Otherwise, he'd stuck to the promise he had made to himself; he wouldn't put
her in danger again because of his own needs.  Heaving himself out of bed, he
stretched the kinks out of his muscles and went into the bathroom.  The sink
had a working tap, but he had to flush the toilet by filling a bucket of
water and pouring it into the bowl.

After shaving with cold water, he stripped and stood in the shower, grimacing
as he washed with another bucket of water.  Maybe he'd ask to take a hot
shower somewhere later,  he thought.  And maybe one of the families would
offer him a meal.

jessie swiped a damp lock of hair away from her face, then began to search
over the ground, looking for something anything useful.  The best thing she
found was a three-foot-long piece of board that had tumbled down with her.
Perhaps she could use it as a shovel.  If she could pile up enough dirt,
maybe she'd raise the ground level enough to be able to jump up and reach the
top.  Plunging the board into the ground, she came up with a couple of
cupfuls of soil.  The wood rubbed against the scraped skin of her hand,
making her wince, but she kept working, building a hill at the side of the
shaft nearest the fence.

It was growing dark when a sound from above made her go rigid.

Footsteps moving toward the top of the pit.  The steps stopped, and she
breathed in a little sigh.  Nerves.  It was just her nerves.

Tight-jawed, she dug the board into the ground and loosened another couple of
inches of dirt.  The steps came again.  Nearer.  "Who's there?"  a harsh
voice demanded.  She didn't move, didn't speak, praying that the darkness
would hide her until the beam of a strong flashlight angled downward, hitting
her squarely in the eyes.  With a gasp, she threw one arm across her face.
"Jessie?"  The voice above her had changed from sharp to incredulous, and now
she knew who was there.

"Miguel!  Thank God, Miguel!"  she cried out, stretching her arms upward
toward him, even as she closed her eyes against the brightness of the light.
"Jessie.  What are you doing down there?"  he demanded, moving the beam away
from her face.  "I fell through the rotten boards up there," she managed, her
breath catching.  "Are you all right?"  he asked urgently.  "Yes.  I think
so."

 "Thank God."  "Wh-where am I?"  she asked.  "What is this place?"

"It is an old cistern where they used to collect rainwater."  He set the
light on the concrete rim so that it shone partially on the ground above and
partially into the pit but out of her eyes.  Then he began to pull at the
remaining boards, wrenching them apart and flinging them out of the way be
fore throwing a leg over the side of the concrete and jumping down.  With a
cry of joy, Jessie threw aside the board she was still clutching and launched
herself into his arms.

He took the impact of her body and pulled her close so that she melted
against him.  Until that moment, she hadn't let herself admit how much she
had missed his embrace, missed the strength of his arms around her, the
warmth of his body, the familiar scent of his skin.  Closing her eyes, she
simply clung to him, letting his presence wipe away her terror and all the
long lonely nights when she hadn't been sure if she would ever see him again.
She felt his lips skim her hair, the side of her face as she tightened her
grip around his waist.  "Thank you for finding me," she breathed.  "But but
how are we going to get out of here?"

"We can worry about that in a minute."   He held on to her as if he would
never let her go again, then continued in a choked voice,

"I

came outside to go to work and heard someone down here.  I didn't know it was
you.  " She nodded against his chest, too overwhelmed with relief and joy to
say more.  She was hardly aware that they were standing in a hole in the
ground.  As long as she could hold on to him, she knew everything was going
to be all right.  He didn't kiss her.  And she wanted that, too so much.  To
feel his lips move against hers.  To taste him.  She was tipping her face
toward his when his voice turned stern, bringing her back to reality.  " This
place is dangerous.  You should not have come here.  "

 She looked away, remembering where they were and how she had gotten herself
into this mess.  "I came to see you."

"Are you sure you are all right?"   he demanded, his hands moving over her
back and shoulders, then more carefully over her arms.   He knelt and probed
her ankles.

"Nothing hurts?"  She held up her hand.  "I scraped myself when I tried to
grab the concrete."  She heard him swear under his breath.  Taking her hand,
he turned the palm up and moved it into the light.  Then he brought the
injury to his lips for a quick kiss.  "It hurts.  But it's not serious.  You
should put some antiseptic on it."

 "I know."

"How long have you been down here?"

"About an hour.   Maybe a little longer."   He turned toward the pile of
dirt she'd accumulated.   "What were you doing?"   "Trying to make a place to
stand where I can reach the top."   She saw him inspect her work, then shake
his head.   "I'll get you out of here."   Moving away from her, he flexed his
knees and jumped, his hands catching the ledge above them so that he could
pull himself over the side and onto solid ground.   She stared up at him,
awed by the athletic performance.   Apparently he'd gotten his health back
after the bout of malaria "I'm afraid I'm not quite that strong," she told
him.   "You don't have to be.   I'll be back as soon as I can with a ladder
or a rope or something.   Wait there."   "Do I have a choice?"   she asked
with a shaky laugh.   He made a low sound, then turned and trotted off.   She
leaned against the wall, folding her arms across her chest, paying attention
to her body.   Maybe she shouldn't have done all that frantic digging, she
thought with a little shiver of worry.   Yet she seemed to be okay, and she'd
been keeping herself in good shape doing exercises recommended for pregnancy
a couple of times a week.   After she  told Miguel about the baby, he could
make sure that everything was all right.   He was gone for a long time.
When she finally saw light at the top of the pit, she turned her face upward
expectantly.   "Did you find a ladder?"   "No."   He sounded exasperated.
"I'm going to try something else."   Leaning over, he adjusted the
flashlight, then motioned her to stand back.   She followed orders, and he
gently tossed a wooden crate down onto the dirt.   As soon as it landed, he
rejoined her, then stepped on top of the box.   Flexing his knees he tested
the surface before bracing his back against the wall.   "I'll lift you up so
you can pull yourself out," he said, beckoning her to join him on the box.
Snatching up her purse from where she'd dropped it on the ground, she slung
it across her back.   Miguel reached for her, boosting her to his level so
that they were standing on the box face-to-face, the position both awkward
and intimate.   She heard him swallow.

"Miguel?"

"Querida."   His hand flattened against her back, pressing her breasts
tightly to his chest.   Her breath caught.   So did his.   She waited for his
lips to capture hers.   Instead, he turned his head to the side.   "I must
get you out of here," he said thickly.   "While I can still remember what I
am supposed to be doing."   "Okay," she managed, reminding herself why they
were standing like this.   "I am going to lift you now," he said, moving his
hands to her waist and thrusting upward.   But he hadn't counted on her dress
sliding up as he lifted her, halting her progress.   She stopped several feet
short of her goal, breathing hard.   For just a moment, she allowed her
fingers to tangle in his hair.   She heard him make a low, muffled sound.
Then, shifting his grip, he pushed the fabric out of the way and  cupped her
hips and bottom.   Before the touch could turn into a caress, he gave a
mighty thrust upward with his powerful arms.

"Yes!"  she exclaimed as she worked her elbows over the concrete edge.

When he gave her one more push, she toppled onto solid ground.  As she lay
there, he vaulted up and flopped down beside her, breathing heavily.

"Did I hurt you?"  he gasped out.  "No."  She reached for his hand, knit her
fingers with his.  For long moments she lay in a patch of weeds, feeling
their scratchy stems against her legs and arms.  And yet, the darkness and
her mood had transformed the scraggly yard into a magical place.  A soft
breeze had sprung up, and it sifted through her hair like caressing fingers
as she stared up at the sky.  It was absolutely cloudless, and the canopy of
stars spread across the heavens was like diamonds on a field of black velvet.
Had they ever before sparkled so brightly here in the city?  she wondered as
her hand tightened on Miguel's.  "Thank you," she whispered.  "I was so
frightened down there.  And then you came, and everything was all right."  He
didn't answer at once.  When he spoke, the words were clipped.  "It was
nothing."  The flat tone of his voice sent a little shiver over her skin.
Her hand tightened convulsively on his.

Stiffly, he pried his fingers free from hers and stood, making a production
of brushing the dirt from his slacks.  "Miguel?"  she questioned, pushing
herself to a sitting position.  When he didn't respond, she tipped her head
up questioningly He'd held her, rescued her, acted as if he cared.  But now.
The feeling of magic had evaporated.  Standing, she stared at the lines of
his face.  In the beam from the flashlight, they had turned as harsh and
uncompromising as those of an ancient Mayan sculpture, and she was struck by
the sudden sick feeling that nothing between them would ever be the same
again.

 "How did you know where to find me?"  he asked, slipping his hands into
his pockets.  "I " She gave a little shrug.  Reaching down, she took off her
shoes and shook out the dirt that had accumulated inside, using the interval
to collect her scattered wits.  "Was it that little snitch, Luis?  He thinks
" "What does he think?"  When he didn't reply, she responded to his earlier
comment "He's not a snitch."  Miguel sighed.  "It wasn't his place to say
where I was."

 "I was persuasive,"

she managed.  "I made it sound important."  Holding her breath, she waited
for him to ask what had been so urgent.  But he stuck with his own agenda.
"Coming here was a foolish thing to do," he chided.

"You fell into that damn cistern.  What if someone else had found you?"

"They didn't."  Glad that the darkness hid the sudden desolation in her
features, she reached out, laid a hand on his arm.  "I needed to talk to
you."

"About what?"   he finally asked, his voice sharp, almost angry.   She had
come to tell him she was carrying his child, but as she stood there next to
him, she felt the words sticking in her throat.   ' "Jessie, I am very
grateful to you for taking me in when I was sick,"

he said, making it sound like that was the sum of their interaction.

She swallowed painfully.  "I thought there was a little more to it than
that."

"You tempted me to do something that, to be blunt, shouldn't have happened."
His answer stung her like a lash raking across her skin.   "You're wrong!"
He ignored her and went on.   "It was a mistake.

I was lonely, and a man has needs.  " At the merciless words, she gasped and
tried to drag in a  breath, but an enormous weight was constricting her
chest.  For a long, terrible moment, she thought she was going to suffocate
or faint and give herself away.  She clenched her fists, her nails digging
into her palms.  The light-headed ness passed, and she gasped in air.  It
seared her lungs like an inhalation of fire or ice.  " I thought that making
love meant something to you," she whispered.  He didn't answer, and she
finally understood that she had been deluding herself all along.  She had
been imagining a future for the three of them herself, Miguel, and the child
they had made together.  But she had simply been a convenience for him.  The
time he'd spent with her meant no more to him than a respite from the bleak
life he had been leading.  And the baby?  She simply couldn't bring herself
to tell him that his reckless interlude with her had created a new life.  He
stood with his arms folded across his chest, unreachable, unapproachable.  "
Miguel.  " His name was a choked whisper.  This time she didn't expect an
answer.  In fact, she didn't even know why she had spoken.  Sharp, searing
pain knifed through her pain more deep and lasting than any physical blow.

Wincing, hoping the pain didn't show in her face, she took a quick step back,
then another, before turning and stumbling across the uneven ground.  All she
could think was that she had to get away from this man who had hurt her in
ways she hadn't imagined possible.  She almost fell, caught herself, and
hurried to get out of the yard and away from him as fast and as far as she
could.  he stood like a man turned into granite, watching her wanting
desperately to go to her, to catch her in his arms, pull her to him.  But he
didn't allow his body to act on the strong image in his mind.  Instead, he
stood and suffered her pain while he watched her leave.  As she disappeared
through the fence, he felt part of himself dying.

 He had hurt her with his sharp words.  The ploy had been ruthless and
deliberate, because he knew that the only way he could force her to give up
on the two of them was to make her think that he didn't want her.  It wasn't
true.  He wanted her more than he wanted his freedom; needed her as much as
he needed air to breathe.  Sometimes, alone at night, thinking about the time
with her was the only thing that kept him from going insane.  Yet he had
already made too much trouble for her with the police and the INS and Los
Tigres.  And the trouble would only multiply if he let things go any further.
His ears strained as he listened to her footsteps pound down the alleyway.
If he hurried he could stop her.  Yet he knew in his soul that sending her
away was the best thing to do.  He let himself follow her only as far as the
fence, shouldering his way through the boards, watching to make sure that she
made it to the street with no trouble.  When he heard the sound of a car
starting, he sprinted down the alley in time to see her car pull away from
the curb with a jerky motion.  He could see her behind the wheel, her face
white, her eyes fixed straight ahead with an expression that caused a
razor-sharp twisting in his gut.  Yet he told himself he had done the right
thing the honorable thing.  His life was in danger.  And hers would be as
well if he let her get close to him again.  So he stood with his insides
bleeding, staring at the rapidly diminishing taillights of her car and
feeling as if everything that made life worth living was fading as those
lights disappeared.

Chapter Ten As soon as she got home, Jessie called her gynecologist and told
him about the fall.  After a quick examination in the hospital emergency
room, he assured her it looked like no damage had been done.

But she still spent the next few days watching anxiously for signs of
trouble.  When none appeared she finally breathed a sigh of relief.

She hadn't hurt the baby with her dumb stunt.  Yet her life was hardly back
to normal.  She went to work and did her job.  She dutifully cooked meals and
ate them because she had to nourish the child growing inside her.  She went
through the motions of living.  Yet she felt numb inside.  In a way, that was
a blessing.  It was better than the raw pain she had felt before she'd turned
and staggered away from Miguel.

Sometimes she could stand outside herself and analyze what had happened to
her.  She had invested too much hope in the idea of finding Miguel.

She'd thought he cared about her that he'd care about the baby.  In her
fantasies, she'd figuratively sung herself to sleep with a lullaby about the
three of them living happily ever after.  But he had shattered that lullaby
as easily as he'd shattered her heart.  She'd been so terribly wrong about
his feelings, and the realization was crushing.  But, really, if she were
brutally honest, she couldn't blame him.  The time they had spent  together
was so short--not long enough for him to have bonded with her.  It was
different for her.  She had a reason to feel connected to him.  But he didn't
know about the baby, and she wouldn't try again to tell him--at least not
until after the child was born .  Then he would have a right to know that he
was a father.  She should be making plans for the future, she knew.  Yet she
found she was incapable of anything beyond simple day-to-day survival.  All
she could do was get herself through each twenty-four-hour period, wondering
how she was going to face the next one.  Inevitably, the days slipped past,
and her body changed.  By the end of the summer she was wearing
extra-large-size clothes and feeling fluttery little movements inside her
tummy that must be the baby kicking.  They made the pregnancy take on a new
kind of reality.  In another four and a half months she was going to be
totally responsible for another human being, and she'd better start making
some important decisions.  far to the south, in San Marcos, gray clouds hung
low, forming a thick, wet blanket over the landscape.

And rain fell in a steady downpour that beat against the tin roof like a
thousand fingers drumming in sequence.  It was a warm rain that brought no
relief from the endless heat.  Carlos Jurado dragged a handkerchief across
his damp brow, then swore softly as a fly that had worked its way through the
window screen circled around his head.  He swatted at it with the
handkerchief and missed.  Damn insects.  Damn heat.  Damn rain.  He hated
this place--especially his new living quarters.  Yet he had chosen them for
their geographic location--and for their isolation.  This was where he needed
to be while he prepared for his new life.  Two weeks ago he'd moved far from
his comfortable estate to a backwater province near the southern border.
The  whitewashed stucco buildings of the jungle compound were cramped and
dark.  Electricity was provided by a generator that ran only eight hours a
day.  And drinking water had to be trucked in.  There were none of the
luxuries that he appreciated so much.  But it was the best accommodation he
could find in a region where most of the natives lived in huts with walls of
bamboo stakes and roofs of woven palm fronds.  And the move was a necessary
step in the process of turning himself into another man.  Ironic, he thought.
He was following the example of Miguel Valero.  Pulling the doctor's file
from the plastic case he kept with him at all times, he riffled through the
pages.  A few months ago, he'd gotten his hopes up.  It seemed the lead
hadp't panned out; his agents hadn't found Valero yet.  But they would.
Soon.  The bastard couldn't hide forever.  And then Carlos Jurado would be
free to disappear for good.  And another man would come back to life a man
who had died ten years ago.  jessie was at her Light Street office when Erin
Stone appeared in the doorway.  Coming into the room, she closed the door
behind her.  The gesture was so unlike Erin that Jessie felt a tingle of
alarm.  "What's wrong?"  she asked.  Erin let out a long breath as she stood
with her hands clasped, her back to the door.  "I was just on the phone with
Jim Alvarez.  Has he, uh, said anything to you?"

 "About what?"   Erin shook her head.   "He wants me to fire you."

"What?"  The paper cup Jessie was holding slipped from between her fingers
and landed on the desk, splashing water all over the computer printout
unfolded across her blotter.  She stared down helplessly at the spreading
pool.  Erin hurried forward and grabbed a wad of tissues from the box on the
filing cabinets.  Together she and Jessie dabbed at the water.

 "What amess," Jessie murmured, glancing quickly at her friend.  From Erin's
expression she knew that neither one of them was referring to the water.
"Yes."  Erin wadded up the tissues and threw them into the trash.  Finally,
Jessie cleared her throat.  "What, uh, specific reason did he give?"

"He said you're a bad example for the women of the community."   Jessie felt
her jaw clamp tight.   "You know what he's like.   He's the kind of guy who
insists on what he calls 'traditional values' even when they don't quite fit
the reality of today's society."

' "Yes.  He can be judgmental.  Come to think of it, I caught him staring at
me yesterday.  I bet he gave you a very fulsome description of my dumpy
body."  Erin laughed.  "How did you guess?"

"I've heard him do it before when he was picking apart an unwed mother.

Funny how a married woman never looks quite so distasteful.  " A flicker of
apology crossed Erin's features.  " Uh, probably you should have told him
you were pregnant, instead of you know letting him hear people gossiping
about you.  " Jessie sighed, knowing Erin was right.  " I didn't want to talk
to him or anyone else about the baby," she whispered.  " I understand.  And I
know what you've been going through.

But he doesn't.  "

" And he wouldn't care if he did!   " Erin nodded.

"Yeah.  He reminded me that you're scheduled to teach another course for
teenage girls on

"Just Saying No."  He asked me how an unmarried pregnant woman could possibly
take on that assignment.  " Jessie looked down at her hands, which were
clasped so tightly on her desk that the knuckles were white.  " I guess I
don't have an answer to that," she said in a small voice.

"I

 wasn't thinking about the course.  I was trying to get through my life one
day at a time.  " Erin moved forward and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
" I know you've been doing the best you can in a bad situation.  " "
Apparently the best I can isn't good enough.  I " She stopped, her voice
cracking as she steeled herself for yet another upheaval.  " I'll give you
two weeks' notice.  Or you can have my resignation today, if you prefer.  " "
Oh, honey, I didn't come here to get your resignation," Erin answered
instantly.  " I just want things to work out for you.  I was thinking that
maybe we'd pull you out of the rec center for the time being and have you
work up here at the Light Street office full-time.  " Jessie swallowed,
unable to raise her eyes.  She knew that if she looked into Erin's face,
she'd start to cry.  " Unless you want a confrontation with Jim," Erin added.
Jessie shook her head, made an effort to compose herself.  It was several
moments before she could speak again.  " I've put you in a bad position," she
said in a thin voice.  " I don't see it that way.  You're one of our best
social workers.  " " And you'll be pulling me off my cases.  " " Jessie, tell
me honestly.  Do you want to quit?  I mean, are you finding that working
full-time and being pregnant aren't compatible?  " She sighed, pushing away a
lock of hair that had fallen across her face.  It slipped back into its
previous position the moment she moved her hand.  " It's not easy.  But
working keeps my mind occupied even if I haven't exactly been giving you my
best.  " Erin's hand tightened on her shoulder.  " Despite what you think,
you've been doing a good job.  " " Thank you for saying that even though I
know it's not true.  " " I wouldn't lie about it.  You hold yourself up to a
pretty  high standard.  When you slip, you slip to the level of the average
office worker.  " The words were meant to be kind, but they still cut Jessie
to the quick.  She sat up, squared her shoulders.  " Well, I'll get back up
to my previous level.  I promise.  " Erin gave her a reassuring squeeze
before withdrawing her hand.  " So maybe you can straighten out the mix-up
with Mrs. Vargas's child-support payments.

The court can't find the records.  " " Do you want me to go down there and do
battle with the clerk?  " " Would you?  " Erin asked gratefully.

"Of course."  Jessie slipped open her bottom-right desk drawer and pulled out
her purse.  She'd been in the dumps for the past few months.

Now she vowed to get back on track.  once, miguel valero had been a civilized
man.  Now he functioned on a more primitive level, like an animal constantly
on guard even in sleep.  He came awake suddenly, instantly alert as he lay in
his narrow bed in a room where heavy shades blocked out the light.  His eyes
went to his watch.  Three in the afternoon.  Nobody from the barrio would
come at this time.  He lay without moving, waiting.  He had changed his lair
twice since the night Jessie had given away the location.  This week he was
living in a building where the rat population was minimal.  So that was
probably not the source of the noise outside.  When a man-shaped shadow
flickered on the other side of the window shade, Miguel's hand reached for
the gun that lay beside him.  Tensely, he waited for the intruder to make
himself known.  "Dr.  Miguel?"  a small voice called out in Spanish.  The
tension eased.  It wasn't a man out there.  It was a boy his head and
shoulders magnified in the shadow on the shade.

 There was a tap on the window.  "Dr.  Miguel?"  Sighing, he got up and went
to the door.  When he opened it, Luis darted into the room, his face
partially obscured in the dimness.  "Do not sneak up on me like that!  You
could get hurt," Miguel advised mildly.  The kid nodded tightly, but
otherwise he didn't move.  Miguel motioned him closer.

"Is someone sick?"

"Not sick..."   Jurado's men had found him, he thought with a stab that was
part alarm, part resignation.   He'd known he shouldn't have stayed in
Baltimore.   But the community had kept him anchored here and the woman he
had hurt.   He hadn't talked to her in months, hadn't even gone downtown to
watch her from the shadows, because that would have been too painful.   His
eyes focused on Luis and he saw the uncertainty on the youthful features.
"I heard something today," the boy said in an almost-inaudible voice.
"Better tell me,"

Miguel said gently.  Luis swallowed.  "It's about Senorita Douglas."

Every cell in Miguel's body was suddenly on the alert.  "Is she in trouble?"
The boy shook his head, looking miserable.  Obviously he didn't want to be
here delivering this news.  But he had come anyway, and that meant the
situation was urgent.  "What?"  Miguel demanded, barely restraining himself
from reaching out and digging his fingers into the kid's shoulder.  "Say it,
whatever it is."

"I was hanging around near the offices.   I heard the director talking on
the phone about her to Senora Stone.   He was angry."   Luis swallowed, then
continued, his gaze focused on a spot somewhere over Miguel's left shoulder.
"He said she's setting a bad example for the community."   "A bad example?
She's an angel.   How could she set a bad example?"

 "He said" -- The boy stopped, his face bright red, then whispered,

"He said that she's--she's encinta.  And she shouldn't be working with young,
impressionable girls."

"She is pregnant?"   Miguel heard the shock in his own voice.   "5;'.
Senor Alvarez said people are wagging their tongues about it.   Now I know
why she looked so sad."   Miguel cursed under his breath.   He knew exactly
when he'd made love with Jessie.   In April.   Four and a half months ago.
Long enough for a pregnancy to be showing.   Long enough for her to have told
him about it--if the child was his.   He caught himself up short.   Of course
it was his!   A lump filled the cavity of his chest as he remembered the
night almost two months ago when she'd shown up at the abandoned house where
he was hiding.   She'd said she'd come to talk about something important, but
she'd never told him what it was, and he had assumed she'd made up an excuse
to contact him.   Now he pictured the stricken look in her eyes when he'd
made his voice hard as stone and told her that making love with her had been
a mistake--implying that he'd only been using her as an outlet for his sexual
needs.   God.   He had known he was hurting her by pretending he didn't care.
He hadn't known exactly the degree of cruelty he'd wreaked on her.   Of
course, she hadn't tried to get in touch with him since then; she was
carrying his child, and she thought he wouldn't give a damn.   He ran a hand
through his hair.

"Where is she?"

"Senor Alvarez said he didn't want her at the center.   Maybe they fired
her."   "Oh, no."   All she had done was try to help, and he had betrayed her
in the worst way a man could betray a woman.   "She could be at the other
office.   The one on Light Street."

He nodded, already pulling on his shoes.  It was a clan gerous time for him
to be on the street, but the danger was secondary now.  He had to go to
Jessie.  "there's a call for you or Jessie.  It's urgent," Jenny Brisco said
as she buzzed Erin's line.  "From the court?"  Erin asked.  "No, the city
jail."

"I'd better take it," Erin said, punching the button on the phone.   "This
is Erin Stone.   Can I help you?"   "This is Craig Martin at the Baltimore
City Jail.   We've, uh, we've had a slipup down here, and we want to notify
you."   "About what?"   Erin demanded.   "Georgie Cota was accidentally
released this afternoon."   "Georgie Cota.   The gang leader who broke into
our recreation center?"   "Yes.   You might want to put on some extra
security."

Erin's hand tightened on the receiver.  "I can't believe this.  Are you
sure?"

"Unfortunately, yes."   "He was supposed to be held without bond until his
trial.   How was he released?"   "We're, uh, checking into that," the nervous
voice on the other end of the line related.   "Maybe you want to station an
officer at the center," Erin suggested.   "You'll have to speak to the police
about that."   "Yes, well, thanks for the information."   She hung up and
reached for the phone again, hoping she could get in touch with Jessie, warn
her to be careful.   Fifteen frustrating minutes later she learned that
Jessie had probably left the courthouse.   They thought she was on her way
back to work, but they weren't positive.   miguel called in a favor and
borrowed a van that had been brought in for repairs to the Fells Point gas
station  where Bemardo Contrares worked.   The owner of the vehicle had been
short of cash and had left it taking up space in the crowded parking area
behind the station.   "Sure, you can borrow it," Bemardo told him.

"Just bring it back in good shape."

"Don't worry," he replied, skidding out of the lot and heading for the
garage across the alley from where Jessie worked.   After finding a parking
space, he took the back elevator to the third-floor offices of the Light
Street Foundation.   When he stepped into the waiting room, he found a short
dark-haired woman pacing back and forth.   Her head jerked up when the door
opened, her expression hopeful.   It changed to disappointment when she saw
him.

"I'm looking for Jessie Douglas," he said.  Her eyes narrowed as she gave him
a more thorough inspection "You're too old to be one of Los Tigres.  Why are
you looking for Jessie?"  she inquired.  He had become skilled in evading
answers to direct questions.  "I need to find her," he said carefully.
"Why?"  The clipped syllable gave away the woman's tension, and he realized
evasion wouldn't work.  "Did she talk to you about Miguel Diego?"  he asked.

Her eyes narrowed.  "Are you Diego?"  He gave a tight nod.  "I told myself
I'd choke you if I ever came face-to-face with you.  Now I don't have the
time."

"You know," he said simply.   "Of course I know!   She's my friend.   And I
also know that the city jail called an hour ago to warn her that Georgie
Cota, the leader of Los Tigres, was released by accident."   He felt the
hairs on his arms stand on end.   "The one who attacked Jessie when she came
down to help me?   The one who was waiting for her at the center?"   The
woman's eyes narrowed.   "You know about that?"   "Yes."   "Why did you break
her heart?"   she asked suddenly.

 He swore.  "I thought I was protecting her."  She looked startled, and he
knew that Jessie hadn't talked about his background.  "From what?"

"From the man who is trying to kill me.   People who get close to me tend to
end up dead," he said in an even voice, giving away too much.   At the
moment, it didn't seem to matter.   "I didn't know.   I... Maybe I misjudged
you."   Again, he found himself explaining.   "I learned about the baby
today.   I came to tell Jessie I love her, that I would never have left her
on her own if I had known."   "Yes.   She needs to hear that."   To his
surprise, the woman held out her hand, and he took it.   She cleared her
throat.   "I'm Erin Stone.   If you could help me find Jessie, I'd be very
relieved.   She isn't at the courthouse where she went a couple of hours ago.
And she didn't go home.   I left ames sage on her answering machine there,
but I'm hoping she comes back here.   We've got to get her off the streets
until they take Georgie into custody again."   Well, he knew all about
hiding, but he wasn't sure where to start looking.   "I will get the people
in the neighborhood searching for her."   "I'll go with you," Erin
volunteered.

' "No.  You stay here in case she comes back.  Keep her in the office, and
tell the police.  I'll check with you as soon as I can."  She raised her hand
toward him, touched his arm.  "We'll find her."

 "Yes,"

he answered, but his hands clenched in frustration.  Maybe this was his
punishment for what he had done to the woman he loved.  Before Erin could see
the depth of his anguish, he turned and hurried out of the office, his mind
already working on the problem of Georgie Cota.  Would the bastard stop to
catch his breath after his escape from the law, or would he go after Jessie
the moment he had his freedom?  Miguel didn't know.  His only option was to
get to Jessie  first, he thought as he waited impatiently for the elevator
to arrive.  It appeared to be stuck on a lower floor.  With an angry curse,
he headed for the back stairs and took them at a driving pace.

In one fluid motion, he sprinted from the stairwell to the back door of the
building, not even sure where he was going, where he would look, how he would
protect his woman.  He spotted her as soon as he ducked under the cement
ledge.  She was getting out of a blue Dodge.  As she turned toward the exit,
he was granted a split secand of relief.

"Jessie!"  She looked up, saw him, stopped in mid stride her face registering
shock at his sudden reappearance in her life.  ' "Querida."  His heart was
threatening to pound its way through his chest as he took a step toward her,
wondering what she would say, what she would do when the look of shock faded.
But he never reached her.

From the shadows, a flurry of orange-and-black-clad bodies converged on her,
surrounded her, pushed her back into the car.

Chapter Eleven He stopped dead, uncertain what to do.  Every instinct urged
him to leap forward, to throw himself at the car.  But he couldn't stop a
speeding vehicle with his body; he'd only get run over, and Georgie would
make a clean getaway with Jessie.  Jessie.  His heart was pumping so wildly
in his chest that he could hardly breathe as he pivoted and sprinted toward
the borrowed van.  Jumping inside, he gunned the engine, planning to cut the
car off before it could exit the garage.  But he was too late.  Or maybe
Georgie had figured out his intentions.  The car did a wild turn like a
vehicle hitting a patch of ice.  Miguel slammed on his brakes and held his
breath, praying that the car would crash against one of the concrete posts so
he could get to the driver.  When the vehicle spun in the opposite direction,
he cursed, and cursed again as it shot the wrong way out of the entrance
ramp, narrowly missing a Camaro that was about to turn into the garage.

All Miguel could do was follow, probably giving the Camaro driver a second
heart attack as he hurtled by, the paint on the two vehicles almost
exchanging colors.  Unfazed, Georgie barreled down Light Street, turned left
at Pratt, heading for the neighborhood, Miguel supposed, as he kept pace with
the fugitives.  The van didn't have as much power as the car, or as much
maneuverability.  But for once  the resh-hour traffic was a blessing.  It
slowed Georgie down, and Miguel was able to slip through a light that turned
red, thanking Providence that there were no traffic cops on the scene.  As
they made a quick turn onto Princess Street, he studied the car and its
occupants.  He could detect only three people inside.  Jessie sat rigidly
between Georgie and another man.  When Miguel imagined her terror, his hands
clenched convulsively on the wheel as if they were closing around Georgie's
scrawny neck.  Yet his anger was as much for himself as for the gang leader.
Jessie's problems had started when she had come to his room to help him.  He
had brought this one on her, and he would save her now or die trying.  Did
she know he was right behind her?

"Jessie, I'm coming," he chanted, trying to send her a telepathic message.
He doubted she was receiving it, but it helped him to keep saying it anyway.
God, if he lost her now, he would go insane.

No.  He couldn't think that way.  He would get her back.  That was the only
option.  But at least he knew Georgie was worried.  He could see the
bastard's eyes constantly flicking to the rearview mirror.

Miguel's foot pressed the accelerator to the floorboards, and he gained
another few yards on the Dodge.  Ahead of him, tires squealed as the car
turned onto a side street lined with abandoned warehouses where there was
almost no traffic, and Miguel cursed as he realized he was going to lose them
if they picked up any more speed.  Again Georgie was watching his rear, not
the road ahead.  Too late, he snapped his attention back to his driving and
had to turn the wheel sharply to the right to keep from hitting a ruined tire
lying in the street.  His front wheel went up on the curb, and Miguel took
advantage of the precarious position to pull alongside them, crowding the
Dodge farther onto the sidewalk.  He looked toward Georgie, and their eyes
locked with the hatred of mortal enemies.  The two were so focused on each 
other, that neither of them saw the low pile of boxes ahead on the sidewalk
until the front end of the car was almost engulfed.  Georgie slammed on the
brakes, but it was too late to stop.  The Dodge struck the barrier with a
shattering crash, slowing momentarily.  Perhaps he thought he could plow
through like a stunt driver in an action/ adventure movie.  Unfortunately
for him, the boxes hadn't been put there by an accommodating movie crew.  On
the other side was a concrete barrier.  The car struck it, and jolted to a
halt.  Heart in his throat, Miguel was out of the van even before the vehicle
had come to a complete stop.  Dashing to the car, he grabbed the handle and
pulled the driver's door open.  Georgie was leaning over the wheel; Jessie
was on the floor below the seat.  The other gang member had flown forward and
struck the windshield with his head.  Georgie looked dazed--probably still
trying to comprehend what had happened.  It seemed, however, that he was
functioning well enough to reach for a gun he'd slipped onto the floor near
his left foot.  Before the weapon came into firing position, Miguel leaped
forward.  They struggled, but the younger man was in no condition for
hand-to-hand combat.  Miguel wrenched the gun from his grasp.  For a split
second, blinding rage almost swept away his sanity and he came close to
shooting the bastard at point-blank range.  But somehow, rationality
prevailed.  He had to get Jessie away from here.  That was the important
thing.  Instead of shooting Georgie, he brought the butt of the revolver down
on his head, punctuating the blow with a oath.  Before the gang leader could
slump forward over the wheel again, Miguel pushed him onto the sidewalk, then
dived into the car.  "Jessie?"  She didn't answer.  Tenderly, carefully, he
scooped her up.  She made a terrified sound when she felt his hands on  her,
and he soothed her with reassuring words as he lifted her from the car.
"Miguel?"  She blinked at him.  "Yes.  I have you.

Everything's all right now.  " To his relief, she relaxed against him.

He wanted to make sure she was uninjured.  But not here.  Somewhere in the
distance he could hear police sirens.  Maybe they weren't headed in this
direction, but he couldn't take a chance.  All he knew was that he had to get
her away from the scene of the accident before the cops started asking
questions.  "Miguel.  Thank God," she whispered.

Cradling her in his arms, he hurried back to the van, part of his mind
registering astonishment that he hadn't bashed the fender when he'd screeched
to a halt.  He gave a short, barking laugh.  "What's so funny?"  Jessie asked
in a shaky voice.  "I was thinking that maybe I'll get this vehicle back to
the gas station in one piece after all."

Opening the passenger door, he laid her carefully on the middle seat.

"Do you feel okay?"  he asked.  She nodded uncertainly, her hand going to her
head.  He moved her fingers aside and probed the spot.  There was a slight
bump but no bleeding.  " " Did you black out when the car crashed?  " he
asked.  " No.  " " That is good," he said with heartfelt relief.  Very good.
It was unlikely that she had a concussion.

Moments later he was back in the driver's seat and heading down the block at
a pace that wouldn't get him arrested.  Jessie was still huddled on the
middle seat when he pulled into the alley behind the row house.  He lifted
her into his arms again and took her to the basement apartment.  If ever he
was granted a normal life, he'd build a house without a basement, he thought
as he shifted her weight so that he could find his keys.  Inside the one
room, he laid her on the low bed.

He  wanted to stay with her, hold her, check her condition.  But it was much
too dangerous to leave the van like a beacon in the alley.  "Will you be all
right for a few minutes?"  he asked.  "I cannot park by the back door.  If
Georgie sends Los Tigres looking for the van, they will find us."

"Yes.   I understand," she whispered.   He would have liked to take the
vehicle back to the gas station where it belonged where no one but Bemardo
would know it had been missing.   That would be safest.   But he wouldn't
leave Jessie for that long.   He settled for moving the van into a garage he
knew was empty on the next block.   He ran all the way back, his breath
coming in gasps as he stepped into the room.   Jessie was lying on her back,
staring at the ceiling, her hand flattened over the small mound of her
abdomen.   The hand jumped away when she heard him, but their eyes met, and
he knew she knew he had seen the protective gesture.   He'd been so focused
on rescue, that he hadn't thought about the reason he'd sought her out in the
first place.   Now he stared at the evidence of her condition.   She was
carrying his child.   The realization slammed into him with enough impact to
knock the breath from his lungs.   She sat up and turned, her features taut.

He came down on his knees beside her, gathered her close, feeling fine
tremors racing across her skin as she let her head sink to his shoulder.
"How do you feel?"

"Shaky," she murmured.   "You are safe here," he murmured, his hands
stroking over her back, his lips moving over her hair.   He wanted to turn
her face, find her mouth, kiss her until both of them were gasping for
breath.   Instead he simply held her.   "I'm scared," she whispered.   "For
for the baby."   Her breath caught, and her hand went to her middle again.
"This is a great way for you to find out," she said in a barely audible voice.

 He drew back, his eyes finding her.  "Luis told me about the phone call
Alvarez made to Senora Stone."

"He did?"   "That was how I knew about Georgie.   I came to your office.   I
came to you as soon as I knew."   A wealth of emotions flickered in her eyes
hope, relief, anger.

They were banished by a kind of resignation that made his throat ache.

He had driven her away, and she thought he had only come back for her because
of the child.  "You are wrong," he declared.  "Wrong about what?"  she
demanded with a bleakness that tore at him.  "About my motives."

"I'd understand them better if you hadn't said that making love with me was
a mistake," she answered in a voice edged with tears.

The accusation was like a body blow.  It was a lie.  I did it for you.  " She
took in the clipped explanation with a doubting expression.

Wearily she said,

"We can talk about it later."

"Jessie, please " "Miguel, I was just in a car crash!   What I want from you
right now is to tell me the baby is all right!"   He made an effort to pull
himself together.   He might be eaten up with guilt, but he understood her
fear a mother's instinctual fear for her child.   He was less worried about
the pregnancy than she was, because he knew that a woman's body was designed
to protect her unborn child under all but the most extreme circumstances.
His fingers tightened reassuringly over hers.

"Chances are that everything is all right."

"Please, I have to be sure!"   "Okay.   But first I have to see how you
are."   "I don't care about that!"   "Yes, you do.   Any problems you have,
put the child at risk."   She nodded tightly.

 He got up, retrieved the medical bag from one of the boxes on the other
side of the room, feeling a bubble of anxiety grow inside his chest.  He had
told himself there was nothing to worry about.  Now he needed to make sure.
Methodically checking her helped him to stay calm.  First he examined her
eyes, then her reflexes as he asked her questions that would pinpoint the
extent of her injuries.  To his relief, she seemed in remarkably good shape.
"The baby.  What about the baby?"  she demanded.  "No cramping or bleeding?"
he asked, his breath catching as he waited for her answer.  "No cramps.  And
I checked for bleeding while you were gone."  He felt as if a weight had been
lifted from his chest.  "Good.  Lie down so I can examine you."

"An internal exam?"  she asked in a shaky voice as if the intimacy would be
unbearable.  "No.  Just your abdomen.  Lie down."  She let out a little
breath as she eased back on the bed, then looked away, her bottom lip between
her teeth, as he rolled up her dress and pushed down the waist of her
panties, his fingers barely touching her as he moved the clothing out of the
way.  Yet he was vividly aware of every brush of his fingertips against her
soft flesh and of the rounded swell of her abdomen.  His child was there in
her body.  A wave of tenderness and longing swept over him.  He wanted to
mold his hands to her in a possessive caress.  Instead, he tried to remember
that he was a physician with a job to do.  "Relax," he murmured.  Yet he felt
the unaccustomed tremor in his own hand as his palm settled over her.  He
hadn't been with her in months, and the lack of her had left a cruel gap in
his life.  Now he was touching her with an intimacy he knew she wouldn't have
permitted under any other circumstances.  She was letting him do this because
she wanted his reassurance that their baby was unharmed.  Reverently, he
moved his hands over her.  Somewhere on  his long journey from San Marcos he
had started to doubt the existence of God.  As he touched Jessie's warm
flesh, he felt a resurgence of faith.  With a tremendous effort, he kept
himself from lowering his face to her abdomen and kissing it.  For long
moments he was so choked with emotion that speech was impossible.  "Is... is
everything all right?"  she asked in a quivering voice, reminding him that he
was supposed to be examining her not marveling over the miracle of the new
life growing inside her.  A life the two of them had created together in
passion and love.  "I think everything is fine," he answered thickly, his
palm flattened against her.  She gave a little nod.  "Thank you."  The baby
chose that instant to kick.  They felt it simultaneously, their gazes
colliding.  For several heartbeats, neither of them spoke, yet there was no
need for verbal communication.  They shared this child, and he couldn't let
her carry the burden alone.  Tenderness overwhelmed him a tenderness so
achingly sharp that his vision blurred.  Her hand came up; her fingers slid
along his.  He took a steadying breath, then made the declaration that had
been bursting inside him since he'd learned about the child: "We must be
married."  He hadn't known the words would shatter the spell.

She sat up, pushing his hand away as she yanked down her skirt.  "I'm not
going to marry a man just because he has some macho idea that he has to do
the honorable thing."

"That is not the reason!"   "It looks that way from here."   "I want to give
the baby my name.   But it is much more than that.   I want both of you."
"I don't think so.   I kept waiting for you to call me, and you didn't."
The hurt in her voice flayed his flesh to the bone.

"Then when I came to you " She stopped, sucked in a strangled breath and
started again.  "When I came to tell you  I was pregnant, you sent me away.
You made it very clear that you didn't want a relationship."  Frustrated, he
tunneled a hand through his hair.  "I was lying!  I had to lie."  When she
wouldn't meet his gaze, he put his hand on her chin and tipped her face
toward his.  "I wanted you with me.  Every day, I have thought about being
with you, holding you, making love with you.  But I was afraid that something
bad would happen to you if you stayed close to me."  She stared at him.  "I
don't want to argue.  All I want is for you to be honest with me, for once.
Are you going to tell me why you're in trouble?  Are you going to tell me
what's between you and Carlos Jurado?"  He felt as if he were standing on
shifting sand.  "I can't."  jessie lowered her eyes, unable to cope with the
intensity of his dark gaze.  He wanted to keep her safe, keep the baby safe.
She believed that much.  But that was only part of the equation.  He had sent
her away and come running to find her only when he'd learned she was
pregnant.  Apparently his code of ethics demanded that he take responsibility
for his child.  But he still didn't really want to be a husband.  She wasn't
in good enough shape to cope with the wounded look on his face, so she stood
on shaky legs and crossed to the only door in the room.  Luckily, it led to a
bathroom.  The space was tiny, with cracked tile on the floor and a permanent
stain in the bottom of the sink.  But it was clean and very neat like the
apartment where she'd gone to help him.  She used the toilet, then she washed
her hands and splashed water on her face before inspecting her pale image in
the cracked mirror.  Her eyes were red, and she looked like she'd been
through the Battle of Baltimore, she thought, as she pushed her hair out of
her face.  It needed a good combing.  Her comb was in her purse.  And the
purse With a moan of panic, she burst out of the bathroom.

 Miguel stopped in the act of pacing the room, his expression going taut.
"Are you all right?"  he asked anxiously.  "Did something happen?"

"My purse.   It must be in the car.   Georgie" -- "You dropped it in the
garage," he said.   "I--I couldn't stop to get it.

But we can call your friend, Senora Stone.  " " Yes!  " He nodded in
agreement.  " I can call her from the corner store--let her know you're okay.
" " Yes, thanks.  " She wrote down the number on a piece of paper he handed
her.

"There is running water here, but no electricity," he told her, sounding as
if he hated to leave her in such a place.  "I'll be fine."

"Do not open the door," he warned as he folded the paper and stuffed it into
the pocket of his jeans.   "Pretend you are not here."

"Okay."  She watched him shift his weight from one foot to the other.

Then he reached under the pillow and pulled out Luis's gun.  "Do you know how
to use this?"

"Yes."   "Good."   She felt goose bumps sweep over her skin as she looked
from him to the gun.   "You think I need this?"   "I hope not.   But I think
it will make us both feel better."

Not her, and not now, she thought as she laid the weapon beside her on the
bed and pressed back against the wall.  As she waited for Miguel to return,
scenes from the past months crowded in upon her.  She wanted to make sense of
them, to put them all into a nice neat pattern.  But it was like a box of
puzzle pieces from several different sources.  And they didn't all fit
together.  She felt again the raw pain she'd known when Miguel had sent her
away.  Still, as soon as he'd learned about the  baby, he'd come to find
her.  And he'd risked his life to snatch her away from Georgie, she reminded
herself.  Did he have feelings for her?

Or was he simply trying to protect the mother of his child?  She sat there,
in a kind of numb haze, until the sound of a voice reached her through the
door.  Blinking, she realized that it was almost dark in the room and she
hadn't even noticed.  When Miguel called her name, she set down the gun with
a little sigh of relief.  He came through the door, accompanied by two men
she'd seen around the recreation center.

One was Bemardo Contrares who coached the ten-year-old boys' basketball team.
Picking up a large camp light from the floor beside the bed, Miguel turned
it on and set it on the table.  Then he put the gun away.

Jessie sat up straighter, tugging at the hem of her dress, which had ridden
above her knees.  She could picture how she must look with her swollen belly
and her hair amess.  And sitting on Miguel's bed.  The men inclined their
heads politely, and she pretended she wasn't upset at being seen like this.
"Bemardo and Emesto are going to help us,"

Miguel told her.  "Thank you," she managed.  "Senora Diego," Bemardo said,
nodding at her deferentially.  She blanched.  Had Miguel told her they were
married?  Or was Bemardo simply being polite?  Her eyes locked with Miguel's
for a moment, but he didn't correct the false impression.  Instead, he
pivoted back to his companions, and the three of them began a conversation in
Spanish most of which was too low and too quick for her to follow.  But she
gathered several things.  These men thought a lot of Miguel, they wanted to
help him, and they were going to organize an extensive search for Georgie.

 Turning to her, Miguel outlined the plan.  "They will find out where
Georgie is hiding.  Bemardo will tell us when he is safely in custody again."
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.  She wanted to make some things
very clear to Miguel, but she wasn't reckless or unfeeling enough to
challenge him in front of these men.  So she waited, her stomach churning,
while they completed their discussion.

The moment they left, she stood, hands on her hips.  "I'm not your wife!"
"You will be.  Very soon," he informed her.  "That's a pretty arrogant
assumption on your part.  Did you tell Bemardo we were married?"

"No.   But he knows me well.   He made the assumption that I would take care
of my woman and my child.   Which I am going to do, whether you like the idea
or not," he added with a gritty rasp.   "Is that a promise or a threat?"   "I
have a duty to you and the baby."   "So it comes back to the pregnancy
changing things in your mind," she said, hearing her voice crack.   "But not
enough."   "What do you mean by that?"   he asked, his voice barely under
control.   She raised her chin, feeling infinitely weary.   "Okay, I'll spell
it out very clearly, if that will make a difference.   If you want to marry
me, you have to tell me why you're in trouble.   And you have to let me help
you get your life back to normal Otherwise, we don't have much of a future,
and I might as well leave right now."   His face twisted into a complex
mixture of pain and determination.   There was torment in his eyes torment
that almost undid her.   Yet his words offered no comfort, no compromise.
"I can't!   I know what Carlos Jurado will do to you if he finds you with
me."   She had to look away from him.   "So what kind of a marriage did you
have in mind?   Long-distance?"   As she  crossed to the door, she wondered
where she would find the strength to leave him and wondered how she was going
to get home with no money and no credit cards.   Yet she knew she couldn't
remain here under his conditions.   With a heavy heart, she opened the door
and stepped into the twilight.   She hadn't been lying or bluffing.   If he
couldn't share his problems with her, then they had nothing to talk about.

Chapter Twelve Jessie was halfway out the door when she felt his hand on her
shoulder.  "Wait!"  Turning back, she lifted questioning eyes to him hoping
against hope.  His clipped words dashed her hopes.  "I won't let you leave
until I know that it is safe!"  She lifted her chin.

"You can't keep me here."

"I can if I have to, but I am hoping that you are smart enough to wait.   If
you want to risk your own life, that's one thing.   The baby is quite
another."   Anger almost choked her.   "Where do you get off telling me what
to do for the baby?"

"It's my child as much as yours."

"Technically, maybe.   But I've been dealing with the pregnancy on my own
for months!"   His face contorted.   "I came to you as soon as I knew," he
said sharply, then added gently,

"Come in.  At least until we know what is happening out there."  He was
right.  She was so upset that she wasn't thinking straight, but she couldn't
knowingly put their child in danger.

Reluctantly she stepped back into the small room.  It was a very small room
indeed, she thought as she and Miguel eyed each other.  "You should sit
down," he muttered.

 There was a table with one chair, and the bed.  Before she could make a
choice, he pulled out the chair and sat down at the table.

Shrugging, she went back to the bed, sitting with her back against the wall
again.  Figuring she might as well be comfortable she kicked off her shoes.
After several long minutes of silence, he said,

"Jessie, I am trying to do the right thing."  "I know," she answered softly.

"Then you'll let me do what is best for you?"

"Only if I get to participate in the decision."   He swore, adding a couple
of choice phrases to her Spanish vocabulary.   "Did anyone ever tell you
you were stubborn?"   "Yes.   You did.   The night I brought you home.
Did anyone ever tell you you were a male chauvinist?"   "No."   "Somebody
should have."   The silence stretched again, and she found herself twisting
the edge of the sheet in her fingers.   There was more she could say.   She
could tell him she hadn't been able to stop herself from falling in love with
him.   She could tell him how much she'd missed him or that she wanted their
child to know and love his father.

But the words were too dangerous to speak.  They would only give him power
over her, so she kept her lips pressed together.  When she saw him slump in
his seat, she wanted so much to go to him.  She stayed where she was, feeling
tired and defeated.  The nervous energy that had propelled her toward the
door had evaporated.  Now she was wrung out.

From under lowered lashes she looked at Miguel.  It was difficult to sit so
close to him and still be apart.  He was a good man, and she knew she was
hurting him.  More than anything she wanted to feel the security of his arms
around her.  And she wanted to hold him tight.

But she couldn't give in to that weakness--not on his terms.  Marriage was a
partnership, not a caretaker relationship.  Unless  he was willing to share
everything with her, she knew she wouldn't be happy.  So that she didn't have
to watch him suffer, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.  A low
knock on the door made her jump, and she realized she must have fallen
asleep.  When Miguel opened the door, Bemardo stepped back inside.  To
Jessie's surprise, Erin Stone was right behind him.  "Erin?  What are you
doing here?"

"I couldn't just sit around the office doing nothing.   I got Laura to wait
there.

Then I came out to look for you.  Bernardo came to the recreation center to
check in with the people there.  I, uh, persuaded him to bring me here.
Blindfolded, of course.  " " "Blindfolded'?"  Erin laughed.  "Well, not
quite as cloak-and-dagger as that.  But almost."

She looked from Bemardo to Miguel, who stepped forward stiffly.

"Senora Stone," he said.  "I was worried about Jessie."  "She is fine."

"And safe from Los Tigres," Bemardo added.  "We found Georgie and gave him a
ride to the police station.  The cops were very glad to see him again."
Miguel breathed out a deep sigh.  "Gracias."  Bemardo nodded in
acknowledgment.  "We have put out the word that anyone who harms the senora
will be dealt with by us," he added.  As he said "senora,"

Erin's eyes questioned Jessie.  She shook her head.  "You'd better tell them
I'm still using the name Senorita Douglas," she said to Bemardo before
turning quickly away to find her shoes.  "I need a ride home," she said to
Erin, glad that the little room was so crowded.

She was pretty sure that Miguel wasn't going to make a fuss in front of their
visitors.  And she was right.  Yet the brooding look in his eyes told her
that he wasn't happy about being manipulated.  She  moved toward him and
laid a hand on his arm.  "We'll talk," she said in a voice meant only for
him.  He answered with a curt nod.  Then he reached for her and pulled her to
him.  Again, because there were people watching, she didn't protest.  In
fact, she used the excuse to hold him tightly for several heartbeats, closing
her eyes and molding herself to him.  He could alter her whole life now, she
thought almost frantically willing him to change his mind.  But he didn't
receive the silent message.  Sadly, she was forced to ease away.  "Thank
you," she whispered.  "Keep yourself well and safe," he said, his voice thick.

"I will," she answered, her throat tight with pain, moisture swimming in her
eyes as she eased away from him.  Jessie managed to keep from crying until
she was safely inside Erin's car.  Then the tears began to fill her eyes and
run down her cheeks.  "I'm sorry," Erin said, finding a tissue in her purse
and handing it to Jessie.  "What can I do to help?"

"Just drive away before Miguel or Bemardo comes outside and sees me doing
this waterfall act."   As Erin started the car and eased away from the curb,
Jessie sat beside her, sobbing.   It was several minutes before she could
make the tears stop.   "Are you and the baby okay?"   Erin asked gently.
"Do you want me to take you to the emergency room or anything?"   "Miguel
checked me.   I'm fine," she managed, then had to stop talking because she
was afraid she'd start to weep again.

"I love him," she finally said in a voice that broke before she got through
the short sentence.  "And he loves you."

 "How do you know?"

"It's pretty obvious."

"Because?"   she prompted.   "The way his voice goes soft when he talks
about you.   The way he looks at you.   The way he held you when you  said
goodbye."   Erin took her eyes from the road for a moment

"Not to mention the way he dashed off to find you when you were in trouble."

Erin's assessment made her heart swell.  "Besides," her friend continued, "he
told me."

"He did?"   "We had a pretty intense five-minute conversation when he came
to the office.   I know that he's being chased by some kind of killer.   I
know he's afraid that you'll go down with him."   Jessie nodded.   Miguel had
been surprisingly frank with Erin.   "I don't suppose he gave you any details
about the man who's after him?"   "No."   "Well, I don't know much more than
you do.

Miguel won't let me help him, and that's not.  acceptable.  " " He's trying
to protect you.  " " I know," Jessie practically shouted in frustration.  "
That's what he keeps saying.  But I can't marry him under his conditions.  "
" He proposed to you?  " " Well, it was more like an order," she said with a
little snort.  " He didn't tell me what was supposed to happen after the
ceremony.  " " Why don't you ask him?  " " He won't discuss his plans.  He
comes from a country where the guys make the decisions, and the women live
with them.  " Erin covered her hand for a minute.  " I know you're seeing
this in black-and-white terms.

But cut him some slack.  He just found out about the baby today.  And I
gather he got you away from Georgie.  Then he organized a citizens' patrol to
get the guy off the streets.  He's been busy.  Maybe he hasn't thought any
further ahead.  " Jessie nodded, feeling a tiny stirring of hope.  They
turned into Jessie's driveway, and Erin went around  to the back of the car
and unlocked the trunk from which she pulled Jessie's pocketbook.  " You
found it!  " " It was right where you dropped it.  " Jessie took out her keys
and unlocked the door.  " Thanks for bringing me home.  " " I don't know
about you, but I could use a cup of herb tea," her friend said.  " Well.  " "
Sit down and relax, and I'll get us each a cup.  " " I don't need to be
pampered," Jessie protested.

"Of course you do.  You've had a hell of an afternoon.  You want cranberry,
right?"

"Yes," she answered as she dropped onto the sofa, leaned her head against
the cushions, and closed her eyes.   She could hear Erin in the kitchen, and
for just a moment she let herself indulge in the fantasy that it was Miguel
out there.   The weak, scared part of her wished she could simply have
accepted his terms.   But that wasn't the kind of relationship she could live
with not after the disaster of her first marriage.   Her friend came into the
living room with two mugs of tea.   Jessie cradled the warm cup in her hand,
absorbing the heat into her fingers.   Erin took several sips, then proposed,

"Why don't you take it easy for a couple of days?  Take some sick leave," she
suggested.  "No.  I'll go crazy.  Maybe I'can sleep late tomorrow and come to
work in the afternoon."

"How are you going to get to the office?"   Erin asked.   Jessie stared at
her friend, then pressed her fingers against her mouth as she remembered that
her car had plowed into a cement wall.   She made an unladylike exclamation.
"You're right, I don't know if my car is in working condition Or if the
police have it.   I guess I need a rental.   And I need to contact my
insurance company."   "So take tomorrow off," Erin suggested again, "and get
things straightened out."   "We'll see."

 "Just remember that your friends are here for you any way you need us,"
Erin told her.  Too overwhelmed to speak, Jessie nodded her thanks.  the car
had been towed to the police lot, and the insurance company declared it
totaled.  Jessie used some of her trust-fund money to replace it with a
Volvo, figuring a nice sturdy car would be safest for the baby.  As Erin had
predicted, she had a lot to keep her occupied.  But a kind of compulsion was
forming in her mind and wouldn't let go.  Miguel didn't want to burden her
with his problems.  What if she could learn something on her own?  If she
came to him with what she knew, he'd have no reason for secrecy.  He'd have
to let her help him get out of trouble.  The thought rattled around in her
mind, filling her with hope and a kind of sick dread.  Suppose it turned out
that Miguel had been lying to her all along?  Suppose he was a criminal, and
he was afraid that she'd get him arrested?  It couldn't be true, she told
herself.  She knew him too well.  He was honest and honorable, and he was
caught in a terrible situation that wasn't his fault.  She wanted that to be
true--so much.  Yet, at the same time, she was angry with him for deserting
her.  If things had been different, she would have turned to her friends at
Randolph Security--Jed Prentiss, in particular.  He'd been to San Marcos, and
he had contacts down there.

Yet she didn't want to share her doubts with him, and she found she was too
proud to let anyone know how much she was suffering over Miguel's rejection.
So she needed another source of information.  She wasn't sure what it might
be until she remembered Donna Russell.  Donna had been a Spanish major with
her at university and had taken a job at the Organization of American Nations
in Washington, D.  C.  Perhaps she'd know how to get some information.
"Jessie!"  her friend said when she got her on the phone.

 "This is a nice surprise.  I haven't heard from you in months.  Are you in
town?"

"No.   I'm in Baltimore."   "Still with the Light Street Foundation?"
"Yes."   "Everything going okay?"   "Fine," she managed, knowing she wasn't
emotionally strong enough to bare her problems at the moment.   Instead she
paused and took a steadying breath.   Making up stories went against her
principles, but she knew she had to be circumspect.   If she asked for
information about Miguel, it could direct attention toward him.   She could
try another approach however.   "I was wondering if you can do me a favor.
And keep it confidential."   "What kind of favor?"   Donna asked cautiously.
"I need some information on a man in San Marcos.   Carlos Jurado."   "In
what context?"   "One of my clients mentioned him.   I think she, uh, had
some trouble with him before she came to the States.   And I'd like to find
out about the man."   There were a few moments of silence at the other end of
the line.   "His name doesn't ring a bell right offhand.

But I can do some research.  " " I'd appreciate it.  " " I'll send you what I
dig up.  Or you could come to D.  C.  and have lunch with me," Donna
suggested.  The offer was tempting.  She liked Donna, and it would be good to
get away.  But then her friend would see that she was pregnant, and it would
be impossible to avoid questions.  So she begged off, and they chatted for a
few minutes before she hung up.  Donna faxed her some material later in the
day at work newspaper articles and a listing in the San Marcos equivalent of
Who's Who.  Jessie's hands were shaking as she sifted through the stack of
papers.  Jurado must be important or there wouldn't have  been so much
information on him that Donna could put her hands on so quickly.  Apparently
he was a businessman, now in his early fifties, who had cultivated a wide
range of interests in San Marcos and in other Latin American countries over
the years.  He was from a wealthy family, and, at first, he had let his
father run the show.  But in his thirties Carlos had fought the older man for
control of the Jurado interests.

He had won, and the elder Jurado had died of a heart attack a few months
later.  After that, Carlos had gone about systematically taking over other
companies.  Sometimes he dismantled them.  Sometimes he ran them into the
ground.  Sometimes he sold them at a profit.  There was no editorial comment
in the newspaper stories, but Jessie gathered that the man was ruthless.
Several articles from a magazine published in Florida speculated that Carlos
might have invested some of his fortune in the drug trade.  From San Marcos
sources she learned that he had dropped out of sight almost a year ago.
There was speculation that he might have been murdered.  Jessie felt the
hairs on the back of her neck stir.  Had Miguel killed him, and now Jurado's
friends were after him?  But in her heart she knew Miguel wasn't capable of
murder.

Sighing, she told herself that she was letting her imagination run wild.  She
had been hoping for some startling revelation about Jurado, but she knew
little more than she had at the very beginning.  Jurado must have a secret
that Miguel had found out.  But what could it be?

Feeling defeated and alone, Jessie sat staring into space.  She'd just wasted
a bunch of time on speculation that could lead nowhere.  And she was no
closer to knowing what had happened to Miguel.  The next morning she made a
concerted effort to focus on her job.  But right after lunch she was
distracted again by a list of requests for data on students who had applied
for Light Street Foundation fellowships.  The information was in the files at
the recreation center.

 Knowing she was too restless to sit at her desk, she decided to go over and
pull the folders herself.  But as she drove toward the neighborhood, her
stomach began to do a nervous little dance as she pictured herself running
into Jim Alvarez.  When she parked and walked to the door, she saw a car pass
on the street and recognized Bemardo.

She had noticed him behind her several times since the kidnapping him and
several other men.  Either Miguel had asked them to keep an eye on her, or
they had taken it upon themselves.  But she didn't know for sure, because
nobody had told her.  Certainly not Miguel.  She hadn't heard from him since
the day he'd found out about the baby, and the silence was driving her crazy.
She'd thought he'd make another argument for marriage Instead, he'd let her
stew which was turning out to be an all-too-effective tactic.  She tried to
drive him from her mind as she pushed open the door of the recreation center.
Inside, a girl named Maria was just stepping out of the gym.  "Senorita
Douglas.

Where have you been?  " " Working at the Light Street office.  " " We miss
you.  " " I miss you, too.  " Maria's gaze dropped to Jessie's belly, which
was now the most prominent part of her anatomy.  " Are you going to have a
boy or a girl?  " " A boy.  " In fact, she'd had a sonogram appointment this
week.  For the first time, she'd asked the baby's sex.

So now she knew, and she longed to tell Miguel about his son.  But she wasn't
going to use that as an excuse to get in touch with him.  She'd gone that
route once.  And once was enough.  She didn't realize her face had twisted
into a grimace until Maria's expression filled with alarm.

"Are you all right?"  the girl asked anxiously.  "Yes."

"Well, good luck."   "Thanks," she answered, thinking that the girl didn't 
seem particularly disturbed by her marital status.   Maybe Jim had had a
chance to get used to the idea.   Still, she was unable to shake the feeling
of being an intruder as she opened a file drawer and began to search for
names on the list of candidates.   She had been working for about twenty
minutes when she sensed that someone was standing behind her.   Turning, she
saw Jim filling the doorway, his gaze far from friendly.   "What are you
doing here?"   he asked.   She took a step back, resisting the urge to fold
her arms protectively across her middle.

"I'm getting some materials I need, so Erin and the committee can make
scholarship recommendations."

"You could have called over and had the folders sent."   "Since I know the
filing system, I thought it would be more efficient to do it myself."   He
shifted his weight uncertainly from one foot to the other.   "I assumed you
wouldn't " be back.   " " I've been busy since you contacted Erin.   But I've
been thinking that we do need to talk," she answered.   He had the grace to
look uncomfortable.

"About what?"

"About your trying to get me fired."   He straightened his shoulders.   "I
wouldn't exactly put it that way."   "That was how Erin related your
conversation to me," she replied in a sharper voice than she'd intended.
The color in his cheeks heightened, and she realized that she'd made a
mistake.   She hadn't wanted to be so confrontational, but the words had
slipped out.   "Jim, I " He cut her off before she could say anything more.
"Well, since you insist on putting it in those terms, I'd like to clarify my
position.   I know you think I'm the bad guy here, but I was hired by the
Light Street Foundation to serve this community and I've done that to the
best of my ability.   That includes making staff recommendations.   Everybody
here is a role model first and foremost.   Each of us has to set an  example
for the community, and unfortunately, your unmarried pregnancy sends ames sage
to our young, impressionable girls that having a baby out of wedlock is a
perfectly acceptable alternative to the traditional family."   "There's a big
difference between a responsible adult and a teenage girl," she told him.
He dismissed the argument with a wave of his hand.   "I happen to think that
children raised by a single mother lack the stable environment provided by a
two-parent family.   And that isn't even taking economic hardship into
consideration."   "My child won't suffer any economic hardship," Jessie
retorted.   "That's only part of the problem," Jim countered.   "The moral
example is far more relevant."   Her face stung from the tone of his voice as
much as from his words.   Looking away, she focused on the folders in her
hand.   Before she could come up with a response, he added a piece of
unsolicited advice: "If you know who the father is, you should ask him to
marry you."   "What do you mean ;/ I know?"   she managed, so stunned that
she could hardly think.   "Of course she knows," a voice came from behind her
a voice edged with outrage.

"Miguel!"  She hadn't seen him in day's, and the reality of his presence made
her knees weak.  He had told her he didn't go out during the day.  But he had
done it again for her.  He was here, at the rec center a place he had avoided
for months.  He stepped into the room, his eyes glittering as he moved to
Jessie's side and put his arm protectively around her, declaring without
words that this was his woman.  Jim stared at him, his face taking on a
speculative look.  "Dr.

Diego.  I haven't seen you recently.  " " I have been around.  " The two men
regarded each other across several feet of charged space.

 Miguel's free hand tightened into a fist, and Jessie remembered yesterday
that she'd been wondering if he'd done something to Carlos Jurado.  "Don't,"
she whispered, her fingers closing on his arm, tugging gently.  She held her
breath, feeling his anger radiate through the room.  Then he turned
dismissively away from the other man, his expression softening considerably
as he looked at her.  "You don't have to stay here and listen to him insult
you."

 "I guess not."   "Come on."

She let him lead her toward the door, then out of the building where the
sunlight made her blink.  Without hesitation he steered her toward her new
car.  Either he'd seen it before, or Bemardo had described it to him.  "Give
me your keys."

 "I can drive."   "I know.

You are very independent.  But it is easier for me right now if I don't have
to give you directions," he said in a tight voice.  Fumbling in her purse,
she found the keys and handed them over.  " Where are we going?  " " Where we
can be alone.  " She wanted him to explain, but he was absolutely silent, his
face grim as he drove out of the parking lot.

All she could tell was that he was holding his emotions under tight control.
She had assumed he would be heading to the house where he'd brought her the
week before.  Instead, he drove several miles in the other direction and
turned into an alley behind a row of well-kept brick houses.  After pulling
into a garage and locking the car, he led her across a large patio bordered
by flowers and through a back door.

"Where are we?"  she asked as she looked around at the expensively remodeled
kitchen.  Whoever owned this place had money.

 "At the home of a friend, Tony Marco.  He's away on vacation which is lucky
for us."  Miguel methodically locked the door behind them, then stood very
still, his hands clenched at his sides as he stared out.

She felt as if the silence in the room might shatter her.  "Miguel?"

When he turned toward her, she saw the look of desperation on his face.  "I
tried to do the right thing," he said thickly.  "But I need you.  More than
you can ever know."

Chapter Thirteen His words as he reached for her were soft and pleading.  "I
love you.  Was it wrong to try and protect you from the danger of getting too
close to me?"  She didn't know how to answer the question not when his face
was so full of sadness and longing.  "I'm already close to you.  And you know
it."  Trembling, she held out her arms to him.  With a low sound of need, he
gathered her to him, rocked her, held her tightly.  "My love.  Oh, my love,"
she murmured, the words ending in a broken sob as she laid her head against
his shoulder, letting go of the worst of the tension that had tied her in
knots.  Finally he had made it safe for her to say what had been locked in
her heart for so long.  "I don't think I can go on without you.  Do not leave
me again," he gasped out even as his arms tightened around her.

"No.  No, I won't."  He lowered his mouth, kissing her with a hunger she felt
to the marrow of her bones.  His hands shook as they caressed her back,
combed through the blond strands of her hair.  And hers were no steadier as
she touched the corded muscles of his arms, buried her fingers in his shaggy
dark hair.  She still could hardly believe this was happening, and yet the
feel of his hard body anchored her to reality.

 "Holding you again is like being in heaven," he told her in a hoarse
whisper, his hands making small circles on her back.  "Yes."

"I almost went crazy when you walked away from me."   "So did I."   He
cradled her hips against him, and desire rose within her in a sharp, swift
tide, like a river overflowing its banks.   She heard herself moan as his
hands cupped the weight of her breasts.   When he found their hardened tips
with his thumbs, she thought she would go mad with the pleasure of it.   "You
want me," he growled, the satisfaction in his voice pulling her back toward
sanity.   "Yes."   He took her hand and led her down the hall to a small den
furnished with a comfortable-looking day bed   When he started to pull her
onto the bed, she stopped him with as much conviction as she could muster.
He raised his head, his eyes questioning hers.   "Miguel, I'm not going to
let either one of us duck the important issues.   We're going to talk really
talk before we... before we do anything else."   "Is that what you want?"
he asked in a gritty voice.   "No."   She managed a regretful little smile.
"But that's the way it's going to be."   The tone of her voice must have
convinced him, because he signed in resignation.   "All right.   But don't
deny me the comfort of holding you close to me."   She couldn't deny herself
that comfort, and she knew he saw the acquiescence in her face.   He lay
down, moving so that his back was against the bolsters as he held out his
arms to her.   She lowered herself beside him, burrowing into his warmth,
pressing her lips against his neck and then his cheek.

His hand slid possessively over her abdomen, his palm cupping their child
with a tenderness that made it impossible  for her to draw in a full breath.
Gently, in response, she covered his hand with hers, holding his palm
against her through the thin fabric of her dress.  "God, I wish I had known,"
he whispered, his voice husky.  "You must have had a bad time alone, carrying
my baby.

Dealing with people like Jim Alvarez.  " " Most people aren't like Alvarez.
My friends have been very supportive.  " " I should have been standing beside
you all these months.  I would have " " You would have come for me?  " " Yes.
" There was conviction in his voice.  Remorse.

Under his hand, the baby shifted in her womb, and she heard Miguel's uneven
breath catch in his throat.  "I found out this week, we're going to have a
boy," she said.  "You are giving me a son!"

"Would you have been disappointed with a girl?"   "A son means a great deal
to me, but I would have loved a daughter, too."   "Next time," she answered.
When he tipped her head up and moved his lips back and forth against hers,
she gave a shuddering sigh.   Then he angled his mouth, tasting her more
fully, his hand moving upward to find her breast, and she realized she was in
serious danger of postponing their discussion.

She loved him too much, though, to let it happen.  She had to know what had
turned him into a fugitive, and she had to change the way he thought of their
relationship.  They had to be partners, equals, if they were going to survive
this crisis and build a life together.  So she folded her fingers around his
hand, brought it to her lips, and kissed his fingers before murmuring,

"Tell me what happened to you.  I mean, tell me why you're in hiding."  His
eyes blinked open, met hers.

"You can be cruel."

 "We'll both be glad when we get the telling over with," she replied.

 "Maybe."  He shifted them to a sitting position, so that her back was to
his chest and his arms were around her.  Dragging in a sharp breath, he let
it out in a rush like a man resigned to his fate.  "All right.

Do you know I am a plastic surgeon?  " She shook her head, hardly daring to
breathe.  Was he finally going to tell her the truth?  " Last year I operated
on a man who told me he was being hunted by government agents for something
he didn't do.  He said the only escape for him was to change his face.  He
brought me a sketch of the way he wanted to look.  It was a picture of his
cousin who had died a year earlier.  He said he could pass for this relative
assume his identity.  " " You operated on him?  " she asked.  " Yes.  At my
clinic.  It was in a nice secluded location in San Marcos.  Rich people from
Central America and Mexico and even the U.  S.  came to me to be fixed up.  I
charged them big fees and used the money to finance the treatment of some
charity patients.  But I also had a very comfortable lifestyle.  " "
There's nothing wrong with being comfortable.  " " I enjoyed my success.  I
enjoyed my skill.  I thought I was set for life.  Then, three days after the
operation on " " You already told me his name.  Carlos Jurado.  " " Yes.  I
did not know it when he came to me.  I found out later.  " When he didn't
continue, she prompted, " "Three days after the operation " ' His fingers
clamped on hers in a death grip as he spoke again.  "He came back to the
clinic with a squad of men and murdered everybody in the compound.  My staff.
My sister, Anna, who was working for me.  My patients.  Anyone who might
have seen him before and after.

I was picking up a shipment of medicine from the airport, or I would be dead,
too.  " She shifted in his embrace, turning so that one arm could tighten
around him while she tunneled her other hand  through his hair, cradling his
head against her breast as she struggled to take it in.  " No," was all she
could manage.  He was shaking now.  When she raised her head, she saw that
his face was a mask of pain and horror a mirror of the pain and horror he
must have felt on that terrible day.  " Oh, God, it must have been unbearable.

Coming back to that.  " He pressed his face into the back of her neck, and
she knew he must be trying to blot out the terrible vision.  " You still
dream about it, don't you?  " she whispered, remembering his fevered
nightmares during the malaria attack and wishing she could do more than
simply hold him tight.  Now she understood.  After a long time he said,

"I got away.  Sometimes I think I should be dead, too.

It was my fault, my arrogance that killed all those people.  " " No!  " He
ignored her and went on.  " Other times I tell myself I have to stay alive so
I can make Jurado pay for what he did.  " She wanted to tell him he was safe
here.  She didn't know if it was true.  Jurado was a powerful man.  She had
learned that from her reading.  " His men followed me north.  They almost got
me in Mexico.  After that " He stopped again, gulped in air.  " After that,
I operated on my face.  "

"You what?"  "I changed the way I look," he said, his voice low and even.

"Miguel!"  She heard the words, but had trouble taking in their meaning.
She'd known he was on the run; she hadn't guessed the level of his
desperation or his resolve.  Her hand went to his cheek as she tried to see
what he had done to himself.  When she couldn't discern the results, she
stroked her fingers gently against his flesh, as if her touch might still be
painful.  "How could you do that to yourself?

Didn't it " She gulped.  " Didn't it hurt?  "

 He gave a curt nod.  "It was painful but necessary.  It threw them off my
trail for a while.  They were looking for me in Florida, but they didn't know
it was me.  Then I found out Jurado's agents were talking to people I had
known in the Washington, D.C."  area.  And to men who had gone to medical
school with me.  He offered a lot of money for information He could have
someone in Baltimore right now.

He has been hunting me for almost a year.  I do not think he is going to give
up.  " " But why?  You're out of his way.  " He swallowed.  " I have had a
lot of time to think about it.  If he simply wanted to disappear, that would
be one thing.  He must have some public role in mind.  And the only person
who knows about his new face is a fool of a doctor named Miguel " He paused,
his eyes burning into hers.  " Miguel Valero.  That is my real name.  No one
else in Baltimore knows it, but I am telling it to you.  " She nodded slowly,
overwhelmed by the act of trust.

"It's a good name."

"I'm afraid it has also become a dangerous name."   She saw him swallow.
"I long to give my son that name.   But I think I will not be doing him a
favor."   "Yes, you will!"   His dark gaze bored into her.   "You sound so
positive.   Does that mean you will marry me?"   She had spoken without
realizing the implication of her words.   Now she felt a shiver race over her
skin.   "You came back to me because of the baby."   His eyes never left her
as he said,

"Yes.  I walked away from you because I knew I was making you vulnerable to
Jurado.  Then I found out about the baby, and I was happy that I had an
excuse to marry you.  When you turned me down, I... I almost went out of my
mind.  I want to make you an honest woman.  But I want a lot more than that.
I need you more than I need air to breathe.  Without you, I have been only
half alive."

 The words wrapped themselves around her, sank into her heart.  "Yes,"

she said, meaning the same thing.  "If... if you did not carry my child,
would you still want to marry me?"  he asked in a low voice.

"Yes.  I love you."

"But you have seen me at my worst!"   She stroked her fingers against his
cheek.   "Yes, I saw you at your worst--when you were sick.   But I've also
seen your best qualities, your sense of honor and duty.   Your warmth.   Your
loyalty to the people.   Every time you have a choice, you put others before
yourself."   There was still tension in his arms and shoulders.   "Not
always.   My motives toward you weren't so pure.   I was reckless with
you," he ground out.   "I knew making love without protection was taking a
chance.   But I did it anyway.   I wanted you too much to stop."   "That's
not all your fault.

I was taking the same chance," she replied, her eyes steady on his.

"What happened between us five months ago was very intense.  Not just making
love--all of it.  But I kept being afraid that you were going to walk away
from me."  She swallowed, determined that she would be completely honest.

"Maybe in a tiny corner of my mind I was thinking that if I got pregnant,
you'd have to stay."  His expression eased a little as he considered that.
"And it turned out all right," she said in a shaky voice.  "Truly?  You are
happy to be carrying our son?"

"Yes."  The look of love on his face touched her soul, and she felt the last
barrier between them drop away.  He folded her close, gave her a fierce kiss
that might have started as an act of possession.  It quickly changed to
passion.  His hands moved greedily over her, caressing her breasts and the
gentle curve of her abdomen.  Her own hands were no less ravenous It had been
so long since she'd touched him like this.  She couldn't stop herself from
running her fingers over his face, the hard muscles of his arms, his back.

 He tossed the bolsters onto the floor to make more room on the bed, then
sighed in pure pleasure as he brought her down to lie beside him.

"Querida.  My angel," he gasped out as he undid the top button of her dress
so he could press his lips to the warm hollow at the base of her throat.  She
murmured his name, her voice high and breathless as her body tuned itself to
his touch.  Yet, when he undid the rest of the buttons and started to pull
the dress upward, her hand caught his.  His eyes questioned hers.  "You don't
want to?"

"Miguel, you haven't seen me in months.   My body's changed a lot.   I look
" her gaze slid away from him " like a whale.   And my nipples are so dark."
He planted a light kiss on her lips.   "To me, you look very beautiful."
His mouth traveled to the vee between her breasts.   "Very feminine."   His
head turned one way and then the other, kissing the inside curve of each
breast.   "Very desirable."   Hooking a finger under the edge of her bra, he
pushed one cup out of the way, baring her nipple, which he delicately circled
with his tongue.   "Oh!"   she cried out as a small shock wave rippled
through her.   When his lips closed around her and he began to suck, she
cried out again as the ripples came faster, higher.

"I need more of you," he said in a thick voice.  "Twice as much."  She could
deny him nothing.  At her little nod, he pulled her up, eased the dress over
her head, and tossed it onto the brass railing at the end of the day bed
Then, while she was still leaning against him, he unsnapped the clasp of her
bra and pulled it out of the way.  She wanted to stay close against him, but
he eased her back so that he could take the weight of her breasts in his
hands, stroking them as he bent to bring his lips first to one distended
nipple and then the other.  "You look like an ancient goddess," he murmured,
his voice rough as he pushed her panties out of the way.  Then  his lips
were on the swollen mound of her abdomen, kissing her there as his fingers
drifted lower to find the moist heat at her center.  She arched into the
caress, helpless to stop herself from crying out at the pleasure of his
touch.  When he raised his head, his eyes burned into hers.  Then he stood to
quickly discard his own clothing.  As he turned to face her, she saw very
clearly that her body pleased him.  Handling her like fragile silk, he
stretched his length along hers and gathered her to him.  "To be with you
like this again is a miracle," he murmured.  "Oh, yes," she said, watching as
his hand moved over her lovingly, touching all the places that kindled a fire
inside her.  She felt the hunger in him when his mouth came back to hers.
Yet he was gentle, oh, so gentle, as he drove her upward to a higher
plateau of pleasure.  "Please, I need you," she gasped.  "Yes."  Rising above
her, he positioned himself between her legs.  Then, slowly, carefully, he
eased inside her, supporting his weight on his elbows as he gazed down at
her.  "All right?"  he asked.  "Perfect," she answered, looking up at him,
reaching to tenderly touch his lips with her index finger.

She shattered almost as soon as he began to move within her, then climbed
with him again up, up, up and over the moon.  She cried out his name as she
shattered once more into a shower of brilliant shooting stars, then felt him
follow her into the heavens, felt his body stiffen as he shouted out his
satisfaction.  exhausted, jessie slept, coming back to consciousness only
when Miguel got up to bring a quilt and cover them.  Then she nestled back
into his arms, finding his hand and holding it tightly.  It was dark when she
finally awoke, disoriented until she felt him beside her.

 He turned his head to kiss her.  "Have you been awake long?"  she asked.
"Long enough."  She sensed the disquiet in his voice.  "What's wrong?"

"I was lying here thinking."   When he offered no more, she found his hand
under the covers again.   "Tell me," she whispered.

"Whatever it is, we'll face it together."  She heard him swallow in the
darkness as his thumb stroked her palm.  "Being like this with you is like a
dream come true, but if something happens to you and the child because of me,
I will never forgive myself."

"Nothing's going to happen!"   "Jessie, I have been living like a fugitive
for a long time.   I know that at any moment Jurado's men could find me.   If
they do, and you are with me..."   His voice trailed off.   "That sounds like
you're getting ready to leave me again," she said with a catch in her voice.
"I thought we agreed to get married."   Sitting up, she fumbled for the
brass lamp she'd seen on the table beside the bed.   When she switched it on,
they both blinked against the light.   "Jessie, I want you as my wife.   But
if you live with me, Jurado will be after you, too.   I can't risk that.   Or
risk the child."   She swallowed.   "What do you have in mind?"   "I did some
research on marriage licenses," he said.   "We must get married in a small
county far from Baltimore, where the records will be buried.   Then you will
live as you have before, as Senorita Douglas.   And I will come to you when I
can."   He sighed.   "I do not like it.   I want the world to know that you
are my wife.   But I cannot see an alternative."   She didn't like it,
either.   But for the time being, she knew he was right.   "We have to find
out what Jurado is up to and have him arrested."   He laughed harshly.
"That will be difficult.   If I set foot in San Marcos, I am the one who will
be arrested or killed.

 He made it look like I was responsible for the massacre at the clinic.  I
read the story he planted in the papers.  It told how Dr. Valero got mixed up
in the drug trade and ordered a cover-up.  " He finished with a sound that
was half curse, half snarl.  Her hands tightened on his arms.  " That's
crazy.  " He shrugged.  " He has great wealth.  He can buy reporters as
easily as he can buy a new face.  " She struggled to keep her voice calm and
reassuring, even as she wavered between optimism and despair.  " Remember
when I first brought you to my house, I told you that I had friends who could
help?  Well, it happens that one of them is a man named Jed Premiss.  He's
been to San Marcos.  At one time, he trained troops for General Sanchez.
Then he and my friend Marci had to escape from the general.  Jed knows his
way around your country I mean, he knows the geography and the politics.

And President Palmeriz owes him a favor.  If you can't go down there, he can.
" Miguel stared at her as if he had trouble comprehending.

"It's true," she whispered.  "He can help get Jurado arrested."  The
expression on his face made her chest tighten.  He looked as if he was afraid
to hope, yet he wanted to so badly.  "Jed works for Randolph Security," she
continued.  "And so do some of my other friends.  They've pulled off some
pretty tricky operations."  I- "They would help me?"

he asked in a gritty voice.  "Yes.  The sooner I call them, the sooner we can
get something going."  She started to climb out of bed, then remembered she
was naked.  Her dress was where Miguel had draped it over the railing at the
edge of the bed.  Slipping it on, she made a stop at the bathroom, then
called Jed.  "He'll meet us tomorrow afternoon.  At my house," she said.  "So
we have a lot of time between now and then to make love."  His eyes
glittered.  "Do we?"

 "Yes.  But your pregnant fiancee has to eat first.  Did the guy who lent
you this house leave any food?"  Miguel laughed.  "Tony'.s refrigerator is
kind of bare-- except for beer.  But one of the women from the neighborhood
gave me a chicken casserole when I took care of her little boy."  She tipped
her head to one side.  "The women feed you?"

"Sometimes."   "Well, you'll have to tell them your wife is taking over the
job."   "Yes.   My wife," he said with a thickness in his voice that made her
forget about eating and reach for him.   jed and hunter both came to Jessie's
house the next afternoon.   She watched Miguel size them up, then, with a
little encouragement, relate the same story that he'd told her.   The men
were more thorough about getting pertinent details than she had been.   "It
sounds as if Jurado is up to something big," Jed agreed with Miguel's
assessment.   Hunter silently nodded.   "I, uh, had a friend of mine.   Donna
Russell, who works at the Organization of American Nations look him up," Jes-
she interjected.

"There wasn't any hint of what he's planning All eyes swung toward her.  "
You did not mention that before.  When was it?  " Miguel demanded in a sharp
voice.  " After Georgie.  When you still wouldn't tell me anything.  I
thought if I could find out something for myself, I could get you to tell me
the rest.  " Their eyes locked.  " I would have appreciated knowing," he
said, his words clipped.  " I didn't learn anything significant," she
answered.  " He's a businessman who pushed his father out of the management
of the family company.  And he may be involved in the drug trade, according
to a magazine published in Mi "An excellent way for a man like him to invest
his money," Miguel observed with an edge in his voice.  "I can go down there
at the end of the week and start poking around," Jed volunteered, and Jessie
was grateful that he had stepped back into the conversation.  Miguel looked
uncomfortable.  "Until I can get to my bank accounts, I don't have the funds
to pay for a trip like that."

"We've got discretionary money we can use."   When Miguel tried to protest,
Jed shook his head.   "There's other stuff we should discuss.   Like, for
example, it complicates your situation, being in the country illegally.   If
the INS finds out where you are, they can send you back to San Marcos where
you'd be vulnerable to Jurado."   "Technically, I am not illegal," Miguel
said.   "My mother was an American.   So I am an American citizen."   "Thank
God for that," Jessie breathed.   Miguel gave a little shake of his head.   '
"The problem at the moment is that I can't reveal my true name.   And I can't
send to Santa Isabella for any of my records."   Still, Jessie felt a sense
of relief.   "Can you get a copy of Miguel's birth certificate while you're
in San Marcos?"   she asked Jed.   "And other papers that would prove his
identity, like his driving record or credentials from the medical society " I
hope so.   " " Good.   " Hunter cleared his throat.

"Do you have any proof that you operated on Jurado and changed his
appearance?"

"You do not believe me?"   "Of course I do," Hunter said evenly.   "But I'm
not the one you have to convince."

Miguel closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers wearily against the bridge of
his nose.  "I had proof at the clinic.  Before-and-after pictures.  I am sure
that if he went to the trouble of killing everyone in sight, though, he would
also have destroyed the photographs."

 Jed nodded as his pen hovered over a blank page in the notebook he'd
brought.  "I'll check, just in case.  Give me the location of the clinic."
They went on to explore other options for proving Miguel's claim, but nobody
could come up with an easy answer At the end of the meeting, Miguel thanked
the men.  When they had left, however, she found him staring at her with an
expression that made her feel uncomfortable.  "You should have told me about
your friend," he said.

He didn't have to clarify the observation.  She knew that he was talking
about Donna.  "It didn't seem important."

 "It was important,"

he disagreed, emphasizing every word carefully.  "I meant, because I didn't
find out anything."

"Jurado has considerable resources.   He may have an informant at the OAN.
Or he may be watching for his name to come up in any unusual context.   I
told you, he had men looking for me in Washington, D.C."   Jessie's bottom
lip quivered.   "You didn't ask for the information.   I did."   "How do
you know this person Donna Russell?"   "She's a friend from college.   I told
her one of my clients a woman might have been mixed up with Jurado in San
Marcos."   He took in the explanation with narrowed eyes.   "What if they
trace the request back to you and then to me?"   She stared at him helplessly.

"Isn't that pretty far-fetched?"

"I've been through a lot on Jurado's account.   And I have come to expect
the unexpected from him.   You should have talked to me before doing anything
that rash."   "You were the one who wouldn't talk to me," Jessie protested
defensively.   "I didn't know what to think.   I couldn't just sit around
waiting for you to change your mind about trusting me.   I had to do
something."   He nodded tightly.   "Have you done anything else that might
compromise me?"

 Hurt welled up inside her.  "Besides getting pregnant?"  He didn't answer,
and she didn't want him to see the tears clouding her vision.

Stiffly, she turned and walked down the hall to her bedroom.  He didn't
follow.

Chapter Fourteen Jessie sat on the bed with her fist pressed against her
mouth, her teeth digging into the side of her finger as she struggled for
control, but she couldn't keep tears from trickling down her cheeks.  She had
thought she and Miguel had come to an understanding.  Now it seemed that
understanding was just wishful thinking.  Or were they simply living in two
separate fantasy worlds?

All at once she heard Miguel's voice from down the hall.  She thought he was
speaking to her and hastily wiped her eyes.  When she didn't hear his
footsteps outside the bedroom, she realized he was on the phone and
speaking too low for her to make out what he was saying.

When all was silent again, she rolled onto her side, her hand cradling her
child protectively through the fabric of her summer dress.  She wanted to be
strong for the baby.  Instead, she felt fragile.  Brittle.

"Jessie?"  Miguel's voice made her stiffen.  Hastily she pushed herself up
and ran a hand through her hair.  "Come in," she called softly as she slid
her feet to the floor.  He filled the doorway, and she tangled her fingers in
the bedspread, needing to hold on to something solid as she waited for him to
step into the room.  He did, but he didn't come over to her.  Questioningly,
she raised her eyes to his.

"I have to leave, Jessie."

 "Not yet.  We need to talk," she managed, glad that she somehow kept her
voice from cracking.  His face contorted.  "We cannot do it now.

When I checked with Emesto, I learned there is a woman who is very sick.  I
must go and find out what is wrong.  " She wanted to beg him to stay so they
wouldn't part with this uncertainty between them, but she knew he took his
obligations seriously.  " When will I see you again?  "

"I cannot say, exactly.  I will come at night, when it is safest.

Later in the week.  The best thing is not to keep a regular schedule, so no
one will know where I will be next," " Will you be at the house where you
took me yesterday?  " " Only for tonight.  Then Tony will be coming home.  I
must move again.  Probably to a place that isn't quite so nice.  " " Is there
a phone number where I can reach you?  " " The gas station where Bemardo
works.  " He gave her the number.  " But do not use it unless it is very
important.  It is safer if I contact you," he said wearily.  She gave a
little nod, not particularly liking the feeling of being caught in the middle
of a spy movie.  Yet she couldn't suggest a better alternative to his
carefully worked out arrangements He was still in danger.  Maybe she really
had made things worse by her hasty call to Donna Russell.  She swallowed
painfully.  " Miguel, I'm sorry about calling my friend at the OAN.  " " You
did what you had to do,"

he answered in a gritty voice.  She looked down at her hands.  A few hours
ago she had felt so comfortable with him.  Now they were both on edge.
Uncertain.  "I didn't consider there would be any consequences,"

she whispered.  "I've been living like this for a long time.  It's hard for
you to get used to it."  He paused for a moment.  "If / need  to get
ames sage to you, I will call Mrs. Stone if you think she won't mind."

"I'm sure that's okay."   A knock at the back door of the house made them
both jump.   "See who it is," he said brusquely, then followed her down the
hall and waited while she cautiously pulled aside the curtains.   Bemardo was
outside.   "He'll be there in a minute," she told him, then went back to
Miguel.   Swiftly she put her arms around him and clasped him tightly.   His
hands came up to cup her shoulders, but she felt the stiffness in his
embrace.   She wanted to beg him to stay, so they could feel easy with each
other again.   "I love you," she whispered.   "I love you, too."   His words
sounded mechanical.   When he pulled away, she searched his eyes, not finding
any comfort in their veiled depths.   She couldn't think of anything more to
say, so she let him go, feeling a giant fist squeezing her heart.   Tears
welled in her eyes, but she managed to hold them back until he had gone to
the door and slipped outside.   eduardo sombra stood in the hallway outside
the closed study door, weighing his options.   As the Americans liked to say,
he had good news and bad news for Carlos Jurado.   He had learned that it was
profitable to make the most of good tidings.   In the same way, he had
observed that amessenger with bad news was likely to be shot.   And he wasn't
using the expression simply as a figure of speech.

On the other hand, there was also danger in withholding information the
danger of arousing Jurado's fury if he found out.  Sombra took a handkerchief
from his back pocket and wiped his perspiring brow.  Then he schooled his
features carefully before knocking deferentially on the door.  "Enter."

"I have a communique from the States.   Valero has made  a mistake!"   He
saw the eager expression flash across Jurado's face and hurried to explain.
"We have positive proof that he is in Baltimore.   He has been in hiding,
never coming out during the day.

Yesterday we had a report that he showed himself at a local recreation
center.  " " Why didn't our agent grab him?  " Carlos demanded, looking as if
he wanted to personally do the job himself.  " Unfortunately, there were too
many witnesses in the building.  Before our man could make other
arrangements, Valero slipped away again.  " Jurado cursed loudly.

"He could be in San Francisco by now, for all you know."

"He isn't going anywhere."   "Oh?"   "We know from the incident yesterday
that a woman named Senora Jessie Douglas is carrying his child."   A slow
smile spread across Jurado's face.   "He's been... imprudent."   Sombra
laughed, relaxing several degrees.   "Too bad for him that he's an honorable
man.   He won't leave her.   Keeps her under constant surveillance.   She
will lead us to him.   And then we can finish them both off."   He took a
step back.   "If you have no further need of me, then I will get back to my
duties."   "Yes.   Go."   Not until he had closed the door behind himself did
Sombra breathe a sigh of relief.

He had gotten through the interview in good shape.  Now he had to consider
what to do with the communique he had received from one of his informants
in Washington.  Out of the blue, an employee at the Organization of American
Nations had done a search for information on Carlos Jurado.  Was it a random
event?  Or was Miguel Valero getting ready to strike back?  Either way,
Jurado would see it as a failure of his intelligence team.  But what if that
didn't matter?  Eduardo asked himself.  If he took some initiative on his
own, the situation at the OAN could be nullified.

 He looked at his watch.  Plenty of time to make a call to Baltimore.

with a small sound of frustration, Jessie heaved her awkward body out of bed.
She wasn't hungry, but she knew that she had to eat.  So she padded down the
hall to the darkened kitchen to fix herself some dinner.  On the way, she
stopped in the living room, thinking that she should close the blinds and
turn on some lights.  But when she reached the window, she stopped.  Across
the street, moonlight gleamed off a parked car.  As she watched, a match
flared, presumably because the person inside had lit a cigarette.  Her skin
prickled as she wondered how long the watcher had been sitting there.  Was he
one of the men Miguel had asked to keep an eye on her?  She hadn't seen
Bemardo or Emesto smoke.  But maybe they were being considerate of her
condition when they'd been around her.  Pulling the blind shut, she went to
another window and stood so that she could look out without being observed.
The moon had slipped behind a cloud, and all she could see of the interior of
the car was the red glow at the end of the cigarette.  Could it be one of Los
Tigres?  she wondered sliddenly.

They'd been warned to leave her alone.  But what if some enterprising member
of the gang had changed his mind and tracked her down?  The number Miguel had
given her was written on the pad next to the phone.

She dialed it, and a man picked up.  He told her Bemardo would be back
later--then hung up when she said she wanted to get in touch with Miguel.
Jessie peeked out the window again.  Now the car was gone.

Craning her neck, she looked up and down the block but didn't see the
vehicle.  She managed to convince herself she'd been getting all worked up
about nothing.  There was no reason to suppose the man in the car had been
watching her.  He could have come to visit a neighbor, found the per son
wasn't home, and waited for a while.  That explanation made as much sense as
anything else.  Her steps lighter, she returned to the kitchen and fixed a
can of split-pea soup.  Then she took a quick shower, checked the window one
more time, and went to bed.  At first she lay sleepless under the covers.
But the events of the day had been too much, and finally her body gave in to
exhaustion.  Even in slumber, though, her mind wasn't going to let her relax.
Not long after she'd drifted into a restless slumber, she found herself
caught in the grip of a nightmare.  Strangely, she knew she was dreaming.
And she knew that her subconscious was playing a continuation of the day's
anxieties, twisting them into a different form.  Unfortunately, that
knowledge didn't help.  She was powerless to wake herself up.  In the
dream, she was pregnant more pregnant than in reality.  Her enormous belly
rode in front of her like a giant beach ball.  Filled with dread, she looked
around at an unreal landscape.  She was in a warm and sunny place overflowing
with lush greenery and bright flowers.  Colorful birds hopped about and sang
in the branches of the trees.  She was walking barefoot up a flagstone path
toward a charming white stucco building that should have been inviting, but
her sense of unease increased with every step she took.  She tried to hang
back, yet her feet kept carrying her forward.  The farther she traveled into
the dream landscape, the more frightened she became.  Something was wrong
here very wrong.  Then, all at once she knew where she was.  Miguel's clinic.
He had told her about it, and she had come to see for herself.

Yet she didn't want to see.  She didn't want to be here.  "No!"  she gasped
out.  No one answered.  An ugly lizard skittered across her path, then a
large black  spider.  She tried to drag her feet, but she couldn't stop her-
self from stumbling toward the open door that loomed like the mouth of a
skull.  She grasped the doorframe with desperate fingers.  But it was no use.
Some invisible force tugged on her, pulling her forward until she had
stepped from sunlight into shadow.  At first she could see nothing except
the vague outline of a car shining in the moonlight the same car that had
been sitting across the street from her house.  It dissolved into vapor, and
the real contents of the room swam into focus.  A scream ripped from her
mouth as she saw the first body sprawled in a pool of blood.  Another body
lay farther into the room.

And another.  Two men and two women.  She knew their names because Miguel had
told her.  Tony and Paco, Anna and Margarita.  As she watched in horror, they
all rose up to a sitting position, their movements jerky like marionettes
attached to strings.  "Join us," they chorused.

"No!"  The protest tore from the depths of her soul.  She wanted to back
away, but she was frozen to the spot.  They blinked their large eyes and
looked down at the round red holes in their chests.  Then, in unison, they
jerked to their feet, wavering unsteadily as they started to move.  One
flailing arm knocked a vase of flowers off a table and it crashed to the
floor with a shattering of glass.  The noise freed her.  On a sob she turned
and fled, hearing their footsteps tap, tap, tapping behind her as she ran
down the path as fast as she could.  But her enormous belly hampered her, and
she couldn't make much speed.  The zombies behind her were catching up.

She heard their feet, which were somehow making the flagstone path creak like
old floorboards.  A skeletal hand clasped her shoulder from behind, the
force of it finally catapulting her out of the terrible dream.  Disoriented,
drenched in freezing sweat, she lay in a tangle of sheets, her breath coming
in little gasps.  She was  in her own bed, she told herself.  She was safe.
It was only a dream of San Marcos and Miguel's clinic.  She had made him
relive the horror of it, forced him to share the pain; now she had been
helpless to stop herself from visiting the place where he had almost been
killed.  "Oh, Miguel," she murmured.  She wanted him with her now.  She
wanted to comfort him, and wanted him to tell her everything was all right.
But she was alone, and she would have to deal with her worries on her own,
the way she had dealt with so many other things over the past few months.
Pushing herself up, she wiped a sleeve of her nightgown across her clammy
forehead and looked toward the hall, thinking that a glass of water might
help.  Then she thought she heard a sound somewhere at the other end of the
house, and a new sensation of cold skittered across her skin.  A floorboard
creaked, and she realized she must have heard it earlier and made it part of
the dream.  Like the sound of breaking glass, she thought with alarm, as the
last of the fog cleared from her brain.  She was wide-awake now, and she was
sure someone else was in the house.  Her gaze shot to the phone on the
bedside table.

Calling the gas station was a waste of time.  Even if Bemardo was there, he
couldn't get here in time.  Neither could 911.  God, now what was she going
to do?  Her mind flashed back to the evening when Luis had been creeping
toward her office at the Light Street Foundation.

Only she was pretty sure the stalker wasn't a little boy this time.

Clenching her fists, she willed herself to steadiness.  Thankful that the
darkness offered some protection, she pushed herself up and slipped as
quietly as possible from the bed.  Could she make it out the window before
the intruder got to the bedroom?  Probably not, in her condition.  Wishing
she had a weapon, she looked frantically around the room.  Then she
remembered the wooden baseball bat propped up in a corner of the closet.
Someone had overlooked it at the Light Street picnic a couple of months
ago, and she'd brought it home, intending to take it into the office  so the
owner could claim it.  But she'd never managed to remember it.

Tiptoeing across the room, she slipped into the closet, leaving the door
partly open.  At first she couldn't find the bat.  Then her frantic hand
knocked against it, and it started to fall.  Grabbing for it, she repressed a
little sob as her fearstiffened fingers slipped on the wood surface.
Somehow she averted disaster.  With a silent prayer of thanks, she closed her
fist around the wooden shaft, then carefully raised it above her head,
bracing the top of the bat against a row of blouses as she waited with her
heart pounding in her ears.

Almost as soon as she was in position, she heard stealthy footsteps right
outside the bedroom door.  In the next moment a figure glided into the room.
Straining her eyes in the darkness, she made out the form of a bulky man
wearing dark slacks and a dark T-shirt.  He looked strong and menacing, and
she knew she was only going to have one chance to save herself from him.
Silently she counted off the seconds, waiting for him to get close enough for
her to land a solid blow on the back of his head.  As he crossed the room,
she shrank against the clothes in the closet.  Then a flashlight beam cut
through the darkness, the light hitting the bed.  When the intruder saw that
it was empty, a low curse broke his lips.  For a long moment he stood very
still.  Then he turned, swinging the beam in an arc that probed the far
corners of the room.  It glanced off the chair, the chest of drawers, the
dressing table.  God, what should she do?  Charge out and hit him?

It was too risky.  He'd hear her coming long before she reached him.

But hiding in the closet was a risk, too.  If he found her, she was trapped.
Clamping her teeth together to keep them from chattering, she waited, hoping
against hope that he wouldn't discover her hiding place.

In the next moment, the flashlight beam hit her feet.  "Ah.  There you are."

 The light stopped, moved to waist level, spotlighting the rounded bulge of
her belly.  He gave a satisfied chuckle.  "What have we here?  Come out of
there, senorita, so I can get a better look at you."

Chapter Fifteen

"You'll have to come and get me," Jessie answered, projecting her fear into
the quaver of her voice.  It wasn't difficult to appear terrified when the
blood in her veins had turned to ice water.  "Do not be afraid.  I am not
going to hurt you.  I only want some information."  Yeah, sure, she thought.
You 're here to recruit me for the neighborhood safety patrol.  His face was
hard and confident as he stood facing her, blocking any chance of a pregnant
woman's escape.  His hair was dark.  So were his close-set eyes.  She'd never
seen him.  But he looked too old to be one of Los Tigres.  So that left
Jurado.  Miguel had warned her, and she hadn't wanted to believe him.  Now
she knew that she'd been playing out of her league all the time.  But at
least she was up at bat.  Purposefully, the intruder began to saunter
forward, sure that he had the situation under control.  The breath frozen in
her lungs, she held her ground as she tried to calculate precisely the right
moment to strike.  Only one chance.  She had only one chance, her mind
chanted.  If she fumbled it, she was dead.  As he reached to pull her from
the closet, his expression changed from complacency to anger, and she knew
that he must have finally noticed the baseball bat she was holding above her
head.

Even as he sprang toward her, she brought  the club down with every bit of
strength she possessed, changing the angle of her blow to compensate for the
change in his position.  She cracked him on the head, but not with the fat
end of the bat where it would have done the most damage.  Strike one!  He
staggered back, but the blow didn't bring him down.  ';Puta!  " he gasped in
Spanish, reeling like a drunk in a bar brawl.  Maddened, he sprang forward
again, his big hands reaching for her.  Two chances, she amended, as she
kicked upward, aiming for his crotch.  She felt her foot impact against a
man's most vulnerable anatomy.  He yowled in pain, then cursed in gutter
Spanish as he momentarily forgot about her and grabbed for his injury.  A
home run!  On a surge of adrenaline, she ducked around him and ran as fast as
her pregnant body would allow toward the kitchen door.  Still, she couldn't
make much speed.  Terror racked her as she heard shuffling steps coming out
of the bedroom.  In her mind, she pictured a wounded bear bent on
destruction.  When she reached the kitchen, she bolted through the swing door
and resisting the urge to look behind her, flew across the tile floor to the
back door.  She fumbled with the lock until the key finally turned, and she
threw herself outside, almost at the end of her strength.  A stone stabbed
the sole of her bare foot, and she gasped but kept moving.  Her nearest
neighbor was some distance away, and with her lungs burning and her body
feeling as if it were weighted down with rocks, she knew she couldn't keep
this pace up for long.  If she could only get out of sight, she might have a
chance.  Along the side of her neighbor's detached garage were evergreen
bushes so thick that kids liked to disappear behind them.  If they made a
great hiding place during the day, they should be even better at night.
Putting on a desperate burst of speed, she made it to the  dense shrubs and
plunged between the branches, scratching her face and arms as twigs and
needles slapped her sharply.  She pressed back against the rough brick wall
of the garage and tried not to gasp for breath.  Screened by the bushes, she
heard her attacker charge past.

How long before he came back?  Should she stay here or try to make it to a
house?  Either course carried grave risks.  But her pregnancy settled the
question.  She simply couldn't run any farther.  She waited for aeons, her
skin stinging from the thrash of the branches and her chest aching from the
exertion.  She was beginning to wonder if her attacker had given up, when she
finally heard him coming back.  He was walking slowly now.  She could hear
him stopping to beat at the bushes along the way, and she saw the beam of the
light winking at her through the branches.  All she could do was wait and
silently pray for invisibility.  Her heart stopped as he paused beside her
hiding place, shining his flashlight back and forth into the greenery.  But
the thick branches kept their secret.  With a snarl, he kicked at the lower
limbs, then moved on.  Again she waited in the darkness, but this time he
didn't return.  Was it safe to come out, or was he trying to trick her make
her think he'd given up?  Unwilling to take a chance, she stood there in her
nightgown, pressing against the brick wall, locking her knees to keep from
toppling over.  Her legs and back began to ache.

She wanted to sink to the ground, but she forced herself to stay on her feet.
Finally she saw the darkness around her begin to brighten and knew that dawn
was breaking.  Still, she remained where she was half dozing in her
exhaustion, rousing slightly when she heard a phone ringing somewhere nearby.
She was jerked awake again by a loud curse and the sound of running feet.
Not one man, but two or maybe three.

The runners dashed past her hiding place.  "Get him!"  someone shouted in
Spanish.

 Her heart leaped when she realized the voice belonged to Miguel.

"Jessie.  Jessie, where are you?"

"Here!   I'm here."   Hoarsely calling his name, she gathered herself
together and plunged through the bushes, falling into his embrace and
clinging with what little strength she had left.   He grasped her and swung
her up into his arms.   ' "Jessie.   Thank God."   His lips skimmed her face
as he carried her toward the house.   She hung on to him, hardly able to
believe that she wasn't dreaming of his arms around her.   Inside, he set her
on a kitchen chair, then hunkered down beside her to examine her cuts and
scrapes before washing them with warm water and soap.   "Did he hurt you?"
he asked urgently, touching the skirt of her gown where she hadn't even known
it had torn.   "Did he do anything to you?"   "No.   No.

I got away," she answered, still in a kind of numb shock.  " Thank God," he
murmured again, then brought a bottle of antiseptic from his medical bag.  "
This may hurt a little.  " She winced as the cold liquid stung her skin, but
it brought back reality.  Miguel was here.  He and another man had come back
for her.  And she was sitting in the kitchen wearing only a thin cotton
nightgown that revealed quite a bit of her pregnant shape.  Miguel must have
realized the same thing.  When he was finished tending her scrapes, he strode
down the hall and came back with her robe.  " Bemardo will be coming inside,"
he said.  She nodded, slipping her arms into the sleeves and pulling the robe
closed as best she could.  When she looked back at Miguel, his face was
etched with agonized lines.  " I am sorry.  " " It wasn't your fault.  " " Of
course it was!  I never should have left you alone.  " " You didn't know
something like this would happen.  "

 "Stop making excuses for me."  "How did you know I was in trouble?"

"Bemardo came back to the gas station, and Humberto finally remembered that
some woman had called for me," he said, his voice grating.  "We called here.
When nobody answered, we came to check on you."

"I heard the phone!"   Before he could add anything else, Bemardo knocked on
the door.   "Come in," Miguel called.   "He got away," Bemardo said in
Spanish as he entered.   Miguel nodded tightly.   "He broke into the house,"
Jessie told them.   "I hit him with a baseball bat and kicked him where it
would hurt.   Then I ran and hid.   I was afraid to come out.   I was afraid
he was still here, waiting for me."   "He was,"

Miguel said.  He sucked in a sharp breath and let it out quickly.  "I will
help you pack your clothes."

 "Why?"   "You cannot stay here.

Jurado must know that you and I are.  together.  " " Yes," she acknowledged
in a low voice.  She hadn't understood the danger--not until she'd awakened
to realize someone was in her house.  " Did you recognize him?  " Miguel
asked.  She shook her head.  " There will be others.  We must leave quickly.
" He led her into the bedroom and closed the door behind them, then whirled
to catch her in his arms.

"Jessie."  He swept her close, held her to him, his hands moving over her in
a kind of gentle frenzy.  If I had lost you, I would be wandering in hell,"
he gasped out.  " Forgive me, angel.  Please forgive me.  " His pain was
almost too much to bear.  " For what?  " she managed.  " For getting angry
with you.  For holding you to an impossible standard.  "

 "I should never have called Donna," she admitted shakily.  "It was a dumb
thing to do.  That's probably how they found me."

"You didn't know.   You have not been living like an animal in hiding for
almost a year calculating every move you make to keep yourself out of
Jurado's clutches."   She closed her eyes and held him tight, thankful that
he had learned to adapt, yet knowing that the way he lived had exacted a
terrible price.   She hadn't comprehended his situation not really.

All along, she had expected him to act like a free man who could choose to
stay with her or choose to leave.  She finally understood that he was far
from free.  And she also understood that she had laid a terrible burden on
him.  He had been responsible for his own life.  Now he felt responsible for
hers and the baby's, as well.  Until this morning, she hadn't really "gotten"
it.  She had been pressing him to work out their relationship, when her needs
had only added to his agony.  "All those months ago, I should have let you
go."  She uttered the words that filled her mind.  "I should never have taken
you to my bed.  I've forced you into a terrible position."  He shook his
head, clasping her closer.  "No.  Loving you kept me sane.  Kept me human.

When I wanted to give up, I remembered the sweetness of making love to you.
I vowed to find a way to come back to you when I could.  " " But you weren't
counting on keeping a pregnant woman safe.  " She saw the anguish and the
naked longing in his face.  " A pregnant wife," he said with such feeling
that she felt her heart almost bursting inside her chest.  they were married
a few days later in a small Methodist church in Princess Anne, a town on the
eastern shore of Maryland that had been founded before the Revolutionary War.
Now many of the Colonial and Victorian homes had been restored to their
former elegance, giving the small community an ambience that charmed Jessie
and made up for some of the other decisions they'd been forced to make-- like
choosing a place, time and church to minimize chances of detection.  The
Methodist ceremony was a compromise, since Miguel was afraid that getting
married by a priest could give them away.  And the only friends in attendance
were Cam and Jo and some of the men from Randolph Security, who functioned as
bodyguards.  Cam and his men went in first to check the church for intruders.
Jessie and Miguel waited in the parking lot in the Blazer that was one of
the standard Randolph Security vehicles.

When Hunter came out to tell them everything was ready, they entered the
church together, holding hands tightly.  Jessie carried no bouquet and she
was wearing the one good maternity dress she'd bought.  Miguel didn't even
have on a suit, because he didn't own one.  Still, he looked devastatingly
handsome, Jessie thought, in a crisp blue shirt and dark slacks.  The tall,
thin Reverend Carter had never met the happy couple before, but the Light
Street Foundation had made a sizable contribution to his youth fund, so he
only glanced once at the bride's rounded middle before casting his eyes
upward.  Probably he assumed that this was some kind of shotgun wedding,
Jessie surmised.  She stopped worrying about what he thought when he began to
lead them through the words of the marriage ritual.  "Do you, Miguel, take
this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"  Reverend Carter asked the
age-old words.  She stole a glance at Miguel's face.  It held so much love,
so much hope, so much commitment that she could barely catch her breath.  If
she had ever doubted that he wanted this marriage--heart and soul--she had no
doubts now.  She didn't realize that she had whispered his name until his
fingers tightened on hers and he gave her a heart-melting smile.  And when he
slipped the ring on her finger, she felt  to the marrow of her bones that
she was bonding herself to this man for all time.  The service was over
quickly, and it was followed by a kiss so tender and sweet, Jessie felt her
vision blur.  "I love you,"

she and Miguel both said as their lips parted.  They stood looking at each
other for several moments, forgetting their surroundings, until Cam cleared
his throat.  "We'd better stay on schedule."  Miguel nodded tightly.  "Thank
you," he said, shaking hands with all of the men.

Then the wedding party climbed back into the Blazer and returned to the
Baltimore area to the modest furnished house that Laura Roswell had hastily
rented for Jessie on a quiet street in Pikesville.  Half a dozen more friends
had come and set out deli trays and a small cake from a local bakery.  It
wasn't the wedding day or the reception Jessie had dreamed of, but she was
following Miguel's rules now.  They could do nothing that would call
attention to themselves including hiring a caterer or filling the street
with cars.  "We'll have a big party at our house in your honor when things
calm down," Jo told them as the wedding guests sat rather awkwardly around
the living and dining rooms eating corned-beef sandwiches and potato salad.
"You could combine it with a baby shower," added Hunter, whose background
didn't include schooling in the social graces.  Despite herself, Jessie
laughed.  "Not a bad idea!"  Before anyone else could comment.  Cam stood to
toast the bride and groom.  The guests raised their glasses of champagne,
Jesse, her sparkling cider.  "To Jessie and Miguel," Cam offered.

"Every happiness.  Every good thing in life."  Jessie felt Miguel's hand
tighten on hers.  He was trying to look as if he believed in miracles.  She
clasped his hand with all her strength, trying to let him know that she would
 be beside him, whatever happened.  But she had turned into a realist.

She knew they would have to wait for their day in the sun until after Carlos
Jurado was apprehended.  She prayed it would be soon or at least, before the
baby was born.  it was late, but Eduardo Sombra sat at his desk studying the
report he had received from the States two weeks ago.  It was a profile of
Jessie Douglas, starting with her childhood in Chicago and covering her
college days, her marriage, her return to graduate school, and her life in
Baltimore.  It was all there, in great detail.  Her sex life.  Spending
habits.  Favorite foods.  Vacation preferences.  Personality profile.
Comments from friends and teachers who thought she was being investigated for
a sensitive government job.  His boss had paid a great deal for the report.
Now he was demanding results.  Unfortunately, the chronicle ended abruptly in
August, when Valero and Douglas had gone underground after he'd miraculously
saved her.  For a moment, Eduardo couldn't hold back the panic that always
seized him every time he remembered that fiasco.  Then he got a grip on
himself.  Jurado didn't know about that screw up, and there was no way for
him to find out.

Eduardo made a low sound of mixed anger and frustration.  The escape in
Baltimore hadn't been his fault!  Valero was like a cat with nine lives.  At
first he had been lucky; now the life of a fugitive was second nature to him.
But the doctor would stick close to his pregnant woman.  That was his fatal
flaw.  His spirits rising, Eduardo skimmed back through the dossier focusing
on Jessie Douglas's character traits and the report on her call to the OAN.
She had been reckless when she was desperate to help the man she loved.  She
would be reckless again if she were pushed in the right direction.  Reaching
for the phone, he called his chief informant in Baltimore and issued terse
instructions.

 jessie sighed as she washed her face and got ready for another night
without Miguel.  She never knew when she was going to see him, and tonight,
hope had faded as a December ice storm had started to beat against the
windowpanes.  He had known their life together was going to be difficult.
She'd been more optimistic.  Their hopes for a quick resolution to their
problems had dimmed, however, as the weeks wore on.  Jed was trying his best
to dig up something useful on Jurado in San Marcos.  So far, all he had
learned was that the man was in deep cover.  And the body count was higher
than they'd originally thought.

It seemed he'd also executed the hit squad who had carried out the raid on
the clinic.  The news was chilling and confirmed Miguel's assumption that the
man wasn't going to give up his quest for Dr. Valero.  The tension put their
marriage under a good deal of strain.  Jessie wanted Miguel to hole up with
her in a small town out of state until it was safe to come out of hiding.  He
told her that he'd go crazy with nothing to occupy his time.  In addition, he
was unwilling to leave the community that had come to depend on him and that
had shown him such loyalty.  But he wouldn't allow his wife to participate in
the nomadic existence that had been forced upon him by Jurado's relentless
pursuit.  So Jessie stayed in her furnished rented house, where Cam Randolph
installed a state-of-the-art security system and a special secure phone line
to connect her computer to the system at work.  From the hook on the closet
wall, she took her nightgown and paused for a moment to stroke the fabric
with her fingertips Before they'd gotten married she'd slept in plain-
looking, utilitarian gowns.  Now she always wore the silk and lace Miguel
liked, because she loved to see his eyes light up when he saw her in them
even now, when she was eight months pregnant.  Just as she had slipped her
latest purchase over her head, she heard Miguel's special knock.  Quickly she
crossed to  the dresser and ran a brush through her hair as his footsteps
approached from the ground floor.  There was a charged moment as he entered
the bedroom.  Other wives might take their husband's homecoming for granted.
To Jessie, it was always an occasion for giving thanks.

"How are you?"  they both asked at the same time.  "Fine now."  The question
and answer had turned into a little ritual between them.

Although Miguel looked tired as he stood in the doorway of her bedroom, his
face took on a warm glow when she came toward him.  All the lonely days that
he'd been away and out of communication evaporated as he took her into his
arms and bent to cover her lips with his.  The kiss was long and hungry,
growing more urgent as his hands moved over the ripe contours of her body,
caressing her through the silky fabric.

They had only each other, and their time together was always much too short.
He was breathing raggedly as he lifted his mouth from hers.

"You must have a thing for fat women," she said with a breathy laugh.

"The only woman I have a thing for is you."  He caressed her tummy, then
slipped his hands upward to cradle the weight of her breasts.  She marveled
that he still wanted her.  Then she stopped worrying about how she looked as
he eased her onto the bed.  Gently, with great care for her condition, he
transported her to a place where only love and pleasure existed.  Afterward
they lay naked together, his palm flattened against her abdomen as they
savored the afterglow of lovemaking.  "I miss you so when I have to be away,"
he whispered.  "Yes.

So much.  " She snuggled closer.  " I want to hear what you've been doing.  "
He told her about a family where the mother could hardly  care for her
children because she had mononucleosis.  Miguel had sent her to a hospital
clinic, and now she was recovering.  As he talked about the woman and the
other people he'd helped over the past few days, his voice took on an
enthusiasm that made her chest tighten with mixed emotions.  She knew he was
putting himself in danger by seeing patients.  Yet he needed to help people
as much as he needed her.  " What about you?  " he asked.  She made a
clucking sound.  " Well, Jim Alvarez is still trying to speak to me in
person," she reported.

"He's desperate to apologize for being so mean to me."

"I don't trust him!"   "Neither does anybody else.   He's not going to get
near either one of us."   Miguel nodded.   They talked long into the dark
winter night, neither of them willing to surrender to sleep.   Jessie
burrowed her fingers through the hair on Miguel's chest as she asked about
one of his favorite subjects the clinic he was going to build when he came
out of hiding.   She knew he had a location all picked out an old warehouse
only a few streets off Broadway.   He had told her many times about his
plans, but she let him tell it all again because she knew he needed to focus
on that dream for the future.   Then they switched topics to something a bit
more controversial baby names.   "You still don't like Esteban?"   she asked.
"It is not American," he repeated his earlier objection; "If you like
Esteban, we can call him Steven."   "What about naming him after you?
Michael."   "I want him to have his own name."   Shaking her head, Jessie
reached for the stack of baby name books on the bedside table.   She knew that
Miguel was keeping the argument going partly to take their minds off more
sinister problems, and she was willing to go along with him.

 The peaceful interlude was shattered by the ringing of the phone.

Both their gazes shot to the clock beside the bed.  It was after 1:00 a.  m.
hardly the time for a friendly intrusion.  "Who is it?"  Miguel asked, his
voice taut, and again she realized how fragile their hold on happiness was.
With a shaky hand she reached for the small caller-ID box, then breathed in a
little sigh as she saw

"Randolph Security" on the display.  It was Hunter, who wanted to know if she
could contact Miguel.  When she started to hand him the phone, she found he
was already striding naked to the office where he snatched up the extension.
"What is it?"  he demanded without preliminary.  "Good news or bad?"

"We had ames sage from Jed."   When Jed had initially gone down to San
Marcos, they'd all been confident that he could get the information they
needed on Jurado.   As the weeks had worn on, they'd only discovered how well
Jurado had used money, intimidation tactics and murder to cover his tracks.
Even more chilling, Jed had found that Miguel's past was just as
inaccessible.   His birth certificate had disappeared from the Santa Isabella
bureau of records.   His medical license was no longer on file and his tax
records were missing.

Frustrated, Jed had vowed to unearth some information on either Miguel or
Jurado.  "What do you have for us?"  Miguel asked.  "Jed got a tip that set
him working on another angle.  What do you know about a general named Juan
Escobar?"

"He's called the Che Guevara of San Marcos," Miguel answered promptly.
"Ten years ago he was sent by the president to aid the rebels to the north.
But it was a trap to get rid of a political rival.   He led his 'freedom
brigade' into an ambush in the jungle.   They were all killed or died in
prison."   "Jed's sent pictures of the men in the brigade.   They've just
arrived by courier, and you need to take a look at them."

 "Why?"

"He thinks it's possible you might recognize somebody.   Can I bring them
over now?"   Jessie glanced again at the clock on the bedside table.   It was
the middle of the night, yet there was an urgency in Hunter's voice.   "Yes,"
she told him.   She and Miguel got dressed quickly and silently, both of them
keyed up.   To give herself something to do, she made a pot of hot chocolate
the old-fashioned kind, the way Hunter liked it.   She'd discovered he had a
real sweet tooth, and she enjoyed feeding it.   While she measured cocoa and
sugar, her husband paced to the window and looked out for the fifth time.
Hunter arrived twenty minutes later, with copies of old military records from
San Marcos.   While she and Hunter sipped mugs of chocolate, Miguel flipped
through the material.   He stopped short when he came to a man named Andres
Cuento.   "That is him!"   he exclaimed.   "That is the face I gave Jurado."
"Are you sure?"   Hunter asked.   "Positive."   They all read Cuento's
dossier.   He had an excellent education and a good military record.
According to the official account, he had been killed in the jungle ambush.
"Jurado had me turn him into Cuento.   That is why nobody can find him,"
Miguel muttered.   "But what is he up to?"   "Now that we have a name to put
with the face, we should be able to figure it out," Hunter said.   They
talked about several possibilities, and when Hunter left, Miguel was in a
very positive mood.   He rarely allowed himself to be hopeful.   For Jessie,
it was a pleasure to see him so optimistic.   In the morning, she awoke to
hear him talking on the phone.   Then he came back to the bedroom with a
broad grin on his face.

Rebecca York 111 "Pack an overnight bag," he said as he began to get his own
clothing out of the bureau.  "Where are we going?"  she inquired.  "You need
to get out of the house, so we're going on a short trip."

 "Did you clear it with Randolph Security?"   "Of course."

After breakfast, he led her toward a luxury sedan that one of his friends had
rented for them at an agency outside the beltway.  When Jessie tried to get
him to reveal their destination, he only smiled mysteriously as he headed
south, past D.  C.  and into the rolling Virginia countryside.  He'd done
some very specific research, she realized, as he pulled up in front of a warm
and cozy bed-and-breakfast in Charlottesville, far enough away from Baltimore
that the chance of being spotted was tiny.  Still, he registered using a
driver's license and a spare ID he'd acquired since they'd met.  They ate
dinner at a small restaurant, made delicious love in a soft Victorian bed,
and enjoyed breakfast propped against a nest of pillows.  Then Miguel
surprised her with a trip to a giant shopping mall where they filled a cart
to overflowing with all the baby clothes and accessories she'd been longing
to buy including a small crib that folded flat and went easily into the
enormous trunk of their car.  He even gave her half an hour alone in a men's
specialty shop where she bought him some Christmas presents a soft wool
sweater and a warm terry-cloth robe.  It was almost possible to forget that
they were a couple of fugitives except that she knew Miguel was constantly
alert to the people around them.  And when he left the mall, he took a route
that led through several residential neighborhoods to make sure they weren't
being followed.  Still, it was a memorable outing, and it gave Jessie a taste
of what life might be like if her husband were a free man.  On the way home,
she fell asleep in the sedan's comfortable leather seat and didn't awaken
until they came to a stop  in the driveway.  As her eyes came open, she
gazed at Miguel's profile, seeing a vulnerability that made her heart
squeeze.  When he caught her watching him, he quickly adjusted his features.
"Did you have a good time?"  he asked.  "You know I did.  Thanks for the nice
surprise."  His fingers closed over hers.  "I wish we could do things like
that more often."

"We will," she promised.   She was reaching for the door handle when Miguel
hissed,

"Get down!"  "What?"  "Get down,"

he repeated, a pistol suddenly in his hand.  "There's a car behind us
blocking the driveway."  Jessie felt the blood in her veins turn to ice as
she tried to force her bulky body below the dashboard.  God, no!

Jurado's men had finally found them.

Chapter Sixteen Miguel slipped his door open, and she heard heavy footsteps
coming rapidly up the drive.  Trapped.  They were trapped because they had
let themselves enjoy a few hours of normal life.  And now her husband would
defend her with his life.  When he made a strangled exclamation, her heart
leaped into her throat.  She wanted to hide, to bury her face in her hands,
but that would only postpone the inevitable.  Lifting her chin, she followed
the direction of his fierce gaze.  Seconds later, a large male shape loomed
beside his window.

Confused, she watched Miguel lower his weapon.  When the man bent down, she
saw that it was Hunter.  The breath whooshed out of her lungs in a great
sigh.  "Where were you?"  he demanded.  "You left the bed and-breakfast
before lunch.  We thought something had happened I've been here all
afternoon."

"I'm sorry," Jessie managed.   She and Miguel had been so blissfully wrapped
up in each other that they hadn't checked in during their shopping trip, and
Hunter had been waiting in the cold for hours.   His gaze went to her as she
tried to hoist herself from her undignified position on the floor.   "We were
worried," he said in an apologetic voice.   "I didn't intend to frighten
you."   "It wasn't your fault," she answered quickly.

 "You need to talk to us?"  Miguel asked as he helped Jessie out of the car.
Hunter nodded.  "Inside."  From the sound of his voice, it seemed that he
didn't have good news.  Silently, they trooped into the house.  "What has
happened Miguel demanded as Hunter closed the door.  " After you identified
the picture of Andres Cuento, Jed was able to start making inquiries about
him.  It seems Jurado as Cuento has told a few influential people about his
'miraculous escape' from captivity.  He's allied himself with the most
powerful political party in San Marcos.  And he's let it be known that he'd
humbly accept their nomination as a presidential candidate.  According to
Jed's sources, he has a good chance of going the distance.  " Miguel snorted.
" So now we know why he wanted to assume the identity of a dead war hero.  "

"Unfortunately" there's more.  " Hunter gave them an apologetic look before
continuing.  " He's going to campaign on a law-and-order platform.  And he's
starting with a personal tragedy.  The story is that a Dr. Miguel Valero
murdered his cousin, Carlos Jurado, over a drug deal gone bad.  He's offered
a reward for information leading to Valero's capture and he's circulating a
drawing of your new face.  "

Jessie gasped.  Miguel cursed softly.  "At least he doesn't have a
photograph," Hunter offered.  "You need to prove that you operated on Jurado
that you made him into Andres Cuento," Jessie said.  "I can't!"

"There must be a way.  What about DNA evidence?"

"You need cell samples for that."   Miguel closed his eyes for a moment.
Then he grabbed Cuento's file again, shuffling to the medical records, which
included a dental chart.   "What about this?"   he asked in a gritty voice as
he studied the notations.   "Jurado had several teeth that were capped and
plenty of fillings.   They won't match Cuento's dental work."

 Hunter nodded.  "We can check it out, if Jurado hasn't assassinated his
dentist."  The men talked long into the night.  Jessie sat in the living room
with them, listening.  Once she asked why they couldn't send anonymous
articles to the newspapers in San Marcos telling the story of what had
happened.  Hunter told her they'd already thought of that, but Jed had said
that Jurado had too firm a hold on the press for the scheme to work without
proof.  That was the crux of the problem.

They needed some kind of proof of Jurado's identity and Miguel's.  Since
Miguel couldn't prove who he was, he was in danger of being deported at any
time.  And until they pinned down Jurado's masquerade and got him arrested,
Miguel's deportation to San Marcos would be fatal.

Finally, around 3:00 a.  m.  Hunter left.  In bed, Jessie sought Miguel's
warmth, and he held her, kissed her, told her that everything was going to be
all right.  But she knew he didn't believe it inside, where it counted.
Because he'd dared to be optimistic, she was sure that the news from San
Marcos had left him more frustrated than ever.

The next morning, when he said it would be safer for her if he left, she
really wasn't surprised by the announcement.  Yet she tried to lift his
spirits.  "What about the dental records?"  she asked softly.

"Won't they make a difference?"

"Yes, maybe we will get lucky this time," he muttered, but she knew he
couldn't let himself believe it.

He'd learned all too well to adapt to the role of fugitive.  As they talked
across the breakfast table, she realized there was nothing she could do to
help him except let him believe he was keeping her safe by staying away.  So
she kissed him goodbye, and sent him off with a smile.  As she watched him
drive away, she told herself that a man with less strength would already have
cracked under the strain.  But that wasn't much consolation.  After putting
the dishes in the dishwasher, she sat with  her fingers pressed against her
mouth, trying to think of what to do.

The last time she'd gotten involved, she'd only made things worse, she
silently acknowledged as she remembered the episode with her friend Donna at
the Organization of American Nations.  Jessie had been too impulsive, and she
wasn't going to make that kind of mistake again.

Still, the anxiety had become intolerable for both her and Miguel.  No matter
how much he kept saying he loved her, the bottom line was that she saddled
him with a wife and a baby on the way, which made everything worse for him.
She wanted with all her heart to make the nightmare vanish but she
couldn't come up with any way to help.

Then, two days after he'd delivered his "bombshell," Hunter stopped by with
copy of a hospital birth certificate that Jed had faxed from San Marcos.  As
she scanned the official-looking document, her hope surged.

This piece of paper bore Miguel's real name, as well as his mother's and
father's, and his birth date, plus facts like his birth weight and length.
She let her excitement build until she tried to figure out what it really
proved.  All the document said was that a baby had been born in San Marcos
thirty-two years ago, and that his mother had been an American.
Unfortunately, there was no way to connect the infant whose birth had been
recorded with the man who had become her husband, now that his parents were
dead.  Or was there?  she wondered, as a plan began to form in her mind.
Carefully she examined all the angles.

She'd made a mistake before when she'd called Donna, and she wasn't going to
do it again.  But she was so worried about Miguel.  She simply couldn't sit
around and let the man she loved suffer when she might be able to help him.
By the afternoon, she was convinced she knew what she was doing.  After
donning a huge ski jacket that she'd gotten from a secondhand shop, she
pulled a winter hat down over her hair.  The outfit was one of several that
she wore when  she went shopping at grocery stores remote from her
neighborhood.

Driving to a shopping center on Liberty Road, she dialed a number she'd
gotten from the phone book.  It was for the local field office of the INS,
and the very thought of contacting them made her throat clog.

Yet who else was in a better position to tell her how to prove a person's
identity and U.  S.  citizenship?  And what was the risk in calling from a
pay phone at a shopping center?  Still, she felt her heart pounding inside
her chest as she asked the secretary to connect her with one of the agents.
"Can you state the nature of your business?"  Jessie gave a brief summary of
her reason for calling.

"Just a moment," the woman said.  The agent who came on the line next was
Ramon Martinez one of the men who had been notified by Officer Wayeriy and
then had hounded her at the recreation center.  When he identified himself,
she almost dropped the phone.  Then she cleared her throat and asked if
anyone else was available.  Unfortunately, the rest of the staff was out of
the office.  It was Martinez or nothing--and she was too keyed up to wait
another day.  Figuring it didn't make a difference whom she talked to, she
took a deep breath and tried to come across as matter- of-fact--like a
customer calling an appliance repair service.  "I have some questions about a
man who is suspected of being an illegal alien."

"You have some confidential information for our office?"   She kept her
voice steady.   "No, that's not what I meant.   I want to find out how
someone goes about proving that he is--in fact--an American citizen when he
wasn't born in this country."   "Does he lack proper documentation?"   "He
ran into some unusual problems in the country where he was born and had to,
uh, leave suddenly."   "He broke the law?"   Martinez asked bluntly.   "No.
He was framed for a crime he didn't commit."

 "Urn."

"I'm sure people tell you that all the time," she answered defensively.
"In this case, it's true!"   "Well, it sounds like a rather complicated
case," the agent replied, his voice becoming a bit more sympathetic.   Jessie
sighed.   "Yes."   "Are we talking about a man from an Asian country, or
Eastern Europe, Latin America, or the Middle East?"   "Is that relevant?"
she asked.   "It could be."   "I'm not sure I should go into that."   "Okay.
What is your relationship to this guy?"   "I'm his wife."   "And you are an
American citizen?"   "Yes."

"And you're afraid that he will be deported if we catch up with him?"

She swallowed and said,

"Yes," His next suggestion put her on guard.

"Why don't you come down to the office so we can discuss it?"  Sure, she
thought.  And why don't I give you his name and address while I'm at it?  "I
don't want to do that," she answered.  "I'm trying to help you."

"Maybe you can't."   She started to hang up.   "Wait!"   The urgency in
Martinez's voice stayed her hand.   "Wait... Ma'am, are you there?

Ma'am?  " " I'm still here.  " " Don't hang up.  It sounds like you need
advice, and I have a suggestion.  I realize this is a very emotional issue
for you.  Also, you're worried about giving away your husband's identity
because you don't know if you can trust me.  And you're right, of course.
I'm a federal agent, and I have to act in accordance with the law.  "Why
don't you think a little more about what you want to tell me.  And ... I'll
also think about my options.  If your  husband could offer me information
that might be useful to the U.S.  government, that would count in his favor.
But we'll both be better prepared if you call back tomorrow.  If you phone me
about the same time, I'll make sure I'm in the office and available to you."
She thought for a moment.  "I... All right."

"Why don't you use a code name, in case you need to leave ames sage for me?"
"What do you mean a code name?"   "You could be, uh, Mrs. Jefferson, and
I'll know it's you.   That way, you won't have to give your real identity."
"All right."   "If you need to get in touch with me at any time, use that
name."   "Thank you."   After replacing the receiver, she stood staring out
at the passing traffic.   Nobody paid her any particular attention.

The only risk she was taking was leaving the house, she told herself.

Martinez didn't know who she was.  In fact, he'd been sympathetic, although
she knew she'd be crazy to trust him.  Still, there was no way he could get
to Miguel through her unless she gave away too much.  And she wasn't going to
do that.  jessie spent the rest of the day alternating between feeling
hopeful and worried.  Once she picked up the phone to discuss her strategy
with Randolph Security but changed her mind.  They had been working on this
for months, and Miguel was no closer to freedom.  She was trying something
else, and she was desperate enough not to want any negative opinions of her
plan.  The next morning, she spent half an hour trying on and discarding
several disguises and finally settled on a long tweed coat, high black boots
and a wool scarf that went over her head and tucked inside her neckline.  She
would have added sunglasses, but when she came out she found that it was
snowing, although it wasn't sticking to the roads.

 She eyed the sky with misgiving.  Yet she'd worked herself into a state
where she felt it was imperative to talk to Martinez, and she knew she
couldn't do it from home.  So she drove slowly toward the Old Court Shopping
Center on Reisterstown Road.  By the time she got there, the flakes were
thicker, and the parking lot was starting to fill with shoppers panicked over
getting snowed in without necessities.  She'd better confer with Martinez and
get right home.  This time, he came on the line almost immediately.  "Mrs.
Jefferson?"  he asked, using the name they had agreed on.  "Yes."  The phone
clicked, and she thought for several seconds that they had been disconnected.
"Are you still there?"  she asked anxiously.  "I'm right here.  We've been
having some trouble with the phones.  I apologize.  But I've been thinking
about our previous conversation, and I've got a couple of options for you."

"Thank you," she answered, then caught her breath as her stomach clenched.
Lord, all she needed right now was stomach problems.  Her hand tight on the
receiver, she waited for the spasm to pass.  "Is something wrong?"  Martinez
asked.  "No.  I'm fine," she lied.  "Okay, I need more information before I
can make any sug " There was static on the line, and she waited tensely,
hoping she wasn't going to lose him.

"Sorry," he said as the noise cleared and the volume increased several
notches.  "I guess the storm must be interfering with the phone connection."
Jessie made a small noise of agreement as she looked toward her car.  In the
few minutes since she'd gotten out, a blanket of white had covered the
windshield.  At least she was standing where the overhanging roof of a
grocery store sheltered her from the worst of the snow.  Still, she had
started to shiver from the cold.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a pair of gloves and slipped them on
as she kept hold of the phone.

 "Are you living with your husband?"  Martinez asked in a businesslike tone.
She hesitated.  "Not exactly.  He visits me when he can."

"But you're in communication with him?"   She lowered her voice as a
harried-looking shopper rushed past.   "I wait for him to contact me."

Martinez went on to another topic.  "Does he have relatives living in the
U.S.?  Is he staying with them?"

"He has relatives here.   He hasn't called them."   Miguel had told her he
had an uncle and aunt and several cousins in the D.   C.   area, although he
hadn't contacted them because he didn't want Jurado's men coming after them.
She told Martinez that they were living in another state.   "Have they met
him as an adult?   Could they vouch for his identity?"   "I don't know," she
replied, thinking that she didn't know much about her husband's background.
Martinez kept on with a string of questions, sometimes interrupted by
crackling on the line as if the phone signal were getting stronger and then
weaker again.   Whenever she thought the response to a question might betray
Miguel's identify, she said that she couldn't give an answer.   Each time
that happened, Martinez immediately dropped the subject and went on to
something else.   But finally, she began to get the feeling that he was
simply trying to hold her on the phone for as long as possible.   As that
thought surfaced, she felt goose bumps rise on her arms.   Maybe contacting
the INS had been a bad idea, after all.   Perhaps her innocent answers were
somehow incriminating.   "I have to hang up," she said suddenly.   "Please,
Mrs. Jefferson.   I can't help Miguel unless you give me your full
cooperation."   "Miguel?"   she gasped.   On the other end of the line,
Martinez made a low sound that might have been a curse.   Jessie slammed the
receiver into the cradle and turned toward the parking lot.   In the twenty
minutes she'd been standing there, the  snowy pavement had been trampled by
a mass of footprints as shoppers hurried in and out of the store.   Making
her way past empty carts, Jessie hurried toward her car.   But the pavement
was slippery, and her foot slid out from under her as she took a step toward
the curb.

Arms windmilling, she tried to stay upright.  But her center of gravity had
shifted, making it hard to keep her balance.  She lost her battle with
gravity and crashed to the sidewalk, landing hard on her bottom.

For a moment she simply sat there, too stunned to move.  God, what if she'd
hurt the baby?  "Let me help you."  At the sound of a stranger's voice,
Jessie cringed.  Then she looked up and saw a gray-haired woman who had just
come out of the store.  Abandoning her grocery cart, the lady reached down to
give her a hand.  "Thanks."  Jessie heaved herself to her feet and took stock
of her condition.  She was shaken up but otherwise seemed okay.  "Are you all
right?"  the woman asked.  "I think so.  But I have to go."  All at once, the
tension of the morning the tension of her life was too much, and she felt
tears welling in her eyes.  She'd tried to help Miguel, but it looked like
she'd made a bad mistake.  "Are you sure you're not hurt, dear?"  the woman
asked anxiously.  "Your baby must be due soon."

"I'm fine.   It's my husband.   He's in trouble," she blurted, part of her
shocked that she was revealing so much to a stranger.   "Oh, you poor thing,"
the woman said, her gaze fixed on Jessie's protruding belly.   It was then
that she saw a man striding purposefully toward her down the sidewalk.   It
was Martinez, momentarily stalled as a shopper pushed a cart into his path.
Oh, Lord.   He'd zeroed in on her location by tracing the phone call.   She
reached out and grabbed the woman by the hand.   "Please, you've got to help
me.   This is an emergency.

 Call the Light Street Foundation.  Tell them Jessie Douglas is in trouble.
Tell them where I am.  " " What?  " " Please.  Please, just tell them!  "
Whirling, she crossed the strip of dry sidewalk and sprinted through the door
into the crowded store.  If she could lose herself in the throng, she could
get away.  Inside, breathing hard, she darted down the first aisle she saw.
With a sick feeling, she thought about how she'd been tricked.  All the time
she'd been talking on the phone, Martinez had been tracking the call.  That
had to be illegal which meant he was probably working for somebody else
besides the U.S.  government.  How could she have been so naive?  As she
lumbered past the meat counter, a large hand wrapped itself around her arm.
Turning her head, she saw Martinez.  " Don't make a scene, Mrs. Jefferson,"
he warned in a raspy whisper.  " I have a gun, and I'm prepared to use it.  "

Maybe he was lying, but she could feel something hard pressing into her side.
"How did you know it was me?"  she gasped.  "It wasn't difficult."  He
laughed.  "After you called the OAN, we did a profile of you.  There was a
sixty-eight-percent chance you'd call the INS if you were pushed in the
right direction.  So we arranged for the birth certificate to arrive from San
Marcos.  Then I had our calls screened."

"Oh, God," she breathed.  She'd done exactly what Jurado had wanted what
he'd expected.  "Come on," he growled as he yanked on her arm.  Stiff-legged,
she let him lead her out of the store.  The woman who had helped her was just
pulling up beside a cart full of groceries.

She stared at Jessie and Martinez as if she wasn't sure what to do.

Jessie gave her a beseeching look.  "Please!"  she mouthed as her captor
hustled her away.  A gray van was waiting at the curb.  Martinez pushed her 
inside.  As soon as the door slammed shut behind them, the vehicle jerked
forward, sliding in the snow as it headed for an exit.  "Watch it, you
idiot!"  Martinez growled in Spanish at the driver.  The man's voice came
back hard and cold in the same language.  "Do not ever call me that."

"Let me drive.   I'm used to the snow."   "No.   I am in charge!"   Before
Martinez could protest, they sped off away from the shopping center, and away
from any chance of rescue.

Chapter Seventeen Miguel was sleeping in another of his endless series of
basement rooms when rapid knocks on the door brought him to instant
alertness.  Before he could reach for his gun, he heard a woman call his
name.  He recognized her at once.  It was Meg Faulkner, one of Jessie's Light
Street friends.  Every time he moved, his current address was delivered by
Luis in a sealed envelope and put into the Light Street Foundation safe to be
opened only in case of emergency.

That way, none of Jessie's friends could accidentally give away the location
of his hideout.  In fact, if they were pressed, they could truthfully say
that they didn't know where he was.  But now Meg was here which meant that
something was wrong.  The baby?  Was Jessie in labor?  Her due date wasn't
for three weeks, but the child could be early.  And the arrangements were
complicated.  She was seeing an OB-GYN under an assumed name.  But her
physician didn't know he wasn't going to deliver the baby.  Miguel was going
to do that himself, at the Randolph estate, where Cam and Jo had set up a
secure medical facility several years earlier.  Jessie would be able to stay
there for a while without having to worry about being stalked by Jurado's
men.  Springing from the bed, Miguel crossed the room and threw open the
door, shivering as a blast of cold air hit him in the face.  "What is it?  Is
Jessie in labor?"  he demanded.

 The look on Meg's face stopped him in his tracks.  "Miguel, I'm sorry," she
began.  He grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging in so hard that
she made a small sound.  "What?  Tell me!  Is something wrong with the baby?
Her?"

"No.   Nothing like that!   She was at a shopping center in Pikesville."
Meg sucked in a deep breath and let it out, obviously struggling for control.
"Miguel, I got a call from woman--a Mrs. Flint.   She said Jessie was
dragged into a van by a tough-looking man.   It appeared that she was... was
being kidnapped."   Icy talons dug into his vitals.   "No."   "Before the man
grabbed her, Jessie told Mrs. Flint she was in trouble and asked her to call
the Light Street Foundation.   The woman hadn't heard of us, but she got
the num- her from Information."   "You're sure it was Jessie who was shoved
into the van?"   he demanded.   "There is no mistake?"

Meg shook her head.  "I called Randolph Security right away.  Jason went
straight to her house.  Her car was missing, she's not home, and several
coats were lying on the sofa-- as if she was deciding what to wear.  Hunter
went to the shopping center.  Her car was in the parking lot, but she wasn't
in any of the stores."  Miguel pounded his fist against the doorframe,
cursing loudly.  I knew this would happen if she stayed with me.  I always
knew.  " " Don't!  " Meg said sharply.  " She loves you.  She wanted to be
with you.  It was her choice.  " " The baby took away her choice!  " " Not a
chance.  She got out of one bad marriage.  She wouldn't have married you
unless she wanted to--unless she loved you very much.  " He heard the words,
but it was hard to believe them.  Then Meg was speaking again.  " The
important thing is to get her back.  "

 A surge of despair went through his gut like a hot knife.  "How?"

"Come down to the Foundation office with me.  By the time we get back,
they'll have a high-tech command post set up.  Hunter is there.  And Cam and
Jason.  He says that the kidnapper will contact us and we can trace the
call."

"Yes, he'll call you because he wants me.   That's why they've taken her."
Meg nodded.   "They won't hurt her."   He didn't know if that was true.   All
he could do was cling to that hope, because if he thought they would do
something to her or the baby, he would go insane.   the van moved slowly
through the snow-snarled traffic.   In a kind of stupor, Jessie huddled
against the back door as far as she could get from Martinez.   At first all
she could think about was how stupid she'd been to get herself captured She'd
practically begged him to scoop her up.   After a while, she realized that
blaming herself wasn't going to do any good.   She had to get herself out of
this mess.

Another cramp grabbed at her middle, and she closed her eyes until it passed.
The tension was taking a toll on her stomach.  When the pain eased, she
looked up and tried to figure out where they were.  All she could tell was
that they were still in the city.  The heavy snow made it difficult to see
details or maybe she simply didn't know this part of town well enough to
identify any landmarks.  At least Martinez hadn't pushed her onto the floor.
Probably he assumed that in her present condition she was no match for two
armed men.  The other guy was named Sombra.  Mr. Shade.  The two of them
talked rapidly in Spanish as the van crawled through traffic.  From the
conversation, she gathered Sombra had been in San Marcos until a few weeks
ago.  Had he been in direct contact with Jurado?  Jessie could tell that
Martinez and Sombra didn't like  working with each other.  Maybe she could
use it to her advantage.

Finally she recognized where they were on Interstate 95, heading south, along
with a steady stream of slow-moving traffic.  When Martinez directed the
other man to turn onto Highway 175 toward Jessup, he looked around, his
expression suspicious.  "That's not what you told me before.  The Watson
farm is to the west."

"We're going the other way first," Martinez snapped.   "To throw them off.
If they trace the call, they'll look in the wrong place."   Sombra nodded
tightly and followed directions.   Jessie felt a surge of panic.   These men
weren't being careful about what they said in front of her.   That might mean
they didn't intend to let her go.   "Right here!"   Martinez directed,
pointing toward a gas station with a phone near the roadside.   Sombra pulled
off the highway and into the space between the phone and the pumps.   Cutting
the engine, he turned to her, his face set in harsh lines.   "Do not try to
get away, because we both have guns trained on you.   You're going to call
your husband," he ordered.   "You're going to tell him that you've been taken
hostage.   You're going to follow directions exactly " he paused, and his
gaze bored into her " if you don't want the baby to get hurt."   She
swallowed, trying not to let her fear get the best of her.   "I don't know
where to reach my husband."

"I do not believe you," he answered coldly.  "Why not?  It makes sense.

If I can't reach him, then I can't give away his location to someone like
you.  " She lifted her chin and gestured toward Martinez.  " That's what I
told you when you were keeping me on the phone so you could track me down.  I
thought at the time that it was important not to lie.  " Sombra considered
her claim.  " But you must have some way to get ames sage to him.  Or let's
hope that you do.  "

 He let the sentence trail off, and the implications were all too clear.
"He checks in at the Light Street Foundation," she said, holding her voice
steady to hide the lie.  "Where you work?"

 "Yes."

"Then you'll call your office.  You'll say you've been kidnapped."

"They may not believe me," she tried.  "Convince them," Martinez told her,
punching out the words for emphasis.  "And say we're willing to exchange you
for your husband."

"Where?"   "We'll tell you when you need to know," Sombra answered, Jessie
nodded.   "We're going to get out of the van now," Martinez said.   "I'll be
right next to you with a gun pointed at your belly."   She made a strangled
sound.   God, she didn't know what she was going to do about Miguel.   But
she couldn't let this man hurt her child.   "Not the baby.   Please, not the
baby,"

she begged.  "It's up to you.  So don't try anything stupid.  And don't call
any attention to us.  We're just making a friendly phone call.  Do you
understand?"

"Yes," she managed.   "Okay.   I'll be listening to the call."   He picked
up an electronic device that looked like a microphone.   "With this.   And
one more important thing.   Do not mention our names.   Is that clear?"   She
nodded tightly.   "All right.

Then we'll make the phone call.  It won't matter if they trace it.

We won't stick around for very long.  " But they'll come here, she told
herself with all the con Martinez clamped one hand on her arm and reached
for the door handle with the other.  As the door opened, another cramp hit
her, and she sucked in a pained breath.  " Are you sick?  " he asked.  "
Wouldn't you be, under the circumstances?  " " You have a point.  " Quickly
she snatched up her purse as he helped her from the van.  Pretending to slip
as they rounded the back of the vehicle, she took a long look at the license
plate, memorizing the number.  With a rough gesture, Martinez helped her up.
Jessie could see the gas-station attendant peering at them through the
window.  Lord, what if the man came over to them?  He could get her and the
baby killed.  She said a silent prayer that he'd turn away.  When he did, she
almost cried out with relief.

Standing in a daze in front of the phone, she picked up the receiver and
started to dial.  When nothing happened, she stared stupidly at the
instrument.

"You have to put in money," Martinez observed dryly, reaching past her to
push the correct change into the slots.  When she heard the dial tone, she
tried again.  Martinez attached one end of the listening jack to the
receiver.  Then he pressed an earpiece into his right ear.  Hidden from view,
the barrel of the gun pressed into her, forcing her to stand there when all
she wanted to do was run away.

Erin, who rarely answered the phones, picked up on the first ring.

"Light Street Foundation," she said, her voice a little higher than usual.
"This is Jessie."  There was a short pause.  "Oh.  Hi.  How's our mother-to-
be?"  Her friend sounded casual and chipper, and Jessie's hopes fell.  Erin
must not know anything was wrong.  Her boss continued to speak in a normal
voice.  "Did you need Hunter to send over any more of those personnel
applications you were checking for Jenny?"

Personnel forms?  Hunter?  He didn't work for the founddation and she
hadn't been checking personnel forms for  Jenny.  She had been writing a
long-shot grant application.  Her heart leaped inside her chest.  Erin must
be trying to let her know that she'd gotten the message from the woman at the
shopping center.

Martinez squeezed her arm painfully and she cleared her throat.  "I didn't
call about the personnel forms," she said.  "Erin, I know this is going to
sound... weird, but you've got to believe me.  I've been kidnapped."
"Kidnapped?"  her friend squeaked as if in genuine astonishment "Yes.  They
they want Miguel.  They said they're willing to exchange me for him."

"Oh, Lord," Erin breathed.   "You're not playing some joke on me, are you?
Or that husband of yours with his crazy sense of humor?"   Another clue, she
thought.   Miguel had been much too uptight lately to make many jokes, and he
would never kid about something like this.   "I wouldn't do that," she said
quickly.

"Neither would he!"  Jessie cast Martinez a quick glance.  "One of the men
who abducted me is listening to this conversation.  He'll hurt me if I don't
cooperate.  I'm so scared.  All I want is for them to leave me and the baby
alone," she lied.  She wanted a great deal more than that.  Erin sucked in a
sharp breath.  "I'm sorry.  It's just so hard to wrap my head around this."
"I know.  But you have to help me.

Please.  " " We will,"" Erin promised.  As she clutched the receiver, Jessie
clung to the tone of conviction in her friend's voice.  "What do you want me
to do?  You know I can't get in touch with Miguel directly,"

Erin said.  "Has he checked in with you today?"  Jessie asked.  "Not yet."
"Then he should do it soon," she said, adding another whopper to the string
of lies they were spinning.  They both knew that Miguel never called in.
"Ask them to try and find him," Martinez hissed in Jes she's ear.  "Make
sure they understand he has to come in person.

Alone.  Or we'll kill you.  Tell them you'll give him directions the next
time you call.  " She repeated the message in a trembling voice.

When she had finished, Martinez slammed down the receiver.  "Come on, let's
get out of here," he growled.  "Wait!"  She turned and stared at the van.  "I
have to use the bathroom."

"Later."   "I can't wait until later," she insisted.   "Don't you know
anything about pregnant women?

The baby is pressing right on my bladder.  I'll have an accident in your van
if you don't let me go now.  " He made an angry sound but finally gave in.  "
Okay.  " Luckily the door to the ladies' room was unlocked.  Stepping into
the small space, she looked around.  There was a washbasin in the main room
and a toilet partitioned off behind it.  Martinez held the outer door open
while she shut herself in the stall.  She hadn't thought he'd be so close.
Trying to stay cool, she sat on the toilet.  Holding her purse on her knees,
she felt inside for a pen and the notebook she always carded.  " Hurry up!  "
Martinez called.

"I can't do anything with you standing there like that," she called back.  He
gave a low curse, but he closed the door.  Quickly she tore off a piece of
paper.  She had intended to leave amessage for Miguel and Randolph
Security.  But what if someone else found the note?

Making her plea more general, she wrote,

"Help!  I've been abducted by two men.  Martinez and Sombra.  Gray van,
Maryland license WAX3822."

She took her lip between her teeth, praying that Sombra had given away their
destination when they'd turned east instead of west.

"Destination: Watson farm.  Big reward call the Light Street Foundation.
Please help!"  After writing the foundation number, she  scribbled a second
copy of the note, leaving out the part about the farm.  The outer door burst
open and Martinez stamped inside.  "I said hurry up!"  he snapped.  "I'm
doing the best I can."  Jessie pulled out several sheets of toilet paper then
stuffed the first piece of notebook paper into the metal holder, leaving only
a small corner showing.  Next she slipped her wallet out of her purse, pushed
the second note inside, and set the wallet on the floor on the far side of
the toilet, covering it with some sheets of toilet paper.  As she washed her
hands, Martinez poked his head into the stall, and she froze.  With a growl,
he stepped inside, scanned the floor, and snatched up the wallet.  When he
found the note inside, his face darkened.  "You wrote down our license
number!"  He looked as if he wanted to slap her.  "You are taking a big
chance!"

"So are you," she retorted, and began to talk rapidly.   ' "You may have
been promised a lot of money for turning in Miguel, but before you can spend
it, Jurado will kill you."   "Jurado?"   "Don't you know the name of the man
you're working for?   Carlos Jurado.   Miguel is a plastic surgeon.   He
operated on Jurado last year in San Marcos and changed his face-- so that he
could come back as a war hero who was missing in action.   And now he's got
big political plans.   Miguel is the only one who knows who he really is.
Jurado's killed everybody else who could give him away.   After he kills
Miguel, he'll kill me--and you."   "I don't believe you," the INS agent
growled.   "What did Sombra tell you?   That he's working for the San Marcos
government?   That Miguel is a criminal?   That he's going to let me go when
he apprehends my husband?"   His expression told her she'd guessed right.

"Then it will come as a big surprise when Sombra puts a bullet in your back.

Then he's next.  Jurado doesn't leave any witnesses.  "

 "You're lying!"

"If I'm not, you're a dead man."   Instead of answering, he grabbed her arm
roughly, and she let him hustle her out of the bathroom.   Now her only hope
was that someone would find the first note she'd written and find it soon.
miguel waited, feeling as if he would burst with impatience.   "Got it!"
Hunter shouted.

"They're at a pay phone in Jessup."  "How soon can we get there?"

Miguel asked.  Jason looked outside.  "I don't like to fly in weather like
this."

 "We have to!"   "Yeah."   Jason grabbed his coat.   "I know."

They tramped downstairs to the four-wheel-drive vehicle that would take them
the few blocks to Rash Field, where a helicopter was waiting.

Half an hour later, they were setting down on a patch of open ground near the
gas station.  While Jason stayed at the controls, Miguel dashed into the
office, followed by Hunter and Cam Randolph.  "Did you see a blond, pregnant
woman and two men?"  Miguel demanded of the attendant.

"They used the phone here."  The man nodded, looking from the trio to the
helicopter as if they were a combat team from Mars.

"She's a kidnap victim," Miguel snapped.  "Tell us everything you know."
"Yeah, they didn't look too kosher," the attendant agreed.

"They had a gray van.  Didn't buy any gas.  One guy got out and went to the
phone with her.  Mebbe the other was driving the van."

 "What else?"

' "After she talked on the phone, he let her go to the bathroom and stood
outside looking impatient.  Then he followed her in there and hustled her
off."

 "Was she all right?"  Miguel asked urgently.  "She looked sick."

"God!"  He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting not to scream his anguish.
Then he turned to Hunter.  "I know her.  She would try to leave ames sage--if
she could."  They headed for the ladies' room.  Cam scanned the ground
outside, while Hunter searched through the trash can beside the sink.  Miguel
charged into the stall.  When he found nothing, he slammed his fist against
the metal partition.  "I thought there would be something!"

"Look carefully," Hunter told him as he unfolded damp paper towels.   "She
couldn't just write a letter to us on the wall.   She'd have to hide it."
Miguel took off the toilet tank.

Nothing.  He lifted the seat, then tried the back of the lid.  On his knees,
he felt along the wall beside the tank, Then followed the stall wall along to
the toilet-paper holder.  A tiny piece of paper fluttered to the floor.  With
trembling fingers, he carefully picked it up, read it, then waved it in the
air.  "Here!  Here it is!"

 "Let's see."

Hunter scanned the text.  "The license number is good.  I don't know if the
Watson farm is specific enough."  it had stopped snowing, Jessie noted as the
van crept through snarled traffic.  Occasionally Sombra cursed.  Sometimes
he and Martinez engaged in a brief, tense exchange.

Jessie figured that under normal conditions the ride to the farm from Jessup
wouldn't take more than forty minutes, but they'd already been on the road
for over two hours, and they were still far from their destination.  As the
car inched along, the pains in her belly had gotten stronger and closer
together, and she knew she wasn't having indigestion; she was in labor.  And
she didn't know what to do about it.  When she'd first figured it out, she'd
told herself that she had hours before the baby was born--and Miguel would
surely find her before then.  Now she wasn't so sure.

 It was all happening much faster than she'd expected, judging from the
childbirth books she'd read.  Trying to look casual, she snuck another glance
at her watch.  The contractions were coming every five minutes now.  A lot
closer than she'd anticipated.  Lord, now what?

Fighting terror, she tried to do the breathing exercises she'd learned.

But every time a contraction hit her, she clenched her teeth, struggling to
conceal her condition from her captors.  At least Martinez wasn't paying a
lot of attention to her.  Sitting next to her, he looked preoccupied.  She
hoped he was worried that he'd gotten in over his head.  She hoped he was
thinking about Jurado and what she'd told him.  Above her, she could hear a
traffic helicopter again.  It had passed over the highway several times.  Fat
lot of good it was going to do to report the obvious that the roads were
completely snarled.  The ride was endless, and as the miles inched by, the
contractions grew closer together and more painful.  She closed her eyes,
praying that the baby would wait.  When she made a small sound of mingled
pain and terror, Martinez turned to her, studying her critically.  "Are you
sick?"  he demanded again.  "I'm frightened.  You should be, too," she added
in a low voice, her gaze holding his until he looked away.

"What?"  Sombra asked from the front seat.  Neither she nor Martinez
answered.  But she was sure that the INS agent was thinking about what she'd
said back at the gas station.  "We should call her office again," Sombra
said.  "See if they've located her husband.  The sooner we get this over
with, the better."  They were on Highway 108 now, on the outskirts of
Clarksville.  Martinez pointed to a small strip shopping center.  "Over
there."  The van pulled into the parking lot near an outdoor phone.  As
Martinez turned toward her, another contraction hit;  this time it was a
vise-like claw grabbing her middle, and she couldn't hold back a groan of
pain as she doubled over.  In the front seat, Sombra cursed.  "I've been
watching her.  I think the bitch is in labor."

"What?"   "Didn't you see it?"   Martinez's face reddened.   "How was I
supposed to know?"   "You've been sitting next to her for hours."

"It doesn't matter," Martinez snapped.  "As long as she can talk to Valero."
He tugged on her arm, pulling her out of the van.  Then he steadied her on
her feet, as he helped her toward the metal phone booth.  "Is it true," he
hissed, "about this man named Jurado?  Valero operated on him, and he's
killed everyone who knows?"

"Oh, it's true, all right," she managed.   Martinez made a strangled sound.
"I didn't know.   I thought Valero was the criminal."   "You know the truth
now."

"Prove it."  She gave him a helpless look.  "I can't until Sombra shoots me.
And you."  Martinez looked pale.  "Okay.  I can show you where to find faxed
messages between Sombra and his boss.  If I help you, you'll help me?  You'll
tell them I didn't know what he had planned?"

"Yes," she answered.   Then another pain took her, and she gasped.
Martinez's gaze darted around the shopping center.   "How how long do you
have?"   "I don't know," she managed.   "Hurry up!"   Sombra shouted from the
van.   The agent shoved' change into the slot, and she dialed the Light
Street Foundation.   He was holding the listening device he'd used before,
apparently too distracted to attach it to the phone.

 Again, Erin picked up on the first ring.  "Are you all right?"  she asked
anxiously.  "Yes."  The assurance ended in a little cry as a gush of wetness
rushed out of her, and she knew her water had broken.

Erin's voice came to her dimly through the phone.  "Jesshe , please listen
to me.  Get down on the ground.  Get down now."

"What?"   "Get down," Erin ordered.   "Roll behind the car to your right."
"I don't understand."   She could hardly hear because a whirring noise was
filling the air around her.   "The men are coming for you!"   Erin shouted.
"Get down!"   Martinez must have heard the warning--even without his
receiver--because he grabbed her and threw her to the snowy pavement just as
she saw a helicopter swoop down from the sky.   As she watched in stunned
disbelief, a stream of gunfire erupted from the van, and the helicopter
returned the fire.   Martinez was pulling her behind the van when she saw one
of the copter's landing skids smash into it, breaking the windshield and
lifting the vehicle off the ground before setting it back with a
bone-shattering thunk.   Hunter leaped out of the copter, landing on the roof
of the van.   Miguel and Cam came right after him, jumping to the ground and
heading toward her.   Miguel's gun was pointed at Martinez.   "Don't shoot!"
the INS agent pleaded.

"I can help you prove what really happened in San Marcos."

 "I'll take him," Cam said, grabbing Martinez by the arm and pulling him away.

Another contraction seized Jessie, and she groaned.  Instantly Miguel knelt
beside her in the snow.  "Jessie, are you hurt?  Did they hurt you?"

"I'm in labor!"   she managed, her fingers clenching his jacket.   All this
time, she had been alone and frightened,  coping on her own.   Now he was
here, and she could hardly believe it.

"Here?  Now?"  he gasped, his face a study in panic as he looked around the
snowy parking lot.  Before she could answer, another pain captured her, and
she cried out as she grabbed his hand and squeezed it in a death grip, her
own fear rising as she realized that everything was happening much too fast.
"Miguel, I feel like I have to push."  He made a strangled exclamation, then
his expression changed to a kind of calm resolve.  "Not yet.  Not out here in
the snow."  Gathering her into his arms, he looked toward the strip of
stores, then back into her eyes, his steady expression soothing her.  Miguel
was here.  She wasn't alone anymore.  "Jessie, can you pant?"  he asked.
"Can you do that for me?"  She nodded, trying her best to comply as he bore
her across the parking lot.  "Is she okay?"  Hunter called urgently.  "The
baby is coming!  Get my medical bag!"  he shouted as he reached the front of
a real-estate office.  Yanking the door open, he carried Jessie past a
startled receptionist.  "Is there a private office in the back?"

"Yes, but you can't go there!"   "The hell I can't!"   he retorted, striding
past her, kicking open the door to a plush private enclave.   The
receptionist dashed after them.   "I'll call the police if you " "She's about
to have a baby," Miguel interrupted as he laid Jessie on a leather couch.
"Oh, my God!"   the woman squeaked, her tone changing from outraged to
unnerved.   "Where can I wash my hands?"   he snapped.

"There."  She pointed toward a men's room.  "Get me blankets, if you have
them.  And something clean to wrap the baby in,"

Miguel ordered in clipped tones.  But  his voice became gentle as he bent
over Jessie.  "I will be right back."  She lay panting, her head turned
toward the door where he'd disappeared.  Then he was back, kneeling beside
her, telling her how much he loved her, telling her everything was going to
be all right.

He sounded calm and in control as he stripped off her sodden underwear and
pushed her dress out of the way exactly how she needed him to be at this
moment.  Still, she couldn't hold back a cry as the next contraction grabbed
her.  "Just a little while longer," he crooned to her.  His hand was on her
abdomen as she felt another contraction building.  "Push!"  She was beyond
answering, beyond anything but following the dictates of her body.  "Good.
Perfect," he praised her.

"I can see his head!  Everything is fine.  It is only going to be a little
bit longer."  Everything is fine.  She clung to that through the next con-
traction and the next, bearing down again and again, groaning with the
effort.  All at once the pain was less.  "That's the head," Miguel told her.
Then she heard him suck in a sharp breath.

"What?  What's wrong?"  she managed.  "The cord is looped around his neck."
He moved quickly, and she couldn't see what he was doing.

"Miguel?"  she cried.  "It's okay.  Everything is okay.  I've got it off
him," he said, but his voice was strained as he helped her deliver the baby's
shoulders, then the rest of the tiny body.  "Is he all right?"  She sobbed
when she saw that the baby's skin was tinged with blue.  Miguel was working
over him, suctioning his mouth with a syringe from the medical bag that
somebody must have brought into the room.

For what seemed an endless time, she waited for an answer her breath frozen
in her chest.  Then she heard a tiny cough and a high-pitched wail.

 "Oh, God," She sighed through the tears that ran down her face now.

"Thank God."  "His breathing is strong," Miguel said after a moment.

"And his heart rate is a hundred and ten."

"Is that all right?"   she asked anxiously.   "It's good.   Over a hundred
is what we want.   And his muscle tone is good."   Miguel's answer was thick
with emotion as he laid the infant on Jessie's chest.   Her arms came up to
cradle their child.   "Is he really all right?"   "Yes."   She gazed into her
husband's eyes, saw the look of relief, and knew that he wasn't just saying
what she wanted to hear.   "Oh, Miguel, what if you hadn't been here to help
us?"   "But I was, Jessie.   I was."   One of his hands clasped her shoulder,
the other curved around the baby's head.   "Both of you are safe now."   He
stroked his lips against her cheek, and she closed her eyes, trying to come
to grips with everything that had happened This wasn't a dream.   She was
safe.   The baby was safe.   And her husband had made it possible.   When he
pulled away, her eyes opened.

"Don't leave us!"

"Never again.   But I must do a few more things for the two of you," he
whispered.   In' a low, reassuring voice he kept talking to her, telling her
what he was doing.   He cut the cord, delivered the placenta, then bundled
Jessie in blankets and cleaned off the baby before wrapping him in a towel.
Finally, he handed the infant into her arms.   She looked down in wonder and
gratitude at her son, whose skin was pink now.   "His hair is dark, like
yours," she whispered, stroking the tiny head.   Miguel nodded, and she gave
him a little smile, sensing that this was a time when she could ask for and
get anything she wanted.   But she wouldn't be too greedy.   "I'd like to
call him Michael," she said.   "After you."

 "Yes," Miguel answered in a choked voice as his lips moved against her
face.  She rested again for a moment, then murmured,

"I was so frightened when they had me.  How did you find me so quickly?"  He
stroked her possessively as he replied,

"We found your note.  With the license number, it was easy to spot the van
from the air."  She nodded.

"My wife.  So brave.  So clever," he told her, his voice breaking.

"Like my husband," she said, burrowing closer to him.  He held her as if he
would never let her go, and she felt herself drawing strength from his
embrace.  A little while later, Cam came in to deliver a terse news bulletin.
"Sombra is dead.  Martinez is going to cooperate with the police.  It looks
like he can provide information that will link Sombra to Jurado.  And Jed was
able to dig up some of Jurado's old dental records.  Unless the bastard had
all his teeth pulled, we've got him."

"Thank God," Jessie breathed, then turned to Miguel.   He looked stunned, as
if he didn't believe it could finally be over.   "Think of it as an early
Christmas present," Cam said.   "But you should keep out of sight for a few
more days, until we get things nailed down.   Let's go with the original
plan.   You, Jessie, and the baby can stay at the estate.   Do you want me to
have Jessie's doctor meet you there?"   "Yes.   And a pediatrician.   I want
her checked and the baby, too."   "I'll arrange that.   When you're ready,
we'll leave in the chopper."   "In about a half hour," Miguel said.
Standing, he shook Cam's hand.   "Thank you.   There is no way I can repay
you for all of this...."   Cam looked embarrassed.   "I've been in some tight
spots  myself.   I know that friends can make a difference."   He took a
small step back.   "I'll go make the arrangements."   When they were alone
once more, Miguel came down beside Jessie, his face still full of wonder.

"I

can hardly believe it.  It is almost over.  We can live like a family like
everybody else.  " She laid her hand over his.  " I am so lucky," he said,
looking from her to the infant in her arms.  " We both are.  " At that
moment, little Michael began making tiny noises and waving his arms.  " Do
you think he's hungry?  " Jessie asked.

"Probably.  And it would be good for you to nurse him."

"Is that a medical opinion, or do you want to see your son have his first
meal?"

"Both," he answered softly.  He arranged the pillows so she could prop
herself up and watched while she undid the front of her dress.  As soon as
she brought Michael to her breast, he started searching for her nipple.  When
he found it and began to suck, she caught her breath.  The sensation was
sharp at first, then settled down to a sweet tugging.

Miguel cupped his palm around the back of his son's dark head, then laid his
own head on Jessie's shoulder as he slipped his arm around her protectively.
She closed her eyes, feeling tired but so very happy.

"A lot of men would take this for granted," he said in a thick voice as he
touched the baby's cheek.  "But I know what it means to be with the woman I
love.  And the child we made together."

 "Yes," she replied.

"With the man I love."  "You went through too much for me," he said.

"That's all in the past, and I've got exactly what I want."  Her heart
overflowed with love for this man as she thought of the years ahead.

The future would make up for the nightmare he had survived, if she had
anything to say about it.

 "Now that you're a free man, you can open that clinic you've been dreaming
of," she said.  She felt a tremor go through him.  Then he moved so that his
liquid gaze could meet hers.  "That was just a dream to keep me going when I
needed hope."

 "Is it what you want?"   He swallowed hard, and replied evasively,

"I wouldn't be a rich plastic surgeon if I opened a clinic for the people in
the barrio."

"I didn't marry a rich plastic surgeon," she countered.   "I married a man
who wants the same things I do to help people, to make a difference.   And if
we can do it together, that's even better."   "Truly?"   "Oh, yes."

"Jessie, you understand me better than anyone else," he said, his voice
thick, as he settled her and the baby more solidly into his embrace.

"I hope so."  She felt tears blur her eyes as she savored this moment
together.  "You have already given me so much."  He gently stroked the baby's
hair and hers.  She looked from her child to her husband, knowing they
possessed riches that money could never buy.  They had almost lost each
other, more than once.  Yet now they were safe the three of them.  "The
luckiest day of my life was the day I saw you across that room at the rec
center," he whispered.  "I thought I couldn't have you.  And now..."
Overcome with emotion, he choked up before he could finish.  "Now we're at
the beginning of a long and wonderful life together."  She completed the
thought for him and snuggled into the certainty of his love.